Page 86 of Theta

"I'm trying not to imagine said nefarious activities," I mutter, my voice faint. "But that does help put it in perspective. I'm still scared, I just won't feel guilty about it when I pull the trigger."

"It's what I'm telling myself," he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I keep…I keep seeing those first three. I have to…I have to tell myself they were bad dudes who wanted to do bad things to you. Who have done a lot of bad shit to a lot of people. Even if you're not, like, the one snatching the girls—even if all you do is transport, if you know what you're moving, you're complicit."

While we wait and talk, the dim purple-gray of evening's descent has become the dense, inky black heat of night. We lapse into silence again, each of us lost in our own thoughts—mine wander to why they took me. Why then? Why take me and stuff me in a container on a freighter in the middle of the Mediterranean with someone I know? If Pugli wanted to make me a sex-slave, why not just bring me right to him? It doesn't make a lot of sense; but then, I suppose I don’t know much about the logistics of human trafficking.

I wonder again at the timing. I know Bryn went missing—Dad called me to let me know. I offered my help, but he said that people were on it and that I should just focus on work and staying safe. I never imagined that just a few days later, I'd end up on the business end of a kidnapping. I'm a predictable person. I live a boring life. I go to work, I go to the gym, I go to the store, I go home. Occasionally I'll have drinks with work friends. When I was dating, I'd go out with my boyfriend. My patterns aren't hard to discern. They could have taken me at any point. Why then? I don't know that I'll ever know—the mind of a human trafficker is a mystery to me.

"Here we go,” I hear Killian murmur, and his boots crunch on gravel as he adjusts his position.

I tune in—white LED headlights sweep down the road between the parking lots that line the outer edges of the massive pier. There's not just one SUV approaching, but three.

“Well fuck me. Guess they got the memo that we're not gonna go down easily," Killian says.

"I do," I say, nerves making my mouth run. "On you, at least."

Killian sputters a laugh. "Focus, babe." He glances at me, reaches out and squeezes my hand. "If we get separated for any reason, you go back to the hostel and meet up with the guy. He’s tall, he has long hair, and a kinda scraggly beard. He drives some souped-up European sports car. Tell him you're my ragazza."

"Killy—"

"Just in case."

I glare at him. "That's not an option. But fine. It's not gonna happen, but fine—noted."

He shoots me a glance. "You're not gonna, are you? If anything were to happen to me, I mean."

"If anything happens to you, it happens to me."

He shuffles closer to me, taps his forehead to mine. "No, sweetheart. Listen to me, yeah? You do not get taken by these motherfuckers. No matter what. Swear it. Promise me. Swear on your mother's life that no matter what happens, you do not let these fuckers get you."

"I—I promise." I'm taken aback by his intensity. "I swear on Mom's life I won't let them get me." I cling to him. "But Kills, nothing can happen to you. I just got you."

"I don't plan on anything happening," he says, "but I wasn't factoring in three carloads of goons."

"So maybe we reevaluate the plan," I suggest. "They don't know we're here. Let's just walk away."

There's a short concussive rattle, and something clangs loudly off the side of the trailer.

"Too late," Killian says. "They saw us."

16

There Was A Firefight!

The trailers provide excellent cover, it turns out. They’re parked at an angle, so we can hunker in the shelter of the huge double wheels, and the tires provide a nice stable surface to rest the muzzle of the assault rifles on.

The problem is, we're wildly outnumbered.

They have us pinned down, and with their numerical superiority, they can keep us pinned down.

"This may have been a mistake," Killian shouts over the din of gunfire.

"No shit!" I yell back.

"We can't just sit here trading volleys," he says, after popping up and sending a burst in the general direction of the bad guys. "It's a losing game for us."

"So what, then?"

I feel panic squeezing around my chest—this was my idea. Ambush heavily-armed and well-trained professional mercenaries, I said. It'll be easy, I said Just run off into the sunset, I said.