Chapter 29
Georgia
I finally sway into reality inside a truck that’s slowing. My hands are tied, cuffed with metal. The dream was fucking real and, somehow, I’ve been captured again.
I trawl my effed-up mind for where I am, what this is, when. The walls of this truck are blurred and I may throw up but…
We were on a plane.
Going to? Spain.
For a CNC party. Which was clearly a bust.
In a truck now, with an engine that sounds as if it’s about to spill cogs on the bumpy road we are on.
Another lurch and I swallow and tug at the metal binding my hands at my back.
When? Can’t be too long as I feel clean and not as if I’ve peed and shat myself for days. Ugly truth there.
How? Was I drugged somehow? Does it matter?
I blink and can see better, and the truck interior has other people in it.
Lazlo, also tied with metal cuffs. I see his hands. He’s facing away and being rolled on the shaky floor, same as I.
Same as I. Hope is getting thoroughly flamethrowered here.
Rafe? I twist my head to look forward. A rectangle of grimy glass leads to the driver’s cabin and there’s another body on the floor. Rafe.
Fuck.
He’s also alive though and lets out a groan and rolls to face me.
Tears are welling, swimming around like fucking piranha, behind my eyes. I can give in and cry or I can do a fucking Juniper. I can be like her, can’t I?
Try.
I swallow. That means be fierce and do not give in, even though… I inhale, clear my throat, and swallow. This looks pretty bad.
“Hi.” I smile at Rafe and he nods back at me.
The sound wakes Lazlo as he too shifts and rolls to face us. “Is this us fucked up or what?”
“Just a little. Okay. I’ve been here before. We need to get out of this.”
Here is delicate me telling an ex-soldier what to do, and Rafe, whatever Rafe is. He’s guaranteed to be better trained at being a gung-ho escape artist and general banger of enemy heads than I am.
“Positive thinking always…” Laz heaves and manages to sit up, inches backward until he hits the van wall. “Always works.”
God, I hope so.
“We’re slowing,” Rafe says, glancing around. “It’s hot in here and yet there’s aircon coolness on the driver partition at my back. Might be Spain?”
The van stops and there are voices outside, drawing nearer.
The doors are flung open, creaking. Sunlight blasts in. Is it morning? Afternoon? I cannot tell.
“Get them out.” Two, armed men in light camo jump in and haul me out, drop me to the sandy gravel outside. Someone makes me kneel by pushing me down. I’m still dressed in my soft jeans and pale cream shirt with the sunflower-yellow colored buttons. And I am dying to pee.
It takes me a while to get used to the brightness. By the time I’ve adjusted, Rafe and Lazlo are beside me and on their knees. They haven’t bound our feet, but when I raise my head, I see why it isn’t necessary.
Soldiers are everywhere, talking to the van driver and waving him off. On the walls, walking toward us. “Nine, I count nine men.”
Rafe nods.
Armed men not soldiers, as their clothes have no identifying marks.
Ancient walls surround us. Those walls are topped with crenellations—the bites that zigzag across like in castles—made for archers to hide behind and for tossing hot oil on attackers. Only these are rounded and might be decorative and who cares when we are about to die?
Lighten up.
Knowledge is important. “Where are we?” I whisper to Rafe.
“Not Spain. Somewhere in Africa, maybe.”
“North Africa is my guess,” Lazlo adds. “That’s mostly rammed earth construction. A fort. The plane flight, plus whatever drugged us, means we can’t be further than the coast of Africa.”
A fort, which I’m guessing means this isn’t quite a castle. It looks rougher. The wind blowing across and stirring the dirt is terribly dry.
“Knowledge is power.” I remind us all. “We’re getting out of here. I am not doing this again.” Behind us, noises make me turn and look. The van is driving out a wide gate and the gate is closing. “That’s the exit.”
Neither of the men reply.
“Up!” one of the soldiers commands. “This way!”
With soldiers flanking us we’re hustled toward a door and into the shade, down a hallway, and through a large chamber until a door is opened before us.
The room within is dark and windowless except for a small opening up high, closed off by bars and a pane of dirty glass. It’s a jail cell. At gunpoint our cuffs are switched to the front and fixed to one hand only then we’re chained to rings on the wall.
The men exit and the door is locked.
Shit. I’ve done this before. It’s scarily familiar. My stomach twists because I feel I know the sad, horrifying playbook on this. I’m going to be raped and tortured, again. Only this time, who will rescue us?
No one knows where we are.
In the high, opposite corner, a red light blinks.
“We’re being watched.” I jerk my chin.
“I saw it,” Lazlo nods. He wraps his cuffed hand over his knee. “Don’t lose hope.”
“So they’re recording us.” Rafe seems disconcerted by this. Was he planning to discuss escape? I imagine so. “Don’t give up? I agree with that, for reasons.”
Except… “This is an unknown place if it isn’t Spain. We were supposed to go to that party.”
“Which makes me wonder how they knew to grab us on that plane. Was it done by someone who is a member?”
“Probably. Fuck it.” Rafe scrubs his hands through his hair, making the rusted chain jingle and drag.
So maybe ASS could intervene, if they knew where we are. Even if we get out of this cell, uncuffed, what chance do we have of bypassing those guards. This is not just two evil assholes.
I stare at the chains, and especially mine. If they’re rusted, why? I’d use new ones on captives…unless this is something they do on the regular and so they can’t be bothered because they’ve done the task before.
I lean sideways to get as close as I can to Lazlo who is to my right. “Can we eliminate that thing up there so we can talk?”
He eyes it. “Doubtful. No rocks in here. Nothing to throw.”
“Poop?” He gives me a shocked look. “What? It’s practical. Just smelly. And if you miss…even worse.”
“I am so not ready to try.”
The man has no clue. He’s never been trapped in a cell for a month while being regularly assaulted.
My chopped-off finger tells me I’m right to be resourceful.
My smart brain elaborates on the poop idea and says, even if we block that camera, what then?
We can’t pick locks or disable armed guards with free hands and nothing much else.
Shush. Think positive. Think positive and stab things. That’s my new motto.
I lean back into the wall.
Wait for them to do something over and over and make a mistake.
I will not be the victim again. Not like this. I will not give in.
A woman with long, fair hair comes in with three guards. They leave the cell door open, and I imagine myself running out there and then far, far away.
“Hello,” she begins. “I’m Stephanie and I’ll be bringing your meals and sometimes explaining how this works. You will obey the rules here or pay a price for it.”
My heart stutters. Rules.
The way that was worded says this is a spiel. She has said it before. How this works could be the title on a workplace document. I was right about the chains. How many people have been in this cell?
She’s wearing a white dress with a bodice that reveals cleavage and an embroidered skirt that might belong in a ballroom. It’s completely wrong for some out-of-the-way ancient fort, but I suppose whoever employs her must have chosen it for her.
“What rules?” Rafe asks.
“They will tell you when they’re here.”
“They aren’t here yet?” he continues. “Who is they?”
She eyes him nervously but says nothing more.
When she turns to leave her bare back is revealed to be covered in red lines and white splotches that used to be punctures. On the lower left is a long ragged wound that’s recently healed. The puckered red skin and the old scars tell me her history, of violent punishment by whoever is in charge.
They leave us alone for the rest of the day, apart from Stephanie feeding us and the guards taking us to relieve ourselves under heavy guard, according to their timetable.
Except for one visit by her when I am due to be paraded along to the lavatory.
They have us on a timetable. Pee now, or else.
Since I’m cuffed and only female, I’m sure the guards think little of my chances to escape.
I emerge to wash my hands, which we are allowed to do at a basin. The guards are outside the door and about a yard along the wall, though talking among themselves.
Stephanie ducks her head as I wash, puts her head close to mine. I’m tempted to head butt her, but it would be pointless.
“Do you remember me, Georgia?” Her hand on the edge of the basin is trembling, as is her voice.
I stare at her, close enough to see the fear in her blue eyes. I check the guards and they’re still chatting, laughing. I keep my own voice low. “No. I’m sorry. Where?”
“One night. Mr. Beast held you and slapped you and I pulled him away.”
“Oh. That was you?”
She nods. “And you saved me later, on the yacht, when it was being sunk and they found me hiding. Remember?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember. I wish I did.” Now I’m tearing up. Stupid of me.
She sucks in a small breath. “I’m still grateful. I’ll—” She glances sideways at the guards. “I will help you if I can. Here…being here will kill me eventually. Look for number five.” She raises her voice. “Out. Now.”
I was ready to say, don’t, they will punish you and death will be then and there instead of eventually, but she firms her mouth and ushers me out the door.
It’s her choice. Of course. She is doing what she wants to do and for me to stop her or deny her this sacrifice would be as awful as someone denying me mine. When death is close and you are merely suffering rather than living, the choices you may feel are right and worthwhile may change.
Number five? What does she mean?
The next morning, we three are taken to the lavatory, on that pee timetable, and then left alone.
For whatever reason, Rafe decides to talk even if we are being recorded.
“I want to say this, just in case I have no other opportunity. When I said don’t despair, I meant it. I do have reasons, but I can’t say anything precise.”
“That’s okay. I appreciate the chance to feel some hope.”
“We can’t give in.” Lazlo agrees, though he’s looking at the opposite wall. “You just don’t. If we get the slightest opening, we take it. Right?” He looks to Rafe who nods. “We will take care of you, Georgia. I promise we will. I’ll dive into Hell for you if I have to.”
Big words. Big, wonderful words. This evil moment has crystallized how we are to each other.
“Thank you, man. It means so much. You both do.” I press my palm to my heart. “And, I know you think I can’t do anything, but I think I can. And I will take that chance if it comes to me. It’s not just for you to try getting us out of this. Guys?”
They nod, solemnly.
“All for one?” I begin.
“Oh crap.”
“Laz. No!” I raise my eyes to the heavens, wherever that is in this brick antique lump. Rammed earth, not brick, my memory reminds me. “No, Lazlo, that’s not the words. Get with the fucking program.”
“And one for all.” Rafe murmurs.
“And one for all!” Lazlo punches the air with his fist.
“Bingo.” I lean into the wall, smiling, feeling as if we achieved something. “Think positive and stab things,” I say quietly, thinking it’s too quiet to be audible.
“Vicious girl,” Rafe says. “I like you.”
I give him a thumbs up.
Before we’re fed any breakfast, the three of us are cuffed again and led down the corridor to a wide room big enough to be a throne room.
A three-story ceiling makes this into a large cavern and the wall to our right holds three ornately shaped arched windows high above, just below the roof.
Though sealed with multipaneled glass, the windows allow in shafts of daylight to supplement the hanging electric lights and the sconce-like wall lights.
Like the windows, the lights will be recent additions.
We’re brought to the middle of the floor and left there, standing facing two men who sit before the wall with the three high windows, and they are indeed on fucking gold-plated or gold-painted thrones. How self-congratulatory to give themselves thrones. A third identical chair is empty.
Already, I hate them.
A large TV, twice the size of any I’ve ever seen in a house, is mounted on the left wall at head height. I spot two cameras on tripods. The camera behind the throne is manned and another stands to the side.
The men seated on their silly thrones both wear masks.
One is the demon I saw at the first kinky event and the other man is Domino, the man with the harlequin mask who commanded the boardroom meeting.
From the distraught expressions on Rafe and Lazlo—all tight lines and stiff muscles—they do not like this development.
“We’re shafted.” I’m sure I hear Lazlo say that. And Rafe side-eyes him, subtly shakes his head and looks at me. Neither of them speaks again. I’m sure they’re trying not to spook me further.
Well, guys, I am spooked.
Can’t avoid that.
I’m also thoroughly livid. How dare they.
How dare life. How can everything become such a shitshow so fast, just when I had a chance at getting somewhere good.
Is someone up there playing with their toes instead of helping me survive?
I’m young and healthy and angry and I think I see how Juniper did it.
You need to blow past hope into what-the-fuck land where nothing, absolutely nothing you may do is too much to try.
I am not giving in.
Blood. I want that. I can taste it, see the pulse in their necks.
Wish I was a vampire.
And superwoman, cause I need to break these cuffs if I am to bite their heads off.
Okay. Okay. I need to calm down.
And listen to this dickhead. He’s been talking.
“First of all, we will play with your pretty girl, Georgia, just to show you what we expect of you.” He stands up and beckons to the guards.
Six of them stand to the right, dressed in light camo with pistols at their hips and long guns slung on their backs. Two of them advance, bringing coiled chains that scrape on the floor. They’re coming for me.
“Shit.” Despite my cuffed hands at my front, I sprint toward the one opening not guarded, an arched doorway beneath the TV screen.
Almost there, almost there, though where do I go afterward, and what about Rafe and Laz? I run through and lurch right.
Where two guards and Stephanie block my path.
Fuck no. I skid to a halt, my mind crushed with panic, and the men grab me and force me to turn. They drag me back into the room, though I throw myself about and attempt to kick them. One of them slaps my face leaving it stinging.
I won’t cry. I will not. And stop panicking. Think…
Trying to bite these men is useless.
Right now, nothing useful springs to my attention.
I straighten myself. I won’t bow to these men. Fuck you, fuck every, single one of you.
The room pulses with future pain, my despair, and a longing for another pathway to tomorrow.