Poor Little Bitch Girl (36 page)

Before going to sleep he’d made her take a peek at their captive to make sure she was still breathing.

The woman – shackled to the bedframe – had stared up at her with fear-filled eyes and begged for water.

For one brief moment Rosa had felt sorry for her. She’d fetched her a mug of water and a couple of slices of stale bread.

After gulping down the water and devouring the bread, the woman had requested to use the bathroom.

Rosa had run to Benito and asked him what she was supposed to do.

“Don’ want her pissin’ in my bed,” he’d grumbled. “Blindfold her, we’ll take her.”

Why did he keep saying
we
? It really got to Rosa, but she’d reluctantly done as he asked. When she was finished, Benito had come into the room, untied the woman and roughly half-dragged her to the toilet.

As soon as he got her back in the bedroom he’d secured her wrist to the bedframe once again and made a fast exit.

Rosa had realized she was as trapped as the woman on the bed. Why did she have to be involved in Benito’s business? It wasn’t her shit, it was his.

After ripping the blindfold from their captive’s eyes, she’d taken off before the woman could say anything, and joined Benito in front of the TV.

Now it was morning, and Rosa decided she’d better take the woman more bread and water. Didn’t want her dying on them, that wouldn’t be cool. And because of Benito, she could end up getting half the blame.

* * *

With her mind veering off in all different directions, Carolyn didn’t know what to think. One moment she was panicked, the next she somehow or other forced herself to remain calm.

When the young girl came back with a couple more slices of stale bread and a half-bottle of tepid water, she decided that she’d better try and forge some kind of communication between them. She’d read somewhere that if ever you found yourself in a hostage situation, you had to attempt to bond with your captors – make them realize that you were a human being.

“Thanks,” she muttered, gratefully swigging the water. “My name’s Carolyn.”

The girl stood there watching her, a blank expression on her face.

“If it’s money you’re after,” Carolyn said, attempting to speak slowly so this young girl would understand, “my father will pay. I can tell you how to contact him.” She paused for a moment. “Or my boss. My boss is a Senator, he’s a very important man – he’ll pay to get me back.”

The girl still didn’t say a word.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of what you’re doing,” Carolyn said, making sure to keep her voice low and even, “but you and your friend have kidnapped me. Kidnapping’s a federal offense. The punishment is extremely severe, and I . . . uh . . . think I should tell you that I’m pregnant, so you’re not just kidnapping me, you’re—”

The girl suddenly came to life. “I know you’re fuckin’ knocked up,” she blurted. “’Cuz that’s th’reason you here.” Then, realizing she’d probably said too much, she rushed out of the room.

Carolyn felt waves of sickness overcome her. The only person who knew she was pregnant was Gregory. So how did this girl know?

Then a thought entered her head, a thought so twisted and evil that she immediately tried to dismiss it.

Did Gregory have anything to do with this?

Was it possible?

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

* * *

“No way I’m keepin’ the bitch around,” Benito announced the moment he awoke, a scowl crossing his face. “This mo’fuckin’ shit get me jailtime for sure,” he added, vigorously scratching his balls. “Gonna cut her loose.”

“What about the Senator?” Rosa inquired, in her mind planning how she could get out of the house. She had a very bad feeling about what was going down, especially after the woman’s chilling words about kidnapping and severe punishment. She wasn’t responsible for any of this, it was all Benito. She was just doing what he ordered her to do. Besides, she’d already explored the contents of the woman’s purse, and there were prime pickings – including an iPhone and eighty bucks in cash. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on everything.

“The asswipe don’t know how t’find me,” Benito said, full of bravado. “Prick can’t do nothin’.”

“When you plannin’ on gettin’ her outta here?” Rosa asked, anxious to know.

“We’re gonna dump her on the street tonight,” Benito said, stretching his heavily tattooed arms. “Soon’s it get dark.”

“If she lasts that long,” Rosa muttered, wishing he’d stop including her in his plans.

“What?”

“She ain’t lookin’ too healthy.”

“Bitch lose the kid yet?”

“No.”

“Fuck!”

“I gotta go home,” Rosa ventured. “Spoke to my momma last night, my baby’s sick, an’ Momma’s gotta get to her job. Daycare won’t take the baby when it’s sick, so I gotta go.”

“Ya ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Benito said, still in full scowl. “Not till we get the
puta
outta here.”

“You don’ understand. I
gotta
go, Benito,” she pleaded. “My momma’s gonna kill me if I don’t take the baby.”

“Whyn’t ya stop with yo fuckin’ whinin’ an’ start doin’ what I tell ya for once?” he demanded.

“But my baby’s sick,” she repeated, trying to squeeze out a tear or two, almost believing her own lie.

“Don’ give a shit.”

“What I gonna tell my momma?”

“You ain’t tellin’ her nothin’,” he said, still scowling. “An’ why ya always gotta gimme such a hard time?”

“Sorry,” she said sulkily, backing off.

“Y’know,” he said with a sly smirk, “I got plenty wimmin chasin’ me. I can pick any
puta
I want, so’s ya better watch it.”

“They gonna do you like I do?” Rosa said, standing up for herself.

“It don’t take no degree t’suck me off,” he boasted, with a self-satisfied chuckle. “It be their pleasure.”

“
Hijo de puta
,” Rosa muttered, the one Spanish insult she knew.

Fortunately, Benito didn’t hear her.

H
ad Frankie seen a copy of
Truth & Fact
? That was the question on Bobby’s mind. And if Frankie
had
seen it, he must be going apeshit.

Just in case, Bobby stashed a copy of the offending tabloid under his jacket, and impatiently waited to greet Annabelle and Frankie at the airport.

The moment the two of them alighted from the Stanislopoulos private plane, Bobby could tell Annabelle knew nothing. She was all smiles and full of enthusiasm about spending the night in Vegas, hardly the picture of a grieving daughter.

“I cannot wait to see Zeena’s show,” she said, giving Bobby a warm hug. “Zeena is
such
an amazing performer. I saw her show last year in Miami. She’s a true superstar, like Madonna.”

Was it his imagination, or did Annabelle purposely rub her breasts against him?

Frankie on the other hand definitely looked as if he knew something was up.

“Gotta take a piss,” Frankie said as they approached the limo.

“Why didn’t you go on the plane?” Annabelle asked, turning to him with a frown on her face.

“’Cause I didn’t havta go then,” he said, left eye twitching. “Is it all right with the Queen of Everythin’ if I go take a piss?”

“I’ll come with,” Bobby offered.

“How cozy,” Annabelle drawled. “All boys together.”

“We’ll be right back,” Frankie said.

“There’s champagne in the limo,” Bobby offered. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The two of them took off, away from the limo and into the airport building.

“I guess you know,” Frankie stated.

“Of course I fucking know,” Bobby replied. “It’s a screaming headline on every newsstand. They all carry
Truth & Fact
.”

“Jesus!” Frankie exclaimed, as they headed into the men’s room. “For real?”

“You’ve seen it, right?” Bobby asked.

“Not yet. Your two flight attendants warned me it was out there, but they didn’t bring a copy on board.”

“Prepare yourself,” Bobby warned. “It’s rough.”

“No shit,” Frankie said glumly.

“Here.” Bobby extracted the copy of
Truth & Fact
he’d kept under his jacket. “Read it and go slit your throat.”

Frankie snatched the magazine and began reading. The headline was brutal enough, but he could not believe what was in the story. Times, dates, details of monetary transactions, the names of alleged clients and the girls who worked for them. And even worse were the private photos he and Annabelle had taken just for fun. Photos from their personal collection.
Stolen
photographs. Annabelle joking it up with some of the girls, holding up their masks. Intimate photos of them lounging in bed together. Photos from Annabelle’s childhood with Gemma and Ralph front and center.

How the fuck had the stinking tabloid gotten hold of them?

There was only one answer. Someone must have broken into their Park Avenue apartment and stolen them.

Frankie could feel the fury building inside him like a volcano about to blow. Why the hell hadn’t Janey informed him there’d been a break-in at the apartment? What the fuck, he paid her enough, so how come she hadn’t called and warned him?

Another dumb douche bag. Annabelle was right, he should never have hired her.

“Gotta make a call,” he said to Bobby.

“To your lawyer?”

“No. To my half-witted cousin who’s supposed to be looking after things for me.”

“May I say she’s doing a fine job.”

“Fuck you,” Frankie said, thrusting the magazine at Bobby. “Y’see these photos, they’re all filched from our apartment. Annabelle’s gonna go freakin’ nuts.”

“There’s nothing you can do, it’s out there now,” Bobby said, attempting to calm him. “Next week it’ll be old news.”

“Fuck that shit,” Frankie said, burning with anger. “I’m gonna sue the ass off everyone involved.”

“It’ll cost you,” Bobby pointed out. “Once you put yourself in the hands of lawyers—”

“I’ve got the money,” Frankie responded, thinking of the stash in their safe in New York. “I’m takin’ this all the way.”

“Yeah, but if you ignore it, it’ll go away.”

“They’ve crapped all over my reputation, Bobby, an’ that kinda garbage stays around an’ stinks up my world. So fuckin’ ignore it – no way.”

“I’m sorry, bro, this is a bad situation.”

“Listen,” Frankie said, “do me a big one – go with Annabelle to the hotel while I try an’ work out my next move. Tell her I got the runs or somethin’.”

“Nice.”

“Maybe she won’t even see it. Right?”

“C’mon, Frankie, get real. Someone’s bound to mention it, her father for starters. And don’t kid yourself – there’ll be a ton of press at the funeral.”

“Thanks. You’re makin’ me feel a whole lot better.”

“I’m just saying the way it is. You want the truth.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Okay then, take it easy. I’ll escort your girlfriend to the hotel. And remember – next week this’ll be yesterday’s news.”

* * *

Annabelle lounged in the back of the limo sipping champagne while considering her options.

Bobby had certainly been happy enough to see her – his greeting had been very friendly and she liked that. She smiled to herself. Once she was rid of Frankie, Bobby would be easy pickings, and why not? Without Frankie hanging around she was a total catch. She’d give up the business and hand it over to her ex as compensation, because ever since the incident with Sharif Rani’s son, she was totally over it.

Bobby would certainly be able to keep her in style, she wouldn’t have to run a stupid call-girl business. He was – or would be when he inherited everything – a freaking billionaire.

Yes, as soon as they got back to New York she’d tell Frankie to move out. They’d split the cash in the safe, and then they could both get on with their lives.