Mind Lies (27 page)

I’d live and die a thousand deaths for that woman, and don’t I feel like a stupid son of a bitch for wasting all the time I could have had with her. The Christmases and the dinner parties. I’ve never been to a fucking dinner party, but I’d do it for her. I’ve never been somebody’s plus-one on a wedding invitation, but I’d gladly fill the damn role.

I’d do anything.

And now it might be too late.

I might not get to hold her hand, wipe the hair out of her eyes, and breathe with her through the labor of our boy.

I might not get anything.

The large garage door opens on the front of the building. We pull into the hollow space. It’s nearly empty, save for the few tables and chairs scattered around. My eyes scan past the cages. They’re too far away to see anyone inside, but all too familiar, sadly.

Lee and I came across a setup like this one outside of Hamburg a few years back. Nothing prepares you for it, but after the shit we’ve seen inside shipping containers, nothing surprises you anymore either.

Getting out of the car, I walk forward when a gun is pushed into my back. “Ah, the shit disturber listen well. I give instruction to shoot you in the arms if you not come alone.”

“Why not the legs?” I ask.

The well-dressed man in front of me, Yakov, answers, “Then we have to carry you. No fun.”

This is the first time I’ve ever seen Yakov in the flesh. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the first time he’s left Russia. According to Lee, the man flies so far under the radar they lose track of him.

Often.

Clearly he leaves the country when that happens, considering he’s standing in mine.

“Where is she?” I bark, impatient, needing to see my girl. The asshole smirks and motions behind where a laughing man exists the cell with bars on.

Vasily.

Should have killed him. I should have fired my weapon for the first time all those years ago. 

“Raven needs rest. How you call it?” He tilts his head to the side and wipes his bloody hands on a rag. “Ah, yes! Beauty sleep.”

I charge forward, all the building rage surfacing. All the hate, pain, and suffering I’ve witnessed rises to the top as I take in the lifeless body of my Lass, sprawled out on the hard concrete floor, blood covering her face.

Bruises on her flawless cheeks.

Eye swollen shut.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”
Lee had said.

Kill them.

Kill them all.

Chapter Thirty-four

Yuri pulls the phone from his pocket and nods, handing it to Yakov.

“I see you got my package?” is Yakov’s greeting when he answers the phone. I can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I know it’s Lock when he adds, “Silly Irishman.” He continues laughing, leaning back in his chair as though he were having a chat with an old friend. Completely at ease, not a worry on his mind. “You and I need to have a little talk.” I watch him nod. “In time,” he says. “First you need to ditch your getaway driver.”

Getaway driver? God, I hope it’s not Paddy. He was in town today. The docks are only twenty minutes from the doctor’s office.

“Ahh, the fiery Raven. Vasily is quite fond of her,” he carries on, and I shiver, praying to god Vasily doesn’t like a goddamn thing about me as he passes me the phone.

“Lock?” I speak just above a whisper, not wanting the men in the room to intrude on our conversation. Vasily rips the phone from my hand right before I hear, “My water, Jerri girl.”

I hug my arms protectively over my stomach, and Yakov waves a hand in a gesture that says, “carry on,” in regards to the talk he wanted to have.

“It’s not that impressive, really,” I tell him, stalling for time. 

He crosses his legs and leans back in his seat. “I think otherwise. Twelve years.” He nods toward Visily. “I nearly kill Vasily for not finding you. After six months no word from you or police, I let it rest.”

I swallow. “So you didn’t look for me all this time?”

He lets out a small laugh. “Penance for Vasily. I do not chase people. He look for you”—he waves his hand back and forth—“off and on. If someone come forward and say, ‘I see this man,’”—he points to Vasily—“then Vasily goes down. I do not go with him.”

I get the picture he’s painting, clearly. It’s exactly the same as what G2 had told us. If Vasily had been caught for any crime, and if I were asked if he had been involved that night, he’d be the only one doing time.

He would not rat on, roll over, or fuck with Yakov.

“You either change name, live under rock, or work for government to hide this long. Vasily get your name, even social security number from apartment, and he still not find you. I want to know how?” Straightening in his chair, he looks over his shoulder and loudly says, “Yuri? Empty girl’s shit bucket and open window. Fucking stinks in here.”

The girls cower farther into the wall, if that’s possible, as Yuri collects the degrading bucket and takes it outside.

“Better. Now talk.”

Fidgeting with the sleeve of my dress, I tell him half-truths: “I guess you could say I took a page out of your play book. If you could hide women and traffic them god knows where, why couldn’t I escape the same way?” He nods for me to continue. “I knew shipping schedules like the back of my hand, so I had lain low for a few days before getting onto one of the ships that was heading to the States.”

Pursing his lips in thought, he asks, “You hide on ship for week or more?”

Thinking fast, I tell him, “I bribed one of the deck hands. He brought me food and snuck me inside at night for bathroom breaks.”

I don’t want him to know about Paddy and Nessa, so I hope my story is believable enough that he won’t ask for more detail. They always say less is more, so I stick to key points to keep it straight and hopefully satisfying.

“Then you hide in US? How?”

I shrug. “Odd jobs, fake IDs, and eventually a new social security number. I’m sure you know that money can be powerful. Once you save enough, you can buy just about anything.”

He shakes his head. “You do not work for government?”

I shake mine back. “I don’t work for the government.”

Letting out a low chuckle, he says, “Vasily, she regular girl and you not find her?”

Vasily doesn’t like the jab. The daggers he throws my way solidify that. “I good at finding people, she lie.”

I swallow. “I’m not lying.”

Vasily’s lip curls. “You hide, but I find you with the dock worker, Locklin, in Boston. Same man who fuck with our shipments here.”

I nod, thinking fast. “He’s the dock worker I bribed to help me escape.”

Vasily shakes his head. “He’s not dock worker. Men at the docks say he negotiate shipping cost for companies.”

I roll my eyes, grateful he has yet to mention any of Paddy’s ships, the connection between Paddy and Locklin. “Everyone starts somewhere. When I met him, he was a dock worker.”

“When he—” Vasily starts, cutting himself short when he gets a text message. “Ten minutes.”

Yakov nods. “Desperate man do desperate thing. I need him desperate. Fix it, Vasily.”

Yakov stands and straightens his already-pristine appearance before walking out of my view. The man from my nightmares smirks and sing-songs, “Raven, Raven, Raven. Now we have some fun.”

I stay seated in the chair with my arms over my stomach. I’m helpless against him, but if I’m sitting, I can’t be raped. Surely he won’t punch me in the stomach if their goal is to sell my child.

“How long until baby come, Raven?” he asks as he stands in front of me, fist clenched at his sides. Swallowing, I answer, “A few months.”

Smiling, he says, “Pretty Raven. Face long way from stomach.” Then his fist hits the side of my face with such force it knocks the chair sideways. I cry out, expecting my body to hit the concrete, but two large hands grasp my shoulders. He rights the chair.

I open my mouth, to plea with him to stop, but a blow comes to the other side of my head before I’ve even opened my eyes. The pain from his backhand earlier intensifies as black spots cloud my vision.

“S-s-stop, please,” I cry, not once putting my hands in front of my face; they’re still wrapped firmly around my stomach. His hands are still pressed firmly on my shoulders to keep me seated.

Laughing, he asks, “Why stop? Why you not fight, pretty Raven?”

Blood flies from my mouth when I wail, “If stressed, I could go into labour, you stupid bastard! Then where will your black market baby money be?”

I get no warning when he backhands me again before placing his fingers around my throat. “Sleep, Raven.”

I choke against his hold, finally removing the hands from my stomach to claw at them and his wrists. I feel the blood on my fingers as he lifts me up by the neck and lowers me to the floor. Blackness clouds my vision, and I pray to all things holy that we make it out of this alive.

***

“What the fuck have you done?” I growl, hands clenched at my sides, murderous gaze aimed at Vasily. “I wanted proof of life!” I shout, pointing into the cell. “What the fuck is that?”

He laughs, but I don’t let him get any words out. I don’t care about the men, the guns, or the piece of shit in front of me. Taking two steps forward, I pull back and swing as hard as I can, hitting him right in the temple. I almost smile at the sight of the big fucker falling flat on the ground.

Weapons are drawn, clicks telling me safeties are released. Since I’m not an idiot, I don’t bother fighting them. With Vasily down, it’s five against one.

“Guns down,” Yakov calmly says, as if he had just asked us to have a seat at his table for motherfucking tea.

Kill them all.

“I finally meet the man who has been fucking with my shipments.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he asks, “I want to know who you work for.”

I scoff. “I don’t work for anyone but myself, you piece of shit.”

He raises a brow. “A vigilante? How noble of you, Irishman. And why would a man become vigilante? Why not stay at home and”—he waves a hand toward Jerri—“raise babies?”

Clenching my hand into a fist, I decide there’s nothing left to lose. “Her name was Siobhan. She was beaten and left for dead on the docks almost twenty years ago.”

The fucker shrugs. “So now you run around saving women?”

I shake my head in disgust. “You killed her, you son of a bitch. The last name that came out of her mouth was Yakov.”

He tilts his head, trying to remember, then shakes it. “It does not ring any bells.”

I scoff and glance down at my watch. “I’m sure you don’t remember half the people you kill.”

Waltzing around without a care in the world, he says, “I know I did not kill the one you speak of because I kill fast. Not dirty.” Waving his arms around, he adds, “My men do dirty work, and this suit”—he fixes his lapels—“cost three thousand dollars. I have no interest in blood. Yuri?”

The man in question steps forward, walking around Vasily’s still yet alive body, “Who is the woman the Irishman speak of?”

Yuri shrugs. “Long time ago, boss.”

Yakov sighs. “It was not Vasily. He enjoys watching the light drain out of eyes.”

Yuri nods, as if that were common fucking knowledge, and says, “Wait, wait. Girl come across container when we move women from container to truck. She attack Sven. Red hair?”

I swallow and nod, so Yuri keeps going. “Red hair, big money. But when we grab her, she crazy. Puke all over and eyes go.” He motions to the back of his head. “So we throw her off the truck.”

All in a day’s work, you sick sons of bitches.

“Needle marks, all up her arms. Even if she not die, no one believe her,” he continues.

She’s dead, you fuckin’ bastards.

“Enough,” Yakov says, issuing the silence, staring at me for a long moment. “You don’t work alone.”

Shaking my head, I answer, “No, I don’t.”

He scowls, and I take a minute to sweep my eyes over Jerri’s cell. She’s breathing but hasn’t moved. Vasily starts moving and lifts himself to a seated position. His eyebrow is nearly torn off, blood oozing down his face.

It pleases me.

“Who was the driver?” Yakov asks. When I stall, he nods to Yuri, who then points his gun in Jerri’s cell. “Legs or arms only, Yuri.”

Stalling for time, I joke, “It’s not as though she’s in a position to hurt you. You really need a bullet to slow her down?”

Sighing, he says, “I need a bullet to speed you up, Irishman. And I can’t kill her because I can get up to thirty thousand dollars for the child.”

“You sick fucking—”

“Hey!” Yuri shouts, pointing the gun back at me, so I slow down.

“Babies? You sell fucking babies? The women trade not enough? Fuck me, why not just knock them all up before you sell them?”

He nods. “Oh, we do. But babies not as pretty when they come from junkies, whores, and street people. She”—he nods toward my Lass—“a healthy girl. Now, who was the driver?”

Two minutes.

“His name is Lenny,” I fib. Yakov nods to the men behind me who then grab my arms. Vasily stands up and delivers a swift blow to my ribs, right below where I was shot. Two more follow right in the face.

“Who does Lenny work for?” Yakov asks, allowing Vasily to land another punch to my chest before I kick him in the stomach. I spit blood at his feet. Some lands on his pristine shoes. Satisfying.

“G2, motherfucker,” I reply.

I watch the smirk fall off his face for a moment before he straightens his shoulders in a manner the suggests he doesn’t give a shit who tries to take him down.

You’ll think differently soon.

Grabbing the gun from Yuri, he points it directly at my head. “Nobody fucks with my business. Not you, not her, and definitely not G-fucking-2.”