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“I hear you, believe me, I do. Luca had a younger brother, Julio, who was being groomed to take Luca’s place when their father, the capo, stepped down and Luca took his place. Either way, with Luca dead, the baby of the family would get his opportunity, but their cartel fell apart before he got the chance. I don’t know all the details, but I heard their father was killed and their gun running business collapsed after your op. And as you well know, they are now trading in skin.”
“So, you’re telling me this is revenge for his brother? Because whilst I’d like to believe that, it doesn’t explain Jess’ involvement or the part her dad is playing.”
“Now that, I don’t fucking know the answer to. It’s been bugging me too.”
Finally feeling able to continue driving, I pull back out onto the road. “I’m heading back to London, but if you get anything—”
“You’ll be the first to hear when I get my answers, Rick. And don’t think I’m not pissed at you for letting those bastards get their hands on my girl, but you’ll keep.”
Heading down the slip road to the motorway, my phone chimes with an email, but not recognising the name as anything important, I leave it.
Thirty-Eight
Jess
I’m lying on my back, staring at the ceiling and still unable to move. Not that I’d be able to move far even without the effects of the drug still holding my body hostage. I watched helplessly as they shackled me to the bed frame before leaving me here.
We travelled in the van for hours, so my guess is we’ve either gone back towards London, which I hope is the case, or headed further north.
At one point the feeling started to return to my muscles, but before I had the chance to use the opportunity, the bastards pulled over and injected me with more muscle relaxant shit.
Now though, the feeling is returning to the tips of my fingers and toes, and I hope they don’t give me anymore. I’m seriously getting sick of being kidnapped. It grows old quickly.
The room has grown dark while I’ve been lying here, and wherever we are, the house is quiet. I guess I should be grateful for better accommodation this time round.
Time passes slowly as the moon moves passed the only window in the room, and at some point, I must have fallen asleep.
A bang wakes me, and the moon has now been replaced with a very low and rising sun casting its ray directly across my face. I turn my head away and close my eyes again. They spring open as I realise I can move my head. Testing the rest of my body, I wriggle my toes, roll my ankle, until eventually I raise an arm in the air.
“Thank fuck,” I whisper. It takes me another minute to realise I’m no longer shackled to the bed. My brow furrows in confusion at the fact I’ve been left unrestrained.
Slowly and as quietly as possible, I sit up, taking in my surroundings. It’s a plain and average room with little to no furniture other than the bed and a small chest in one corner. White walls, no curtains and a room off to the right that contains a small sink and toilet and nothing more.
Rising from the bed, I search the room and toilet for anything useful, but it’s pointless. I use the toilet and wash my hands and face. Sitting back down, I wait. And wait. And wait.
Eventually, the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside reaches me. Closing off everything, all my emotions, facial expressions and thoughts, I lock them all away hoping to fool whoever is coming for me into thinking I’m a scared little woman. I desperately want to escape, and maybe do a little damage on the way out, but I need to be realistic. I don’t know my way around the house, and I don’t know how many men are here either.
Knowing my situation and what I’m facing is my greatest power here. It also helps that I don’t have anyone else to worry about like last time. It’s just little old me, so I’m prepared to fight with everything I’ve got.
When the door finally opens, the two men from yesterday file in. They’re pretty nondescript; one larger than the other, both have greasy, short dark hair and dark stubble covers their jaws. Their tanned skin and accents I heard from snippets of conversation yesterday tell me they aren’t British, although their English is very good.
I remain quiet as they come further into the room and wait for them to speak first. Only they don’t speak, instead they march across the room, each snatching hold of an arm and hauling me to my feet.
At which point I begin my Oscar worthy performance.
“Please, no. Please, let me go. Who are you? What are you going to do with me?” I cry, even managing to force a couple of tears from my eyes. I pull back against their hold, shaking my arms to get free, and I even relax my body slightly, so they have to drag me from the room and down the corridor. All the while I sob and cry, begging them to let me go.
I take note of every door we pass and every turn we make. There are only 4 other doors up here, so not a huge house. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I see that it’s a standard house, nothing fancy or extravagant.
The men practically carry me into a room off the main hall while I continue to struggle and cry. It’s an office come library, and every wall is shelving stacked with files or books.
“I haven’t seen you throw a tantrum this good since you were five years old, Jessica. As entertaining as this is, you can drop the act now,daughter.”
I stop struggling instantly. Everything stops; my breathing, the crocodile tears and even my heart stops beating momentarily. The shock at hearing my father’s voice is like a shot of heroin. His words are the dirty brown liquid that floods my veins making me nauseous and my skin itch. There’s no high, no euphoria, just a serene calmness that washes over me.
“Fuck you, Father.” My words are calm, just like me, but laced with poison. Turning to the man on my right, who is still holding my bicep with a steel grip, I say, “Left or right-handed?” He looks confused at my question, but I raise my brows, urging him to answer.
“Left. Wh—” Before he can finish, I raise my right arm, bending at the elbow and land a fist to his face. It’s not as hard as I would have liked, but it’s enough to force him to release his hold on me, and I quickly grab his left hand and tuck it under my armpit, then snap it back. The sound of bones cracking is drowned out by his screams, and I release him.
