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“Great. Now we’re gonna owe him another favour.”
The answer then came to me like a bolt of lightning. I was on a private plane owned by a Bratva boss.
“Somehow, I doubt he’ll be cashing in on this one.” He smirked.
I didn’t have to see myself in a mirror to know that I looked like someone had drugged me, rolled around in mud and then scratched up to hell. My body ached in places I didn’t know existed and I wasn’t even sure if a hundred showers would be enough to remove the unclean feeling I had. Suddenly, my stomach twisted in knots, and I felt incredibly uncomfortable.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a change of clothes for me on the plane, would you?” I asked. “I wouldn’t want to get one of his seats dirty. I’ve decided not to piss off certain individuals if it’s possible.”
“I had one of the guys grab you some clothes,” he responded with a smile. “As for you not pissing anyone off, I’ll believe it when I see it. Somehow I think you’ll be back to your blunt self in no time.” He walked to the back of the plane and grabbed a bag out of one of the overhead compartments. Then he handed it to me and said, “I know it’s not ideal, but you might be able to clean up a bit in the bathroom. As rich as he is, I doubt there’s an actual shower on here.”
“Thanks.”
After that, he left me to my own devices, the sound of his footsteps fading away. He was right about the lack of a shower, but I rummaged through the area for something that would serve. I managed to find a few water bottles and enough hand wipes to make me feel almost clean again.
Or at least clean enough that I didn’t want to crawl out of my skin.
I grasped the worn clothing I had, and with a heave, I threw it into the trash, the smell of mustiness lingering in the air. No matter how hard I tried, I still felt an invisible layer of filth. I would definitely need to have a proper shower when I got home. I crossed my fingers that the clubhouse had a water heater big enough to provide the steaming hot shower I was dreaming of.
For the twenty or so minutes I had been in the bathroom, I could hear the sound of my own breathing, almost as if it was trying to encourage me to look in the mirror. There was something about seeing my face that would make this all seem more real. I didn't want to have the same haunted look of helplessness in my eyes that we saw when aiding victims of trafficking. No matter how much I tried to push away my thoughts, they stayed with me.
Even if I hadn’t personally experienced the trauma that others had, the fear of what had happened still haunted my thoughts.
I. Had. Been. Trafficked.
Some asshole had knocked me out, drugged me up and handed me off to the Cartel. Hell, if Erik wouldn’t have found me, I could be in Mexico or Columbia, or even Russia by now. The only reason I was here right now was because of my connections.
I shook my head.
I couldn’t go there.
Not. Right. Now.
Maybe never.
But if I didn't manage to put that experience away in a tidy mental box, I could unravel when I was all alone. Erik was already tense, so the last thing he needed was for me to panic and make a scene while we were several thousand feet in the air.
Fuck it.
I stared into the mirror, still not fully meeting my own reflection. It took what felt like a full minute for my eyes to draw up and finally lock with the ones staring back at me. I stared and stared, my pulse suddenly in my ears as I took in the haunted look painted on my face. I could see the fear, which meant others might too, and I can't have that. Shaking my head, I drop my gaze and slog through the process of dressing myself.
Blood and grime removed? Check.
Scratched face revealed? Check.
Haunted eyes? Check.
I placed my hand on the doorknob, then paused again. Then I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and turned the knob, the door creaking as I opened it. When I stepped outside the room, I could feel a heaviness in the air that made me want to turn back around. Erik and our new amigo Juan shared an uneasy silence, their faces expressing their mutual concern.
I shook my head, feeling my hair brush across my face, hoping neither of them would ask questions or comment on my appearance. Once I was assured they would keep their mouths shut, I took in their positions. Seeing the two of them together was so amusing that it was almost impossible to suppress a laugh. They were seated on opposite sides of the plane, as far away from each other as the tiny space would allow.
I took a page out of their books and sat just as far away. I wanted some semblance of being alone. We were all finally seated on the aircraft, the hum of the engines and the vibration of the plane indicating that we were bound for home. I cast one final glance at my brother and then I felt my eyelids flutter shut.
And before I knew it, I was out like a light.
When I woke up, I felt a sense of urgency as we rushed off the plane, and hopped into the vehicle sent by Moreno. We stepped out of the car, the driver giving us a nod as he drove away with Juan, leaving us with the scent of exhaust in the air outside the clubhouse. We looked at each other, unsure when we would set eyes on him again. I hadn't had an opportunity to ask Erik what was happening yet, but I was determined to find out the moment we could talk privately.
With my head held high, and my brother’s jacket over my shoulders, I entered the clubhouse. I was so exhausted that I was sure I looked like death, but nothing mattered more than finally being home. When my feet crossed the threshold of the door, I was met with a sudden sense of stillness. Instead of the expected roar of conversation, the clubhouse was nearly silent save for a few of our closest acquaintances.
