New pain swept over him when the guy in black dumped him face down on a sofa. An old sofa. Dusty.
A new voice cried out in distress, female and . . . familiar. Oh God. Familiar. ‘Why?’ she asked, physical pain in the single syllable. ‘Why him? He had nothing to do with this.’
‘Because I need him,’ the man said. ‘Sit him up straight.’
Guy-in-black yanked the collar of Andy’s thin sweater, pulling him into a sitting position. He was in an office with old, ratty furniture. In a garage? He could smell the oil.
Andy stared at his captor in the dim light provided by a single lamp.
He was . . . Nobody. Nobody Andy had ever seen before. Not old, exactly. But not young, either. Maybe forty or fifty? It was hard to tell in the semidarkness. He appeared tall and strong, the sleeves of his starched white shirt straining around his biceps.
He was nobody Andy knew and certainly nobody he’d dare cross.
But the woman . . . Oh God, Linnie. She knew who the man was. It was clear from the expression on her pale, pathetically thin face. Her swollen, bruised face.
‘Linnie?’ Andy rasped. This man was dangerous. And he had them both.
Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe we’re both a mistake. He meant to take someone else.
But then Linnie shook her head. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, Andy.’
Not a mistake then. The man hadn’t meant to take someone else. Or at least he’d meant to take Linnie.
This must be him. Andy had seen them going into a motel room. He’d seen them . . . together. ‘Who are you?’ Andy asked him, deflated and broken. ‘What do you want?’
‘You, Mr Gold. Specifically, your services.’
‘My services?’ Andy repeated stupidly. ‘What services? I’m a waiter, for God’s sake. I’m majoring in English Lit. You’ve got me confused with someone else.’
The man turned to Linnie. ‘He doesn’t know, does he, Linnea?’ he asked and Andy’s gut turned inside out with dread. Linnie knew why he’d been taken.
Linnie closed her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘He thinks you’re my lover.’
The man snorted a laugh. ‘Lover? As if. Tell him the truth.’
Linnie shook her head, shrinking back into the chair in which she sat, turning her face away. Her bruised and battered face.
Andy leaned forward, suddenly furious. But still tied. ‘You hit her? You hit her?’
‘I slapped the shit out of her,’ the man said with a mean smile. He backhanded her again, making her yelp in pain. Like a dog. ‘Tell him, Linnie,’ he commanded mockingly.
‘Linnie?’ Andy’s shaking voice jumped an octave, his heart beating so hard it was all he could hear. ‘Tell me what? Who is this guy?’
‘Tell him,’ the man commanded. ‘He deserves to know why he’s here.’
Andy felt the bile climbing up his throat, burning. Dread now lay in his gut like rancid lard. ‘Linnie, please?’
‘He’s my . . . pimp.’ She spat the word out.
Andy’s mouth fell open in shock, but he didn’t say a word. Her pimp? Linnie was a prostitute? No, it couldn’t be true. She’d have come to me if she needed money. She would have told me. Wouldn’t she?
He’d loved her for years. They were going to get married someday. Because he would have found the courage to tell her how he felt. Eventually. He would have.
I should have told her that I loved her. His eyes stung. Because he still did.
The man’s smile was pure evil. ‘And?’ he coaxed silkily. ‘Who owns you, Linnea?’
A sob jerked from her chest. ‘You do.’
‘Yes, I own you.’ The man shoved her away like trash. ‘You’re mine. Don’t you ever forget it, bitch,’ he snarled. ‘Close your mouth, Mr Gold. It’s highly unattractive.’
Unattractive. The word hung between them, suspended on the air. Vibrating like a plucked string. Unattractive? Andy’s gulp was audible. ‘I’m not doing that,’ he said desperately. ‘I’m not going to be attractive. I’m not going to sell myself.’
The man stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. ‘You think I’m going to sell you? Oh, kid, that’s rich. You’re not gonna hook. You’re gonna kill.’
Andy shrank back into the sofa, horrified. ‘No. I won’t.’
‘Yeah, you will.’ The man pushed the hair away from Linnie’s eyes. It would have been a tender gesture had it not been accompanied with such contempt. ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll put a bullet in her head.’ He tapped her forehead. ‘Right here.’
No. No. Just . . . no. Andy’s chest froze as a keening cry came from Linnie. ‘No,’ she moaned. ‘Please. I’ll do it. Let me do it instead.’
The man backhanded her again. ‘Shut up!’ he snarled. ‘He’ll do it.’
Andy’s lungs unlocked and he gasped in a breath that was too fast, too sharp. ‘You can’t do this. You can’t kill her. You just . . . You just can’t.’
The man’s smile curled at the corners, sending a chill down Andy’s spine. ‘Take her,’ he said to the guy who’d tossed Andy over his shoulder like a sack of grain. ‘Show him what we are capable of doing.’
‘No.’ Linnie moaned the word. ‘Please no.’
The guy in black tossed Linnea over his shoulder just like he’d done to Andy and carried her from the room. A minute later Linnie began to scream. Horrible, horrible screams. He was hurting her. The guy in black was hurting her.
And there wasn’t anything Andy could do to stop him.
He closed his eyes, unable to look at the man’s grin of triumph. Her pimp. This man was her pimp. She’d promised she wouldn’t. She’d promised. They’d made a pact back in foster care, the three of them – him, Linnie, and Shane. They’d promised no matter how hard it got that they’d never sell their bodies. She’d promised.
She’d lied. And right now, Andy wasn’t sure which hurt more – the knowledge that she’d broken their pact or that she’d obviously been lost and desperate enough to do so. Or that she didn’t come to me for help first.
The man lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling in a thin stream of smoke. ‘So, Mr Gold, what’s it to be? More of this? My associate can make her scream for a very long time. Or can I depend on you to save your friend’s life?’
Andy opened his eyes. Forced himself to look at the man who held their lives in his hands with such casual disregard. The man tilted his head, listening to Linnie’s screams.
‘Well, Mr Gold? Make up your mind. My patience is growing very thin.’
Andy gritted his teeth. ‘What you want me to do?’
One
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 3.30 P.M.
‘Are you sure this dress looks okay, Mer?’
Meredith Fallon sighed patiently as she turned to the younger woman walking beside her. ‘It looks amazing, Mallory. You look amazing. Very stylish. No one will think you’re any different than any other eighteen-year-old who’s just signed up for her classes.’
But there was far more to Mallory Martin, who’d actually left the safe house where she’d stayed for four months, healing – which was huge. She still had so much healing left to do. In the ten years that Meredith had been counseling children and adolescents, she’d encountered few clients more victimized than Mallory – and even fewer with her courage.
‘Yeah, but they’re signing up for college. I’m just . . .’ Mallory looked away. ‘Dammit.’
‘You’re taking charge of your life. Have I told you how damn brave you are?’
‘Twice. And that’s only today.’ A small smile was followed by a self-conscious grimace. ‘I know I’m being stupid, fishing for compliments. I’m sorry.’
Meredith’s sigh wasn’t so patient this time. ‘What did we agree about that word?’
‘Stupid?’
‘Well, yes. But mostly “sorry.” Strike them both from your vocabulary right now.’
Mallory drew a breath and gave a hard little nod. ‘Eliminated.’
‘Good. Let’s walk faster. It’s not much further to the café, and my toes are freezing.’
They were going to celebrate. Mallory had signed up for adult classes today. Her first step toward getting the high school education she’d been denied by the monster who’d held her captive for six long years.