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Chapter One
"Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected."
? Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Gwen
Iopen my eyes. I am laying on a rough cement floor in a large empty warehouse. Dark. Old. Dirty. The building is quiet – too quiet.
I am alone. Cold. Headache. My neck feels heavy. I lift my hands and feel a metal collar around my neck. I pull on it with both hands. The collar does not budge. A chain hangs from my collar. I follow the links to the floor. I am attached to a hook.Where am I?
I look up. A dozen dirty, narrow windows are near the ceiling. Too high for me to reach. I smell gasoline.
I try to stand. My legs don’t move. My clothes are gone. I am only wearing my bra and panties.
The last thing I remember is walking out of my college advisor’s office at Chicago University this morning. I had been walking between buildings when I felt someone behind me. A hairy hand covered my mouth. A burning in my neck. Then nothing.
My father always worries that I will be kidnapped. My father is Zachary Fielding, the billionaire Chicago real estate tycoon. He is one of the most powerful men in Chicago. For years he has kept me safe - hidden away at private girl’s boarding schools. Now his worst fears have come true.
Have they contacted my father yet?
I hear a noise. A large steel door on the other side of the room rolls open. Three men walk in. Their muscles on display in tight blue jeans and sleeveless white t-shirts. The men’s exposed arms and necks all covered in tattoos. They leer at me. Dark eyes rake over my body. One of the men licks his lips. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Hola, Chica!” The shortest man exclaims in a Spanish accent.
I am terrified.
The shortest man squats down next to me. He puts his face right in my face. His eyes look crazy. He squeezes one of my breasts. I wince. The other men whistle.
“Don’t touch me!”
“I will do more than touch you Chica!” He slaps me across the face.
I barely feel it. I only feel fear.
“What do you want?” I stutter.
“Hey amigos, the bitch wants to know what we want! We want you, Chica.”
He laughs. He grabs my chin in one meaty hand. His grip is strong. His fingertips are dry and rough, like sandpaper. Tattoos cover his hands. His body odor and cheap cologne are overpowering. I try to pull away. His grip strengthens.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Ohh, she doesn’t know who I am! You lead such a sheltered life Chica,” his other hand fondles my breast, “I am Salvador Villalovos. I run the Razors.”
One of the men takes a photo of me with his cellphone.
I am breathing heavily. The beginnings of a panic attack.
“Please…” I beg.
“Don’t worry, Chica. I am just going to do play with you. I need you in one piece. You are my bargaining chip. I need to see how much you are worth to the Vincenzio Family.”
What? The Vincenzio family? Paul Vincenzio is a close friend of my father’s. They have been friends for years. I don’t understand.
He releases my chin and slaps me again. He leans over and puts his face between my legs and inhales. My skin crawls. I shudder. I feel violated. All three men speak in Spanish and laugh.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
