79. Tessa

79

Tessa

M y stomach grumbles. It's been hours since one of Mashkov's guards shoved me in my room and locked the door. The light has gradually faded and it's now dark outside. Rain lashes the window, the weather matching my mood perfectly.

Since I have no way of knowing what the time is, or even if anyone is going to feed me, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

Thoughts of Harry, the guys, and Buttons overtake me while I listen out for any sign of activity outside my bedroom door. But it's silent. I can't even hear the guards patrolling outside. The tears come, like they always do when the reality of my current situation gets too much to handle.

After a while, I curl on my side and close my eyes. It doesn't look like anyone is coming for me.

Just as I'm drifting off, one of Mashkov's more obnoxious guards flings the door open. He strides in, grabs my ankle, and pulls me off the bed. I land in a confused heap on the floor. Thank god I'm still dressed. Not that he seems to notice. Or care.

None of Mashkov's guards look at me that way, thank God. They mostly treat me like I'm invisible, which is fine by me.

"Get some shoes on. We're leaving."

"What's going on? I'm not leaving without my daughter."

"Fine. We do it your way." Before I can protest, the man picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I scream and hit him but it's like slamming my fists into a brick wall. He doesn't even react.

The house is silent as the hulking guard carries me down corridors and into the garage. Harsh lights illuminate rows of expensive cars, but he walks past the Lamborghini and G-Wagon. Instead, I'm tossed inside an Escalade, where another armed guard is waiting.

Mashkov sits in the front passenger seat. From his taut expression, something has happened. I'm guessing this little trip wasn't on tonight's schedule. Is my father coming for me?

A small ember of hope flares to life deep inside. It's been a week - maybe longer - they must have figured out where I am.

"Please, let me go," I plead. "Let me take Chloe and leave. It's better for everyone."

But Mashkov is unmoved. He gestures at the driver and the car pulls out of the garage, heading toward the tall metal gates that guard the entrance to his palatial home.

The rain falls so hard I can barely see out of the windows. The driver presses a button and the glass slides down. A guard murmurs something and then we are on the move.

The farther away from the house we go, the more my heart breaks. My daughter is inside that house. Alone. Unprotected. And there's nothing I can do.

I'm in a cage, surrounded by other women, also locked in cages. Not for the first time since Mashkov's men stole me from Kade's car, I'm afraid. This is the type of fear that locks me in place, freezing the blood in my veins.

A few of the women in this hellhole cry softly, but most are silent. Trapped in their own private nightmares, just like me.

I'm still wearing loose cotton pants and a tee. They don't offer much protection against the chilly air, but at least I'm mostly covered. The woman in the cage next to me is naked. Lurid bruises cover her body and there is dried blood on her face and thighs.

I can't even begin to imagine what she's gone through. Far worse than me, it seems. She must feel the weight of my gaze because she looks up and cracks open a swollen eye.

"This is what happens when you fight back," she rasps through cracked lips, gesturing down at her poor abused body.

"It's better than just taking what they hand out," I whisper, unsure whether anyone's listening.

"Don't worry," she smirks, "they'll soon beat that out of you." Then she closes her eyes and turns away.

A woman on my other side creeps over to the bars between us. "You're older than most in here," she observes. She's right. Some of the women nearby are younger than me by at least a decade. Probably more.

Her blond hair is greasy at the roots, but she's relatively unharmed. If a bit thin. She's still clothed too, although her crop top and hot pants don't cover much.

"Why are you here?" she asks, raising one eyebrow.

"Why are you here?" I counter.

"My pimp sold me to pay off his drug debt. Looks like I'll be swapping one raging cunt for another."

"You were working as a hooker?"

"Yeah. The last few days have been like a fucking vacation. Two meals a day and no punters." She half-laughs, but there's an undercurrent of anxiety there all the same. Like me, she doesn't know what's ahead.

My neighbor goes quiet after that. I sit on the floor, trying to stay warm. I've no idea where we are. Mashkov's guards brought me in through a steel door at the back of a warehouse. We could be anywhere in the city. I haven't seen Mashkov since we arrived, but I suspect he'll appear.

A symphony of sobs and whimpers breaks up the monotony as I try not to think about what's coming.

The guard who dragged me from my bedroom back at Mashkov's house refused to say anything. I try to tell myself that if Stella survived being kidnapped by a Mexican cartel crime lord, I can survive this. At least I'm still in the US; Matteo Silva took her to Mexico.

He's still locked up, thank fuck. As is Brax's grandmother, Lily Walker.

Netflix did a True Crime documentary on her. Stella and I got shit-faced on tequila and binge-watched it when it first came out. It was both horrible and hilarious. The actress playing Lily was scary as fuck. And also old. We cackled like witches while thinking about how pissed she'd be about that.

I wonder if Stella knows what's happened to me. Have the guys told her? I hope so. I'd hate it if my friend thought I'd ghosted her. She knows I'm shit about replying to messages these days, but I have tried to make more of an effort lately. It's not Stella's fault she's living the dream while I'm living a nightmare.

A door clangs open and music filters in. Five muscular men appear, all armed with semi-automatic weapons. Why, I have no clue. It's not like any of the half-starved, broken women down here are going to fight back.

"Hello, ladies." A skinny guy in a white suit appears from behind the meatheads. "It's almost your time to shine! He claps his hands and surveys the cages with a frown. From his unimpressed expression, none of us pass muster.

Then his gaze catches on me in my cage, and he smiles. "You, red-haired chick, come with me. The boss has plans for you." He gestures at a guard to unlock my cage and I'm pulled out, none too gently.

"Good luck," my neighbor in the hot pants whispers. "See you in Hell."