Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sound of a gunshot rings out in the room. It jars me from wherever my mind had taken me. Probably to protect me from all that’s happened.
Andreas. I look around and he’s gone. My eyes don’t miss the man still with me.
The evil one is still in the corner of the room, although he looks worried now. He’s pacing by the door as if he’s waiting for something. There’s no sign of the other one—the one who held me down and choked me until I could barely breathe. All the pain I’ve suffered has built and built over the days until now. It’s such a large part of me, physically and emotionally, that I’m unable to think of anything but the screaming of muscles and crying of my skin.
My lips, cheeks and eyes are swollen so badly I can’t feel my face. Smack after hit after slap. My sight’s only gotten worse since the first instance on the plane. Although, not being able to see what they’ve done to me might be a blessing. My skin is raw and tender, and if there was enough light in the room I know I’d see blood smeared across my thighs. As the thought creeps into my mind, my breathing hitches and tears burn through my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Nate. What will Nate think? What would he do if he were here?
Another shot echoes in the building, followed by a steady procession of Japanese voices and footfall. The silence that has tortured me is finally broken. The thump on the door makes me jump, and I inch myself back against the wall. The door opens, and several curt words are exchanged. My rapist looks at me, almost longingly, before leaving.
Seeing him leave and hearing a volley of shots ping in the air finally breaks the dam I’ve been so careful to craft into position. It’s too much now. My tears fall—tears because of my brother, for what Nate might think, and tears for me. So many for me.
The salt eats away against my broken skin, adding to my pain, my punishment for letting them fall. I shouldn’t be sitting around. I need to be moving. I need to escape, to find my good-for-nothing brother. Although why I should after how he’s betrayed me is a mystery. After everything, surely now, I must be able to see that he’s no family to me?
As I orientate myself, I see something I desperately need. A bottle of water left on the table is a prize I can’t give up. First the water. Then escape. I drag myself along the floor with my elbows, my legs still numb from their rough handling, but I need the water more than I care about the pain. My knees bend, and my legs hold as my feet take soft steps on the concrete the rest of the way. It’s the first drink I’ve had in days—or what I assume is days. It couldn’t be less, surely?
The water cools my throat and instantly lessens the pain, but it tastes of copper as I guzzle it down. I leave some and use it to rinse off the blood and semen from between my thighs, needing to rid myself of both. They disgust me, making me unfocused on what I have to get on with. As the water runs down me, I cough back more tears at my own action.I’m still alive. I’m breathing.
Keep moving.
The gun fire remains in the background, but more footsteps head my way. I shrink back into the far corner, hiding in the shadows as best I can.
“Hey, are you Gabby?” A man enters, dark hair and beard disguising much of his face, but his voice sounds warm, if not hassled. I peer out from the shadows, wondering if I should speak or not.
“Why?” I eventually spit out, part of me clinging to the possibility that this might not end badly.
“Good. Come on. Quinn sent me.” He looks back out the door, checking. “My name’s Jon. Come with me.”
The words make sense, but I can’t quite believe them. “Quinn?”
It’s not the name I want to hear.
“And Nate. They’re here, and I need to take you to Nate,” he says, looking back over me and frowning. “Can you move?”
“Yes.” I step forward but buckle as my foot lands on something sharp. I look around the room to find my ankle boots and stuff my feet back into them. The rest of my clothes are a lost cause.
I step towards Jon but cower at the state I’m in. My hands grip the sides of my T-shirt and try to cover up my skin the best I can. He doesn’t seem to take note, checking the entry again rather than watching me.
“Stay close. Stay behind me, yeah?”
He raises the gun in his hands. How did I not notice that piece of machinery? Surely an automatic weapon is overkill? My stomach drops away as I hear more shots and shouts.
Jon exits and leads me through the corridors I came in through. If I’m right, we’re going back towards the main room—the hangar we came in through.
“No. Jon, wait. I need to find my brother.”
“Not my job.”
“Please,” I beg. I can’t let them keep him, can I?
“No. You stay with me.” He grabs my wrist and starts to pull me towards the sounds of violence. “There’s no time.”
“Get off me.” I struggle, pulling against his hold. He’s only got one hand on me, so I should be able to free myself. Just as I twist loose, I turn and run right into a solid wall. Harsh hands grip my shoulders, and as I lift my head, I know who’s got me. The American with the gold tooth. He smiles at me as if confirming who he is then wraps me up and pulls my back against his chest, hooking his arm around my neck. I struggle but it’s useless as he walks backwards, using me as a shield against Jon. His gun is raised and pointed at us both.
The last thing I want is to be in the clutches of this creep, but having a gun trained on me is something different. My throat constricts, tightening up and making it hard for me to breathe with a forearm the size of my thigh covering me.
