Stella

I once heard that if attacked, never let the attacker move you to a second location. Your odds for survival go down.

But what if you’re living on borrowed time already?

Does the location of your death matter?

Yes.

I’d rather die in my lover’s arms than in the trunk of this car.

* * *

The hammering in my head causes me to wake up, my eyes bleary as early daylight slips in through the blinds lifted a few inches above the sill. Beige textured paper coats the walls in a high-end design with a polished brass bench anchoring the window.

I squint, trying to remember if this is the hotel or where I am. Moving my arm from my side to behind me on the bed, I feel around for Rivers. When I don’t find him, I sit up abruptly, my head pounding from the rush of blood.

“Get up.”

I know the voice before I find Yellow sitting in a chair on the other side of the room near the door. On the trust scale, it’s sad to say, but I trust Brown more than being alone with Yellow. “Where’s Brown?”

“Busy.”

Scanning the room once more, I know where I am. My throat hurts as it constricts.

He stands, angered. “The boss is waiting for you.”

My body refuses to move, to leave this bed. My head hurts, and my fingers ache from holding the blanket so tight. He charges, taking me down with a blow to the left ear. “Get the fuck up!” he screams loud enough for me to hear in the other ear that’s pressed to the mattress.

He’s done damage, but it’s not my ear that hurts; it’s my heart. My body’s already gone numb, but I can hear the phantom hum of Rivers’s heart next to mine and the feel of his arms around me.

I’m grabbed by the ankles and yanked to the floor before I have time to recover. My side hurts in addition to my ear throbbing. Against my wishes, I’m feeling too much, the pain the least of my concerns.

I move to my feet, and I’m pulled by the arm to the door. Pushed forward against the wall, I feel his dick against my backside. I will not go down without a fight. With a swift swing, I elbow him in the neck, sending him back in pain. I open the door and run right into Brian’s hard chest.

Catching me, he wraps his arms around me. “Where are you off to so fast?” he asks with a playful grin as if I’m not a hostage in this house of horrors. How this man was permitted to be around children day in and day out is beyond me. He’s just as much monster as Baird. I doubt it will work, but the only thing I can think to do is appeal to his ego. I’m going to hate every single word coming out of my mouth, and I feel as though I’m going to be sick. But I take a deep breath. This is for my life.

“I’m sorry, Brian. Your behavior has confused me lately. You’ve hurt me, but then tell me we could have been something. Do you still believe that? Despite what happened with Baird?”

“Crow is an asshole. You shouldn’t have let him touch you. He shouldn’t have been able to fuck you in my house.” Oh God. He watched us? Bile rises to my throat, but I have to push that back.

Yellow goes to grab me, but Brian says, “I’ll handle her. Go.”

Brian’s hold on me tightens, and it reminds me of how he held me in the hallway. That seems so long ago . . . when Yellow is out of earshot, he says, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m sorry. Sorry that . . . that I confused you. Don’t hand me over to Baird. Please help me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want, Stella. I was on your side. I was protecting you. I wanted you, knowing how you chose Conrad over your own dignity.”

“Protecting me?”

“Yes,” he says, picking pieces of my hair off my face that are sticking for some reason. “I told him I would handle you, take care of you. He agreed. But then . . . well, it’s too late now. I can’t protect you anymore.” He pulls me by the arm down a few doors and stops.

My voice is weak, so weak that I don’t even recognize it. I do recognize the door to the bathroom though. “Please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything you want, but please—”

“Date?”

Rivers. Rivers. My heart will only ever belong to that man.

Brian starts laughing in my face. “Kidding. It’s too late to negotiate.” He opens the door and pushes me inside. “You know what to do.”

The door is closed behind me, and I stand in the purgatory of cleanliness to prepare for the devil incarnate. I turn toward the mirror and now know why my hair was stuck to my face. Blood from my ear streaks across my cheek, and I lean in to get a closer look. What have I done?

No one knows where I went.

No one knows where I am.

No one will ever know what happened to me until it’s too late.

I start the shower and strip off my clothes. There’s no point in putting off the inevitable. I clip my hair up after testing how sturdy the plastic tips are. They’re too weak and bendable to do any damage. I wash my face. Using the perfumed gel, I cleanse my body, freeing it from the blood, the dirt from where their grimy hands touched me, and free from this world.

No one is going to touch me like they did once before. I’ll fight. I’ll fight for my life. I pull the clip out and get some of my hair wet because fuck him.

The shower is turned off, and I dry my body. I don’t put my yoga pants back on in protest. I’ve learned that trick won’t work anyway. I fix my hair and slip on the heels that have been set next to my clothes on the floor before putting on the robe. I open the door to find Brian still standing there. “Demoted to lackey?”

“No. Making sure none of the perverts here walked in on you.”

“And somehow they’re a different caliber of criminal than you?”

“Yes.”

His answer is direct, so simple but chilling in delivery. I look down the hall, but we’re still alone . . . or so it seems. Since he’s suddenly feeling so honest, I ask in a whisper, “I want to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth. You know as well as I do that I may not walk out of that room once I walk in.” His eyes are cast down, his lack of eye contact speaking volumes. “Was I supposed to die last time?”

When he looks back at me, he says, “Yes.”

“Then why did I live?”

“Because I promised to keep an eye on you.”

“You saved me?”

There’s no reply to that question, but he says, “You did everything he never expected. You didn’t tell a soul—not your father. Not your sister. Not the police. And as long as you didn’t tell anyone, you were safe. He expected you to cry to your father, which would be torture, I assume, for a dad. But you didn’t hold it over him.” He checks the hall before he whispers, “It was a test that you passed. He wanted to keep you, to sell you to the highest bidder for your loyalty.” To sell me? He’s involved in sex slavery? Here . . . the man is evil.

“I wasn’t being loyal. I was living in shame.”

“I asked for a favor. The only one I’ve ever asked for and it was granted.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“You saved me once, Brian. Will you save me again?”

Dark clouds storm his eyes. “I can’t ask for a second favor, or I won’t walk out of that room.”

“Then there’s no sense waiting around for death to show up. Let’s go greet the bastard.”

When I turn to leave, he takes my wrist, causing me to glance back. For a moment, I think I see the clouds clear, but I have no idea how to read him anymore. “Remember not to ask questions. He hates being asked questioned. You know how this works.”

The door is opened, and we walk in. I expect Brown and Yellow to be there, but it’s unsettling to only find Yellow. “I know,” I say, holding my hand up. I don’t want to hear him. “He wants me on the X.”

I move around the desk with lead feet unsure of anything that is about to happen. I place my feet on the X and stand there in the robe.

When “the boss” comes in, he’s drying his hands on a hand towel that he promptly tosses into a basket near the bathroom. “Ms. Fellowes.” He comes to me as if we’re old friends, pleased to see me. “How have you been? I’ve been thinking about you since you had to leave the dinner party early. I hated that you felt ill.”

I watch him carefully. He has a good façade, but he slips every once in a while. Those are his moments of weakness when by word or by physically doing something are your only chances to turn the tables. Today, he shows no weakness. “Take the robe off.”

With Yellow gawking at me and Brian watching, I stare at the desk in front of me. My hands start shaking and my knees get weak, my guillotine taunting me as I disrobe.

Brian says, “The bird tattoo makes a lot more sense now.”

The comment’s off the cuff by his light tone, but Baird is swift, angling toward Brian. “Explain.”

With his eyes volleying between my tattoo and my eyes, Brian shoves his hands in his pleated khakis. “There’s a band called The Crow Brothers.” Baird looks back at me as Brian continues, “Her boyfriend is a member of the band.”

Baird’s eyes seem to light up with some fucked-up delight. “My son likes that band. You can arrange a meeting and tickets.”

I didn’t know he could be more twisted. I was wrong. The only thing that keeps me from screaming in hopes of waking up from this nightmare is the slip that he’s going to let me live.

Baird comes around the desk and runs his finger along my spine. He pushes me forward, a firm hand between my shoulder blades guiding my descent. Fight.

“Ow,” I whimper when my ear touches the wood.

“Is something wrong with you, Ms. Fellowes?”

Of course, there’s something wrong. Like me bent over this desk and you being a money laundering, gambling ring, sex-slave psycho. The fact that I was almost trafficked and somehow saved by the man I thought was the worst I would encounter. That I will never see the reason I breathe again. Or feel his arms around me. So yes, there’s fucking something wrong with me. “Yes.”

“What?”

“Yellow hit me on the ear. It’s still bleeding and hurts against the desk.”

His voice aims across the room. “What happened, Yellow?”

“She elbowed me.”

He sounds surprised and then laughs. “Elbowed you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But then you laid a hand on my property?”

Me. Baird’s property. My stomach roils.

Anger’s heard in Baird’s tone, so this time, Yellow pauses before speaking. “Yes, sir.”

The drawer next to my hip is opened, the sharp corner digging into my skin. I don’t see what’s happening as I lie across the desk waiting to make my move, ready to fight, but I’m assured in my decision.

Gunfire rings out without warning, and I scream, closing my eyes. Just when my eyes reopen, I see Yellow fall to the ground, and Brian yells, “Duck, Stella.”

Working on instinct, I slide down to the other side of the desk and bury myself in the opening for the chair. Another gunshot sounds, echoing in the small room. And then one more before Baird slumps against the credenza and slides to the floor, his eyes level with mine. He raises his arm with the gun in his hand, staring straight at me until the life leaves his eyes and his arms falls to the floor.

“Stella?”

I scramble to my knees, slipping off the shoes, and jumping to my feet with the robe in my hands covering me. “Brian?”

Swinging the robe over me as I run, I then drop to my knees beside him. Blood seeps into the cotton of his shirt and spreads wide across his chest. He saved me? “Brian?”

He coughs up blood and gargles, so I help him the best I can, trying to support his head. Then he smiles, and all the smugness from before is gone as he finds the light. “I’m sorry.” When he tries to laugh, he spits blood. His eyes find mine, and he says, “He . . . wasn’t meant to touch you.”

I nod, but I have no words. I’m surrounded by death. I’m surrounded by evil.

Can’t get air into my lungs.

“Pray for my soul . . . fires . . . hell . . .”

Prayers won’t save his soul.

What do I do? I can’t breathe . . .

The door flies open, and Suthers rushes in, gun in hand leading the way. “Put your hands up.” He scopes out the room, and asks, “Anyone besides you alive?”

I don’t know the answer. My vision is shrinking, and my legs feel too weak to stand . . .