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UNDERCOVER DESIRES
CHAPTER ONE
Rachel
I cannot die like this.
I am trapped in my goddamn car, my seat belt biting into my skin. The smell of burning rubber stings my nostrils. Blood is oozing from a nasty gash on my forehead, slowly trickling down my face, mixing with my tears and sweat. My throat is closing up in pain, and I think I have also broken a rib.
Fuck! I don’t want it to end like this.
My head is throbbing and there is a ringing in my ears. It takes me a while to register the voice of the man behind all this. It cuts through the chaos like a sharp knife. “Yes, boss. It is done. The girl is dead.” He adds something, maybe in Italian, but my mind is too fuzzy to make out what he is really saying.
“Let me check,” he adds, and I hear the crunching of his shoes as he steps closer to the car.
I look around the enclosed place.
My red Mini Cooper, the car I dreamed of and got for my sixteenth birthday, is about to turn into my murder scene. My heart sinks as I try to tug on the seat belt again. Panic claws at my throat.
A sharp pain slices through my back. My injuries are a lot worse than I had initially thought.
The man crouches and I immediately shut my eyes, trying really hard to play dead. The smell of stale cigarettes wafts over my face, as he leans in closer.
He laughs, the sound making my skin crawl. His hand reaches out and brushes a few strands of my hair off my face. I hold my breathe. If he finds out I am playing possum, I am dead.
“What a waste!” he tsks, as he runs his fingers over my bruised cheek and the open gashes over my lip and forehead.
Memories of my mother come rushing back,
Her white flowy gown, her still body still warm to the touch.
The open empty pill bottle beside her, the handwritten suicide note, and the dried up shriveled petals and stem of a crumpled up black rose. The final piece of the puzzle.
Then the call to 911 as my hands trembled and shook.
The look of contained pain as the doctor on call informed me later on that they could unfortunately not save her.
The whispered condolences from the waiters who worked at the club with mother.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
The weeks investigating to try to find out more about the murderers.
The late nights of research.
I had to avenge her.
I can still feel the press of the note in my pocket. I have been carrying it with me every day since.
Fuck! I cannot die like this.
His rough calloused thumb is still tracing my cheekbones and my brows when his phone rings and he abruptly stops. And just as quickly as he walked towards me, he walks away.
I feel an inexplicable sense of relief and warm tears I cannot hold back, even as I try, slide down my face. I have got to get out of here. I am only eighteen, I am way too young to be murdered in this game of fate.
If I die, I let them win. I cannot allow that to happen.
They might have run me off the road, but if I can survive this, I will find another way.
