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I only have a few seconds to see how badly I’ve ripped up their guts when my focus goes right back to saving Iris. I have no time to gloat about how great of a shot I am right now.
I motion for the men to follow me down, still choosing not to speak my commands as the gunfire has effectively deafened us all for the time being. Besides, it would be unwise of me to give away our next moves if Vitale was hiding in the basement.
The fact that I haven’t found Vitale or Amy yet makes my blood boil. Have they had these drones here working like prison guards so that they don’t have to participate in their own horrific crimes? How would he have even known that we were on our way out here?
As soon as we’re downstairs, I see Iris chained to a chair, slumped over, with her makeup running down her face as hot tears track her mascara over her cheeks. Her eyes open wide in terror when she sees me, but the second she realizes that it’s really me, her face lights up to the best of her ability in her given state.
I want to embrace her, kiss her and tell her that everything is going to be okay from now on – but it’ll have to wait. We need to get out of here and find Vitale immediately.
I’m temped to ask Iris if she knows where he is, if she could have overheard someone saying anything of importance. Her eyelids flutter closed as she attempts in vain to stay upright, and I realize that she must have been dosed with something.
Even with all the chaos around me, the sight of her in such a state makes my chest hurt. She’s such a sweet girl who only ever wanted to expose the truth about the criminals in the city. She even worked on projects attempting tohumanizesome of the worst men in this city’s history.
My fight or flight finally kicks in all the way, and I break a rusty chain link with the butt of my gun in order to set her free. I don’t have the time to try to cut her away.
I pick her up from the chair, and she embraces me with as much strength as she can muster in her condition. I’d do anything to be holding her in a bed, unbothered by the chaos of the world around us. But, for all intents and purposes, we’ve initiated a war zone that we must leave immediately.
There are no other men here to subdue us as we run up the stairs, so we retreat to our vehicles without another second of time wasted.
When I seat Iris next to me with her head on my lap, she looks up at me with both betrayal and admiration as they fight for her attention. I know what I should be expecting when we get home, and I spend the entire drive back preparing for it.
20
Iris
When we pull up to the house, I’m too stunned with anger to say anything to Matteo. He didn’t say a single word to me the entire drive home, despite the fact that I had just been savedtwicefrom sex trafficking. At this point, I’m certain that my circumstances would have been far worse the second time around. Vitale was hellbent on getting me on a ship to Eastern Europe, shoved into a crate with twenty other women and no air to breathe.
I’ve finally regained my strength from the muscle relaxer that I was given. I never thought I would have the opportunity to be grateful for my functioning limbs, but I swear I’ve never felt so free in my life. Nobody will be chaining me to chairs anytime soon. I’ve been made whole again.
At least physically I have.
I don’t even wait for Matteo to open the door for me like he typically does. I’m so anxious to get inside that I almost fall out of the truck, catching myself on the handlebar on the inner roof.
Matteo sees me as I almost severely injure myself, and all he can do for now is look away until one of us finds something else to suck all the air out of the room.
I wait for a few moments for him to come to his senses and apologize for everything, but he chooses not to. All he does is follow me into the house, where I immediately start to run up the stairs to my room.
“Where are you going? Don’t you want to say anything to me? Maybe thank me for saving your life?” he calls after me, employing the bemused tone of voice that reminds me just how condescending he can be.
I stop at the top of the stairs, enraged that he would make such a suggestion. “How fucking dare you! You’re sitting here demanding praise from me when you’re the reason that I could have been sold into human trafficking! I was there because I was trying to clearyourname!”
He scoffs at me, folding his arms and gazing up with contempt. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you weren’t such a shitty journalist, Amy wouldn’t have picked up that you were undercover. I heard the way you were talking with her. You sounded nervous and out of place. You’re not fit for this life at all.”
I scream into my hands at his audacity. “Oh no, I’m not a good match for fucking people over and putting them in harm’s way as my fucking job description? That sucks for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever recover.”
He’s laughing now, brushing off how ridiculous and irrational he must think I am. “You know that cuts deep. You think that being a journalist makes you so much more real, like your time working at a desk has earned you any street cred. You’re a fucking fake, just like the girls who date drug dealers.”
He knows he’s hitting me right where it hurts, and it’s beginning to affect me outwardly. Instead of even trying to comfort me after this ordeal, he’s choosing to attack my character.
Every positive feeling I’ve ever had about Matteo has been influenced by my physical attraction to him, and I can feel them withering in my chest. Those feelings that fueled every fantasy and dream I’ve had since I got here are based on nothing. Not only is he a criminal, but he’s a bully.
“You know what, Matteo? Fuck this. I’m leaving now. You can find some other bitch to live with you and eat your sob story right out of your hand. Maybe if you had a real job like I do, you wouldn’t have gotten framed for sex trafficking!” I shout down the stairs as I begin to stomp down the hall toward my room.
“Okay, whatever! I don’t give a shit!” he calls out right before I slam my door.
The moment I’m alone in my room, I realize that almost none of what I’ve been wearing or using actually belongs to me. All of the clothes and makeup were purchased for me by him as a “welcome gift”, at least according to him. Considering the events that have caused me to leave, I doubt I’m supposed to take them.
I decide to leave everything behind except for my laptop, charger, and duffel bag full of my own clothes. I shove everything into the largest compartment, not even bothering to arrange the items the way I do compulsively when I go on trips. I just need to get the fuck out of here.
