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Oh no. Duct tape means rape. Death. No escape. The thoughts roll around my brain in a loop, and I begin to thrash and punch, heedless of the gun, but it's no use.
One holds me down while the other tapes up my mouth. Then they flip me over onto my stomach and smoosh my face into the carpeted base of the trunk, while the other drags my arms behind my back and lashes my wrists tightly together with the tape. They do the same to my ankles.
"We should teach the bitch a real lesson. Fucking cunt bloodied my nose." A rough hand shoves between my legs from behind, fingers poking and prodding, and I whimper into the carpet.
Not that. Please, not that.
Then the other one says, "Boss wants her intact. You willing to risk his rage by sampling the goods ahead of time?"
The hand is promptly removed, and even though I hate the "boss," whoever he may be, a little part of me is thankful for his intervention.
Even in absentia, his goons are obviously scared of him.
Then the lid slams shut, leaving me in darkness, and the car takes off again. I roll around among God knows what debris while I listen to the smooth purr of the car engine and hang on to my sanity by a thread.
Hot tears sprout and fall, unchecked, down my cheeks. My nose starts to drip uncontrollably, too, and numbly, I wonder if I’ll suffocate before their “boss” gets the chance to rape and kill me.
Try not to think about your friends, who may or may not be dead.
Try not to hyperventilate.
Try to stay alive.
2
“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”
Stephen King
Rio
The red weltacross her left cheek stands out, because the rest of her face is so pale. Is she about to faint? Not that it will have much impact if she does, because she’s already lying on the floor of the guest suite, trussed up like a Christmas turkey.
Her long dark hair spills every which way, and her glare above the duct tape covering half her face could probably bore a hole through metal.
Those eyes, almost golden in this moment, are like treacle, with a darker hue around the edge of the irises that gives her a seductive air. The photograph in the file did not do them justice.
Slowly, I turn to Danelli. “Youbrought her here and left her like this? Who hit her?”
He swallows, staring down at the Carlotti woman with a slight frown. “No, sir… Boss, I mean… No. Two Delta team members brought her in. This is the first I’ve seen of the situation.”
“I gave explicit orders not to touch her. That will be my prerogative, if and when I choose.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you intend to do about it, Danelli?”
“Talk to the team. Find out who touched her, and deal with it.”
“Ensure you do. And then consider how my orders, and the actions that ensued, did not match. I will not tolerate that situation again. This is your first—andonly—warning. Out.”
My second scurries from the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Danelli makes a good right hand. That’s the only reason I cut him slack in this instance. I will consider how to punish him later.
I turn my attention to the woman on the floor. Even now, with her tearstained and snot-covered face, she is glaring at me as if she wants to kill me.
A smile threatens to lift my lips. Perhaps the Mafia princess is buried somewhere deep inside her, after all.
