Authors: Elizabeth Finn
Chapter 23
The next morning, Liz and I are sent to the spa for the day. As Derek walks us to a waiting cab, Liz asks, “Why aren’t we taking the limo?”
Derek doesn’t hesitate before answering her honestly. “I don’t want Mr. Grayson knowing where to find Ashton. The cab driver knows to wait for you, and I’ve taken care of his expense for the day. If you get done early, go shopping, out to lunch, a movie. I don’t care. Just don’t come back to Trimbles before this evening. Mr. Grayson is scheduled to fly out to Vegas this evening, so as long as you stay gone until early evening, you’ll be fine.”
He then turns to me and speaks directly to me. “I’m sorry. I’d take you myself, but if I’m here, Mr. Grayson will be less likely to try to find you.”
His eyes flit quickly to Liz’s before he leans to my mouth and kisses me gently. I look to Liz and take in her shocked, open mouth and wide eyes.
And in Liz form, she can’t keep her mouth shut; however different Liz and I are, she’s so very much like me in this regard. “Well, never thought I’d see that one. Well done, Mr. Pennington.” And before he can say a word to her, she climbs in the cab.
I stay watching Derek as he inhales deeply. His hands move to the wide black belt of my favorite gray dress, enveloping my small waist with his hands, and he leans to me, kissing me once again before speaking. “I love this dress on you. You look so beautiful. Be careful today, okay?” I nod and agree.
The cab pulls away from the curb, and he stays watching us. What sage advice that was, and perhaps had I heeded that advice better, my day would have stayed pleasant, rather than the nightmare it would turn out to be.
* * * *
When the darkness is pulled over my eyes as I’m waiting for the hairstylist to arrive, it takes an eternity for my mind to register what is happening. I was relaxed in one moment, and being dragged, kicking and screaming, the next. The black bag over my head is abrasive and suffocating, but it isn’t the bag that has me most terrified; it is what lies beyond it. I’m forced into the back of a car and pushed to what feels like the middle of the back seat, given the ridge that rises up between my feet, and as two bodies move in beside me, I hear Liz screaming a short distance away. But it is useless. As her screams continue, the doors are slammed shut, dampening the terrified sound of her voice as she yells desperately for them to let me go. The tires squeal away from the curb, and my last connection to anything in this world that cares about me slips away. I’m gasping, I’m struggling, I’m pleading, but for my efforts, I get a strong fist to the stomach that leaves me sucking in desperate breaths.
After the punch to the gut, I give up struggling. I sit, trying to control my panicked breathing as the car moves through traffic. The sounds change over time, and what was the busy sound of Manhattan turns to a quieter din as the miles fade away. When at long last the car pulls off whatever highway we’re on, it is to a bumpy, gravelly road. The men surrounding me are saying nothing at all, and I’m not inclined to try to communicate with them either. I know their type, and there is no doubt these men are after a debt that belonged to my father. They must have been watching me. They must not be happy with the money I’m bringing. It makes no sense though. They have more money coming to them now than I’ve ever been able to pay them before. I’d thought if I kept the money coming they would be satisfied. Their only concern is for the money, and I’m no good to them dead, so why are they here now?
The car stops, and I brace myself for what is to come. I know from experience they will be rough. They have no sense of chivalry or integrity. They’ll have no problem beating the shit out of me for something I can’t even control, but that begs the question again—what the hell have I done wrong? If I knew why this was happening, I could get a handle on the situation, but until today, I thought I was safe. I thought I was keeping them at bay with every last cent of my income floating from Trimbles to them!
I’m still running through the possible scenarios when I’m grabbed by my bound hands and pulled forcefully from the car. The ground beneath me is dirt. As I’m dragged across the uneven surface, the dirt is scraped up by the heels of my black ballet flats, and it starts to fill my shoes before they both eventually fall off. My legs are bare in my dress, and the skirt is riding up dangerously high, even given its conservative cut. These men have blessedly never used sex as a means of controlling me. They’ve always preferred a heavy fist, which, to this point, I’ve been grateful for. But they know my new profession, and I can’t help but fear they’ll turn this against me.
I’m pulled up some steps, concrete given the way they scrape across the skin of my calves harshly. And I’m dragged over a threshold of some sort into a dank and dirty-smelling room. The floors are still hard, but by the echoing of voices and the doors being closed, I know we’re now inside somewhere. I’m pulled to a standing position, lowered to a seat, and then finally handcuffed to the chair with my legs tied to the chair legs. I’ve been in this very position with these thugs before. I likely won’t recognize a one of them. They are always different men, but they always carry the same message and deliver it in the same way. I just don’t understand; I’ve done nothing wrong!
As the bag is pulled from my face, I blink as my eyes adjust to the light. It isn’t bright, but I’ve been in the dark for what seems like hours. I’m in a house, abandoned and old by the looks of it. There are boards over most of the windows, and the sun filters in through the gaps in the wood. The dust particles hanging in the air of the age-old home are lit up by the small amount of sunlight. There is old wallpaper peeling from the walls, and there are holes in the old plaster lattice walls. It smells, and as I look around, it sinks in. I’m nowhere near home. Derek will never be able to find me here, and the fact that I’m so confused about why I’m here doesn’t comfort me in the least.
In the past, if these men wanted to “talk” to me, it meant they weren’t happy with the sporadic and often meager amount of money I was providing them. The fact that I’m providing them with a constant supply of very decent money has me terrified. At least if money is a concern, I know they will leave me alive because I cease to be useful to them at all if I’m dead. But if money isn’t the concern, then what is their purpose, and what will keep them from killing me?
I look from one to another, eight men in total, and as I suspected, the faces are all new. Some are the very epitome of thug, and others look oddly young, and even handsome. But as my eyes fall on one man in particular standing at the back of the crowd, I still in horror. I know this face. I could never forget this face. And I haven’t seen this face since five years before, when I watched as he killed my parents. He’s smiling at me, and as he walks forward, the small group of men part for him. He is in charge here. I’m filled with a sudden overwhelming and self-destructive hatred for him. I’m fighting the urge to yell at him and let him finish me off, but I’m also terrified too … in a way I never imagined. These faceless men can be ruthless, and they always have been with me, but the man walking toward me now can be murderous, and I know this for a fact.
I start begging, stifling my hatred and desire to curse him. If I have any chance of ever getting home to Derek again, I cannot give this man any reason to kill me. “I’m sorry. I’ve sent every last bit of money I’m making every week. I don’t understand why I’m here. I’m working. I’m paying … please just let me go home so I can keep working.”
The man I loathe more than any other in the world approaches me. He is tall, strong, and handsome. He’s changed little in the five years since I’ve seen him. If I were to guess, I’d say he is middle-aged, far older than the other men in the room. They are very obviously his drones, and the manner in which he regards them is casual.
This is a man that controls everything around him, and his words send a chill through my body as he starts to speak. “I appreciate your money, Ms. Monroe, but I have some concerns about your behavior to discuss. Now I want you to listen very carefully to what I tell you. When I referred you to Trimbles, it wasn’t because I believed you’d make a good escort. Quite frankly, I thought you’d run away screaming. Imagine my surprise when you actually stayed. Mr. Grayson was … very accommodating in hiring you. Of course, he was given no choice. He has his own debts to me. But I needed him to ensure you would be given a job. It’s not as if a girl like you could get a job at a place like that on your own… But, when I hear you are failing to do your job, and you are costing Trimbles clients, that just isn’t good business for me. After all, if you get yourself fired, you are back to being a broke whore that can’t pay me the money that is owed me. And if you cause Trimbles to lose clients, you are effectively making it difficult for Mr. Grayson to pay me the money
he
owes me. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I nod slowly, taking in his words.
My mistake from the night before was turning out to be more far-reaching than either Derek or I could possibly have known. And it is suddenly so clear. Mr. Grayson has been working with these men to ensure I make them money, and that means, if I screw up, they will know instantly. And a fact I’ve known all along comes bouncing into my mind. Mr. Grayson is no friend of mine. That bastard!
The man is not finished with his speech, and he continues. “Now, Mr. Grayson has advised me that you had some problems doing your job last night, and as a result, Trimbles lost a client. Please understand, Ms. Monroe, that will not happen again. Mr. Grayson may be a simpering fuck of a man, but he serves his own purpose to me, so, as you can guess, I have a vested interest in the profitability of Trimbles. I’m in the business of making money, and making good on the money that is owed me.” I’m still nodding.
Part of me is relieved that no one is hitting me yet, but part of me is also chilled to the bone. I’m not nearly as safe at Trimbles as I’d thought I was. It never occurred to me in a million years that Trimbles’ interests were monitored, and even controlled by these men, the very men who own my life, and quite frankly, the man I hate more than any other in the world.
As this man continues to look at me, he continues speaking, and his next words have my heart racing and my hands pulling and straining against the handcuffs. “In the past, I’ve given my men free rein to divvy out your punishment as they saw fit. I’m sure you remember.” He gives me an evil wink. Of course I remember—a broken nose, cracked ribs, black eyes, cuts, endless bruises, and pain—God-awful amounts of pain. “But you’re a working girl now. We can’t very well mar that beautiful skin of yours, now can we? I mean … we want you working. If you’re not working, you are no good to me.” He’s smiling gently at me, but menacingly. He’s a monster. The glint in his eye is all the confirmation of this fact I need. “So what can be done to drive the point home? No pun intended. I mean you are a whore after all. Let’s face it. It’s your job to get fucked. So, I was thinking, and hear me out … I know we’ve never gone down this path with you.”
He’s still taunting me and mocking me as he scratches his chin in mock contemplation. He’s torturing me with his words, and the tears in my eyes are impossible to contain. “Angus here,” indicating a nearby brute that looks like a toad, “he’s an ass man. And he would love nothing more than to fuck that ass of yours. I mean, let’s face it, you obviously need some remedial training in that area if I’m being informed correctly. Then there’s Jonathan. He’s not much for the ass, but he would fuck the hell out of your pretty little pussy.” Now he’s indicating a tall, plain-looking man on his other side. “There’s really more than enough of you to go around. Right?” He’s looking around at his men as they snort derisively at his comment.
I’m in full panic mode. My hands are strained tight against the cuffs. I’m crying, and I’m pleading. Pathetically pleading. Begging with every ounce of my being, and as I beg, he kneels in front of me. With a torturous hand creeping up the inside of my thigh, he watches my terror build and my pleas continue. My legs are tied to the legs of the chair, and I can’t close them to his invading touch. When he reaches my naked sex, he runs a finger between the cleft of my lips as I sob.
He looks to my eyes, and he finishes his perfectly executed torture. “Maybe I can give you one more chance to be a good girl, yeah?” I’m nodding as his hand slowly withdraws from me. “I have no problem making a whore work, so please know I’m dead serious when I say you will do your job, or I will feed you to the wolves. They need a treat every once in a while.” I’m still nodding as my tears stream down my cheeks. He stands, looks down to me, and gives me one final word of advice. “If your manager, Mr. Pennington, can’t keep you in line, I’ll see to it he’s replaced. I’m sure one of my men here would be more than happy to be the newest house manager at Trimbles. Mr. Grayson doesn’t like the man, and I have no doubt he’d love to see Mr. Pennington disposed of. Please understand, Mr. Grayson means nothing to me, nor does Mr. Pennington, so while I don’t want to kill Mr. Pennington, I’ll see to it if I need to. If he’s going to be a problem for you, he’ll need to be removed. It’s just business, baby!” He’s smiling now, but a whole new wave of tears streams down my cheeks. And these are for Derek.
As the man walks from the room, he looks back over his shoulder to the other men and says, “You know what to do with her.” And with this final command, he looks to me once more, and winks his evil wink before speaking his last words to me. “Sorry, doll. I can’t let you leave completely unscathed. It’s just a bit of battery acid. Not concentrated enough to kill you. It will leave a mark, I’m afraid, but we’ll keep it small and well hidden. Have fun.”
My panic returns as I start to again struggle and fight against the restraints that have me so tightly held in place, and as a man carrying a glass vial with a dropper enters the room, I start begging and pleading. The men ignore my every word. They ignore me, in fact, as though I’m not even in the room. They couldn’t care less about me. They have no feeling whatsoever about what they’re getting ready to do, and I continue to fight and beg in vain.