Chapter 24 - Fiona

When I first come to, I keep my body slouched, my head forward, relaxed. I listen, breathe, and take a moment to acclimate. It's humid where I am. The floor beneath my sneakers feels like concrete. There's the faint sound of water dripping.

"Does chloroform usually last this long?"

It's James Allard's voice. I recognize it immediately from countless weeks of him asking me to do "a quick little task" that ended up taking my entire weekend. I bristle at that memory, then remember that I'm literally tied to a chair right now after being abducted.

And this time, it was completely against my will.

"Just depends," someone says, and though I don't recognize the voice immediately, it comes to me. The man who would always hang around Olive. Who I thought was her boyfriend—the man who almost stabbed me and who actually did stab Boris.

My fingers itch to cause him pain.

"Look," James says, apparently seeing my fingers move. "She's waking up already."

"Joy," the other man says, and I promise myself that I'm going to take my time with him when I get my hands on him.

"Fiona," Mr. Allard says, his footsteps nearing me. "Dear, are you awake?"

I slowly lift my head, pretending to blink against the light, trying to make myself look as groggy as possible.

"Jesus, man," James says, glancing back at the other man. "How much did you use?"

"Enough," he says. "I heard the reports on her. I watched the footage of the night she was kidnapped and saw what she did to that guy. I wasn't taking any chances."

"I suppose that's fair," James says, and then to me, "Come on, wake up now."

"Mr. Allard?" I say, blinking heavily. "What's going on?"

I can't shake the image of him on the dock, kicking that poor woman. It's hard to reconcile that ruthless man with the one standing in front of me now. With the man who showed up at our dorm with homemade butter cake and peanut brittle. Who brought me into the fold of his family when he realized I didn't have one of my own.

"Fiona," he says, his voice in an unusual sing-song. "Sorry about the ties, but my dear Olive said that you may have some misconceptions about our friends, the Milovs, and I didn't want you getting any ideas. First, let's just get some things out in the air that I'm sure you're already pretty aware of, huh?"

I blink at him. I won't reveal anything. Keeping my cards close is the best play here.

"Well," he says, taking a deep breath and grabbing a chair, turning it around backward, and looking at me over the back of the chair. "I'm sure you've already figured out that I'm not just in the business of finance. I also deal in some…not-so-legal activities. But if you've been spending all this time around the Milovs, that surely doesn't come as a surprise to you."

I just look at him, trying to look dazed, like I'm still coming off the drugs.

" Anyway ," he says, taking a deep breath. "Here's what we're going to do. You can tell me about everything that happened while you were with the Milovs. We can get you some therapy to help you deal with all the awful things they did, and we can work on a plan to get back at them. I'm thinking of the sister, specifically. Seems those boys have a soft spot for her."

I want to tell him that first, of course, they do—they're family, and second, they all love one another equally. But I don't say a thing. I just stare at him.

If what he wants is information, that means he doesn't have it, and I won't be the one to give it to him.

"Fiona," he says before glancing back at the other guy. "Devon, what's up with this? You give her something else?"

"No, just the chloroform. Should have worn off by now."

James turns back to me, scrutinizing me closely, before letting out a cold little laugh. He sighs like he's exasperated with this whole situation.

"I see what this is. You know, Fiona, when you first became friends with my daughter, I had a private investigator do a little looking into your background. You may think the whole G.I. Joe thing was a secret, but it was pretty easy to find out details about your childhood. From your father's dishonorable discharge to the notes in your high school counselor's records. At first, I thought it strange that my vapid, air-headed daughter would be attracted to someone like you. Then I saw that you hide all that pretty well, don't you?"

I blink and swallow thickly.

"After that, I thought—you know, it could be useful to have this black-belt girl with my daughter at all times. I saw how much you loved her. It was obvious you would give your life for her. When the two of you stayed tight throughout college, I started to think about bringing you into my business—my real business. Is that something you would like, Fiona?"

He says it like he's offering a treat to a dog. I remember the way I'd salivated over Olive's lifestyle, over her family's lavish house. If I had known the terrible means they went through to gain that wealth, I never would have thought it so glamorous.

"You tried to have me killed," I spit.

"I didn't try to have you killed," he says, rolling his eyes. "If I had, you'd be dead. Know that, and stop being so dramatic."

He paces back and forth a few times, rubbing his chin.

"You know," he says, eyes finding mine. "I think you need some time to think this through. We'll leave you alone for a moment."

I watch as James and Devon leave through the door. A moment later, I'm alone in the room, with nothing but the dripping water to keep me company. I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to slow my heart rate so I can try and figure out what I'm going to do next.

There's rope around my arms and legs, covered with duct tape. It's going to be very difficult to get off without something sharp to use. I look around the room and identify a piece of stone jutting from the wall that looks like it could work. I just have to get close enough to it—

My eyes snap back to the door when it opens, and someone slips inside.

"Olive," I say, watching as she comes in, her eyes darting around. She has her arms wrapped around herself like she can't stand the idea of accidentally brushing against the walls.

"Fiona," she says when she finally focuses on me. "Oh my god—" she stops, putting a hand to her mouth for a moment. "You're tied up."

"Yeah, well, that's usually what you do when you abduct someone."

"Fiona, this is insane. Listen, I know that it's shocking about my dad—I only recently found out myself—but he's still the same man. He's still the good person, you know."

"Olive, what do you know about your dad."

"He's the leader of the Corsica," she says, her back straightening a little. "He built the French mafia up from practically nothing. Here on the West Coast, he's making a name for us."

"What else? What kind of stuff?"

"Like…" she pauses. "It doesn't matter. I know him. You know him. And all this stuff with the other mafia guy, I don't know what he's done to you—I don't even want to think about it—but you know we will get them back for it. For hurting you. I just need you to come to your senses and tell my dad you'll become a part of the Corsica with us."

"I won't."

"Fiona," she says, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "I don't—"

"Your dad does human trafficking. Do you know that, Olive?" I say, meeting her gaze with as much intensity as I can. "He is responsible for the death of a six-year-old kid. He planted a bomb in the facility where I was working just as a ploy to kidnap me—that bomb could have caught on jet fuel. Not only would it have killed many, many people, but it would have been an ecological disaster in the area. Could have started a forest fire."

"That's not true," she says, shaking her head. "He didn't—"

"Olive, I would never lie to you," I say, leaning forward, the duct tape biting into my skin. "You know that. I love you. You're my best friend. And I know you would never go along with this stuff. I know you."

Olive shakes her head, then swallows hard, like it's difficult for her to do.

"I just can't talk to you when you're like this," she says, a sob ripping up her throat. "I don't know what they did to you, how they brainwashed you, but I miss my friend."

With that, she turns and walks out of the room. My heartbeat echoes in my ears.

I start to shimmy the chair over to the wall, rubbing my wrists against it to cut through the tape and rope. It rubs painfully against my skin, tearing it open and making it bleed, but I have to push through the pain. A full minute later, I have a hand free, and the second one comes off even quicker. After that, I'm able to pull the duct tape off and untie the ropes around my ankles, getting to my feet.

My body feels a little stiff, a little strange, and hard to control at first, but I make it to the door, glancing up and down the hallway. Both directions look equally viable, but out of some luck, I'm still able to smell Olive's perfume, so I head in the opposite direction she went.

James must have sent her in to try and get her to talk to me. To try and convince me to abandon the Milovs and join up with his group. I shake my head as I walk, trying to shake out the pain in my leg. I must have been cramped up at some point, maybe in the trunk of a car after they kidnapped me.

I turn into another hallway, feeling like I'm getting closer to the exit, only to come face-to-face with the end of a gun.

"Fiona," Olive says, and the word comes out like a sob, breathy and sad. "Come on. Please don't make me do this."

"You're going to shoot me?" I ask, incredulous, glancing between her and the gun. She shakes her head, and I notice her hands are shaking as she points it at me.

I guess that having only recently found out about her dad and his true occupation, Olive hasn't had much training with this weapon. In one swift moment, I turned around and trapped her forearm between my side and my arm, quickly getting the gun from her grasp. I kick away from her and spin, pointing the gun at her with steady hands.

I realize she still had the safety on, and I wonder if she even knows what it is and how to disengage it. Her eyes go wide when she's the one on the end of the barrel.

"Fiona," she says, her eyes darting over my shoulder. I don't have time to react before Devon and James are upon me, knocking the gun away and dragging me back down the hallway.

One of them I might be able to take. Two of them will be nearly impossible.

Being rough now, they re-tie me to the chair, making the bindings even tighter so they dig into my sensitive flesh. I keep a straight face the entire time, refusing to let James see the pain he's causing me.

"Is it the drugs, Fiona?" he asks, kneeling down so he's at eye level with me. "Or the Milov brainwashing? What is making you act like this? Because once I can see that you're on our side, and you just give us some information about the family and how we can get our hands on Anya , we can let you out of here. You can even go back to that internship you enjoy so much. Or, even better, you can come and work for me properly."

"No," I say, bringing my eyes to his. If he knows I'm bluffing, I might as well stop letting him have his egotistical rant. "I would rather die than participate in the sick shit you do."

The man at the back of the room—Devon, apparently—lets out a snort, and James turns to fix him with a glare. He quickly sobers up, shaking his head in apology.

"That sick shit put Olive through college," James says, pulling a knife from his belt and running a finger along the blade.

"I managed to put myself through college without trafficking anyone."

James rears back, his chin softening as he does. All at once, I hate the stupid, hypocritical hurt on his face as he tilts his head, giving me an appraising look.

"I see the Milovs have told you some untrue things about me—"

"I saw it with my own eyes, James. You can deny—"

I see stars and taste blood when he hits me across the face with the back of his hand. Devon gets to his feet on the other side of the room, holding his hands up.

"Woah, woah, man, you didn't say you were going to—"

"Shut the fuck up," James says, whirling around and pointing at him. "You're on my payroll, sit down and close your fucking mouth." Then he turns back to me, a grin on his face. "And as for you, if you think you know so much about this world, you're running around and spying on people and just learning so much , then it's time you got a full introduction into what it means."

When I start laughing, James raises his eyebrows.

"What's so funny, Fiona?"

"What's funny is that you're beating me up now because you've got me drugged and tied up. But when the Milovs get here, and they get me out of these ropes, I'm going to kill myself. If Boris doesn't do it first."

"Oh, and what makes you so confident they care enough to come after you?" James taunts, walking around the back of the chair. I don't like having him behind me, and eventually, he circles back around to the front. "But more importantly, what makes you think they're going to know where to find you?

It's stupid, but I glance down at my forearm, where the tracking chip is implanted. I blame it on the drugs, on the situation, on the fact that my brain is still spinning from the blow. It's just a quick glance down at my arm, but it's too late.

James has seen it and gestures for Devon to hand him a knife.

The next time James Allard hits me, it feels like my brain rattles around in my skull, and I hold onto consciousness for just a second before passing out.