15
Charlie makes me sit on the foot of the bed while he stands there like a full-length mirror in front of me, reserving himself for as long as humanly possible.
Hands in my lap, immersed in my line of vision, I divulge the whole truth. I speak about what happened, how James’ plan to kidnap me was hijacked by Arabs—who in turn, sold me at an auction to Robert. I don’t know why or how the Arabs took me, so I can’t elaborate. I focus to explain the prison-like-cell Robert kept me in, his agenda to partner up with Tatiana, and the mayflies, convinced they were a metaphor for something. I remember wanting to die so badly it consumed my mentality, and seeing the piling mayflies screwed with my thoughts.
Charlie comes to the conclusion that Robert used the flies to reveal how many days were passing. He’s possibly right. Robert wasn’t torturing me, so it makes perfect sense he was disclosing the timeframe rather than tricking me with it.
“His personal touches confused me,” I say in a croaky voice from crying, expanding on the daily housekeeping someone undertook when I slept and the incense stick. “He also brought regular food and water.”
“Maybe he thought if he treated you well, if I ever found out what he did, I’d go easy on him.”
I hum, musing over the fact. “I guess... He was fuming when he found out you had pulled sanctions on everyone—came barging into the cell screaming about to keel over—but still, he didn’t hit me or anything.”
Charlie looks up at the ceiling when I say that, his jaw twitching, but he doesn’t voice his obvious anger. He doesn’t need to. I can feel it dangling cold and heavy in the space between us.
I carry on, telling him about the moment Robert’s man revealed a syringe and the panic I felt, how I thought they were going to drug me again and take me somewhere Charlie couldn’t find me.
“Hey, fear is sometimes good, Blaire,” Charlie says, turning down his face to watch me, protesting that it’s nothing to be ashamed of. “People who fear nothing usually have nothing. People who fear for something usually have everything.”
I don’t counter his philosophy; it’s probably true. I’ve never been more fearful of anything in my entire life than I am now—and was, when I thought I might never see Charlie again.
We get to the point on how I know for sure Robert is holding James captive. Charlie needs to be certain he’s on the right track, so I tell him about the audio of James getting beat up, how I heard Robert’s voice on it. “He was taunting James to confess something to me—now, I imagine it was the fact that he kidnapped me from you—but the audio didn’t get that far.” I pause for a second, curious about something. “Do you know why Robert bought me in the first place?” Charlie came to the conclusion earlier, after losing his shit. I assume he still holds merit to the idea.
His eyes thin, waiting on my theory.
“You were right. It’s all down to the Albanian girl you took, Arjana.”
He grunts, truly affronted that Robert would dare defend the girl he owned. “If Maksim had just paid Robert like we agreed he would, none of this would be happening. That Albanian puta would be happy with full pockets, and the issue of that la zorra girl would have blown over.”
“I don’t think it would have blown over,” I say, rubbing the dried tears on my cheeks. “She wasn’t just worth her weight in gold because of her purity and beauty. Robert emphasized she has royal, Palestinian blood. I think that’s why he’s still sour over losing her.”
“Royal blood, huh?” Charlie asks, crossing his arms with interest.
I nod a couple of times, exhausted by this already. “She’s obviously someone of importance, and Robert wanted her for himself. But, since you took her and lied about it”—I gesture up at Charlie—“and since you tried to make it look like it was Maksim who took her, nearly causing a war between the Russians and the Albanians...you’re now his target for vengeance.” I don’t bother asking why he tried to frame Maksim. He was seeking retribution for himself, and turning other syndicates on my master was obviously part of his plan.
In Charlie’s quiet musing, I continue pouring out information, anything I can remember: the auction room with its vivid circling lights, the potent stench of bleach, the voices I heard and that one of them spoke in Spanish. “Idiota, is what he said. I know it means idiot in a few languages, but I recognized his accent. It was definitely Spanish. There was a lady there, too, and she sounded Hispanic.”
Charlie mentally notes it all down, and then he wants me to go back to the Arabs, picking up on the plural aspect of them.
I say they were a man and a woman.
“Were they married?”
“I don’t know.”
“Roughly how old were they? And how tall? How much did they weigh?” he speaks in a rush of words, using his hands to measure up sizes against himself. “Did they have any distinguishable marks or tattoos? Did anyone mention names?”
“No...I-I don’t know, Charlie”—I wave out at a loss, besting his optimism—“I was high the whole time.”
His eyes melt with pity, filling my chest with a powerful sense of remorse. I glance away to pick at a piece of frayed material on the joggers I’m wearing, hating the way he’s making me feel.
“Tell me what happened with them, baby.” He stops between words, speaking in a tender voice. “How often were they injecting you?”
Weren’t the stab marks on my arms and legs evidence enough?
Without making eye contact, I say, “They medicated me to exist in an endless haze until they sold me at the auction to Robert.” The memory of the needles piercing my skin and the high of heroin are the hardest parts to divulge—because I liked it. The abyss of ecstasy was euphoric.
I don’t tell Charlie. It’s a secret of shame I will take to the grave.
“They wouldn’t let you have a moment of lucidity?” he asks, barely a whisper. Hooking a finger under my chin, he lifts my face to look at him, at the bizarre amount of respect in his eyes. “When you came around from feeling high, would they dose you right up again?”
I nod, and the lump in his throat contracts.
I pull out of his gentle hold, shrinking into myself. I don’t want to talk about the heroin. I hate it. And I hate seeing him so weak to the guilt he feels for me. He doesn’t deserve it. This isn’t his fault.
A moment of quiet cocoons us, Charlie hesitating to ask, “Did anyone touch you, Blaire?”
I’m not nearly prepared for his question. Humiliation washes over me in tenfold, but I shake to say no. I don’t think anyone touched me, but even if they did, I wouldn’t tell him. I can’t say things like that to Charlie. It feels so...dirty.
He sighs, insisting it’s okay. “You don’t need to feel shame with me, Blaire. You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”
I bite my lips closed, refusing to speak about the matter. That’s when he centers his questions on crucial intelligence that could lead to a breakthrough rather than intimate details on what happened to me. He knows I won’t talk about myself anymore. Charlie is learning to read me like a book.
“Do you recognize the name, Asad?”
“No,” I whisper, glancing at him, at his open stare of adoration. “I told you, I didn’t hear any names.”
“Okay,” he says softly, flashing his sweetest smile.
We go over it all a few times more, filling in the blanks. I wipe my running nose with the sleeve of my hoodie, and he disappears into the bathroom. I watch in that direction, wondering what he’s doing. He comes back with a cold washcloth and wipes my face.
“Charlie”—I blink at him, squinting when he almost rubs my eyeball—“I’m supposed to go back by four o’clock this evening. Robert is waiting for me at a location in the London Docks.” I give him precise details, so he can surprise our enemy.
“Don’t worry about what you’re supposed to do.” Charlie winks at me, confidence in his smile. “By four o’clock, I’ll have solid collateral on Robert. By four o’clock, I’ll have ensured James’ life. I promise you that, Blaire.”
I believe him with every essence of me, striving to remain calm when he says he’s gonna go have a meeting now. “Nic and I have a few things to iron out before we make a move. So, in the meantime, why don’t you take your medication, freshen up, and go have breakfast, hmm? When I’m done, I’ll come fill you in.”
“You will tell me the whole plan, right? Because I want to know exactly what’s going on, Charlie. I won’t accept you dithering around the finer details.”
“I’ll tell you the whole plan, I promise.” He bends to kiss my mouth, adding the right amount of pressure to silently tell me it’s all going to be okay.
———
Charlie clears up the papers he threw at me, ensures I’m all right, and he exits the bedroom to rendezvous with Nic.
I sit here waiting...and waiting...and waiting...clock watching to nine thirty. Ten o’clock. He doesn’t come back. I know he said I should freshen up and eat, but I’m too nervous to eat right now, stressing about what’s going to happen with James when Robert discovers I’ve betrayed him. We have until four o’clock to grasp control of the situation, and even by my standards, that’s not a lot of time.
It’s nearing eleven o’clock when my tummy grumbles. I turn over to crawl across the bed for the medication Charlie has me taking. I also decide to hop in the shower, to freshen up and kill some more time. Sure, I had a wash this morning but last night’s sweat still clings to my skin.
When I’m done, I towel dry myself and search through the walk-in-closet for my moisturizer and the ointment I’m supposed to use on the skin grafts. I find them in the cabinet above the vanity sinks in the bathroom plus a whole shelf of orange pill pots. Not just any old pill pots. Medication. Olanzapine, Quetiapine, and Risperidone. I have no idea what the first two are, but I’m certain Risperidone is used to treat psychiatric conditions like bipolar disorder. Maksim used it on me when I was younger until I was certified as no longer responsive to fear or mental outbursts.
I wonder why Charlie has it.
I grab a few pots and give them a rattling shake. They’re half full. Checking the dates, I see they were prescribed long before he even knew me, and his full name—Charlie Guzmán Decena, plus his date of birth indicating that he’s twenty-nine now—is listed as the patient.
How strange.
Skin creams and colognes line the middle shelf in the cabinet, more products than I’d ever assume Charlie would wear. Putting the pill pots back, I grab a gold bottle of cologne, pop off the lid, and spray the air. Hmmm. It’s a fusion of male spice and musk, real man scent. It’s the same cologne he wore when we were meant to go out for dinner.
I jiggle the product bottles around to find my cocoa butter moisturizer and the ointment, finishing up getting ready. When I’m done, I put everything back as I found it, brush my teeth, and dress in another baggy tracksuit. I go downstairs, chasing the scent of smoked bacon and eggs into the kitchen. The housekeeper is laying placements at the dining table, practically drowning in another dirty apron. I stop by the refrigerator, unsure of what to do in her company.
“Buenos días,” she croaks when she sees me, gesturing at the table. “Would...erm...food... Lo siento.” She touches her chest, apologizing for not speaking English. “No hablo inglés.”
“Sin problema,” I tell her, no problem, casting a glance around the kitchen. It looks like she’s cooked breakfast twice over. The sink is bubbling and overflowing with pans.
She carefully reaches for a plate on the table with raised eyebrows, as if to suggest that she serve my food. “El Señor insistiría.” The Senor would insist.
I shrug and go to pull up a chair facing the main door, so I can see when Charlie is done in his office, assuming he’s in there. I allow the housekeeper to load my plate with a healthy portion of everything, and dig in. It’s a delicious meal with crunchy toast dripping in butter and evenly smoked bacon. I sip the creamy coffee she pours, forcing a smile when she wanders off to clear up the mess she’s created in the cooking space.
By the time I’ve nearly finished eating, and Eliza has long gone to fulfill other housekeeping duties, Charlie enters the kitchen. I frown while watching him walk in, scrutinizing his appearance. The red sweater he’s wearing is crumpled, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, exposing the big silver watch on his left wrist. His hair is ruffled from where he’s been running his fingers through the strands and his face is grim with his lips set in a line. When we look at each other, he forces a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. It doesn’t work on me. I can see beyond his facade. I can sense his mood is off.
“Hungry, baby?” he says, lowering onto the chair at my left. He kisses my cheek, inhaling my scent as he does. “Hmm, you smell like cocoa butter.”
“I moisturized after taking a shower,” I say, stomach tingling as he nuzzles my neck with his nose. I lean away so I don’t lose myself in his sexual attention, searching his eyes for information while licking my lips clean of food. “What’s happening?”
He explains he had a meeting with his brother, Nic, to tell him everything about Robert, and what they’re going to do to resolve the matter of James. “Nic’s gearing up to leave for France, to retrieve all three of Robert’s daughters.” He reaches for the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. “Andres is holding off on flying in for now. Since I’m not leaving you alone—because Robert knows where this house is—I don’t need his wife, Luna, here to wait on you.”
“You’re kidnapping Robert’s daughters?” I ask, not giving a shit about his brothers or this Luna woman. His strategy sounds unassailable. Robert won’t hurt James if we have his daughters.
If only I knew last week that he had daughters...
“I am.” Charlie nods once, confident of his scheme. “That motherfucker will pay for what he’s done to you, one way or the other.” He turns up the cup to have a sip of coffee and tells me—until we get him back—he’s going to ensure James’ safety by demanding regular video footage of him. “If Robert doesn’t agree, then I’ll send regular footage of his eldest daughter suffering a little Los Zetas attention.”
“That’s a good idea.” I wrap my arms around one of his, to cuddle him. “And you’ll return the favor, right? If Robert agrees on regular footage of James, you’ll send him regular footage of his daughters to show they’re safe and unharmed?”
“I will.” Charlie bends to kiss my fingers on his forearm. “We can’t go after Robert yet, so his girls are the next best thing to use to control him.”
I lift my head off his arm, scowling. “Why can’t you go after him?”
“Until we know where James is, Robert must remain free. He’ll know when we have him prisoner, he’s gonna die, so why would he tell us where James is, hmm?” Charlie looks at me from the side, searching my face. “He’ll let your brother rot wherever he is just to spite us one last time.”
That makes sense.
I rest my head on Charlie’s arm again, sighing. “So, what now?”
“I have a hacker who’s gonna try to access Robert’s online Dark Web profile. If he can, he’ll track Robert’s past conversations and movements to see if there is a pattern, so I can find him. I also want to know if there’s any mention of you or James. Till we know more”—he shrugs—“we wait.”
I scowl, offended and confused. “I could hack his profile.”
“You’re not well enough for that kinda work,” he says. “And not only that, I don’t want you worrying over this. Tis’ my job.”
“But Maksim would—”
“Blaire...” he stops me off from protesting, raising his eyebrows at me. “Maksim isn’t here, baby.”
Taken aback, I look at him looking at me, unsure of how to respond.
“I know you’re still adjusting to this new life,” he says, studying my reaction, “I understand how your mind works—Maksim taught you all you know; it’s natural for you to question things, to want to help—but I’m trying desperately to minimize any chance of causing you additional stress. I don’t want you involved in anything unless it’s absolutely essential.”
“But, Charlie—”
“Please, Blaire,” he says, stooping to pleading.
“I’m sorry.” I look down at my hands on his arm, burning with remorse. “I...I’m not deliberately questioning you.”
“I know,” he whispers. “Just let me handle things. The guilt of what happened to you is...bothering me”—he practically shudders on the word bothering like it’s poison—“I need you to be okay. I need to fix everything for you, without worrying you.”
I sit here for a while in total quietness, fiddling with his watch on his wrist, wondering why I interrogate everything he says and does. It’s not purposeful. I don’t think he’s up to no good. He does something and I subconsciously analyze it. That’s how I work. That’s how Maksim conditioned me to work.
Charlie is right, though. Maksim isn’t here. I killed him. But does that change my thought process? I can hack and I can fight for us—fight for James. I shouldn’t just do nothing.
“I can sense you’re even questioning yourself now,” Charlie says. “Please, don’t do that. Forget Maksim. Forget about what’s going on. The only thing I want you concerning yourself with is yourself.” He pulls out of my hold and drapes one arm around my shoulders, drawing me in against his side. “As long as I know you’re all right, I can handle everything else, okay?”
I bite my tongue to hold back disputing with him. He’s quite clearly not in a good headspace, and I should be supporting him in all his endeavors to save James, not making his life harder.
“Okay,” I whisper, nestling in his side. “I’ll try not to worry.”
———
Throughout the rest of the day, things move with speed, and the situation with Robert progresses in our favor.
Nic and his Los Zetas detail gun down the Albanian daughters’ security outside a fancy mall in Paris, bag them, and make plans to bring them back to England where Charlie will hold them captive in a place he calls the guardhouse. We’re in Charlie’s office when we get the news. A live broadcast flashes across the big television screen in the partition of cameras, informing nations about a supposed terrorist attack on Paris. It’s fake, of course, like most of the bullshit in the news.
Charlie gets a call a few hours later informing him ‘the cargo’ has been loaded, but there’s a process to get it in the country: flight plans and boarder control passes. Apparently, whenever Charlie and his men fly, he has to get it signed off by the respective government. He has personal contacts within the Western World, so it’s not usually a problem. It’s usually resolved by sending a simple message.
After he’s done securing our cargo’s safe delivery—meaning the girls—he urges me to sit at the desk with him, so we can discuss potential issues. I don’t like it when he specifically uses the word issues. The plan sounded invulnerable when we spoke of it earlier.
“It won’t be long before Robert knows we have his daughters,” Charlie says, holding eye contact from across the desk. “So, now it’s on us to ensure the result we want—and it’s very important that you understand and agree to the plan I have in place, Blaire. Nic’s gone back to Mexico for a few weeks to handle some business matters, so I’m dealing with everything else solo—”
“Will you get to the point?” I interrupt, sitting on pins and needles for his big revelation.
“Before we negotiate James’ freedom,” he says, speaking with his hands, “examples need to be made and lessons need to be taught.”
“Okay...what examples and lessons?”
Apparently, to make Robert feel what Charlie felt during my disappearance, there will be no negotiations for four weeks—double the length of time Robert had me. In the process, the girls will remain our hostages, and James will remain Robert’s.
“You can’t be serious?”
Charlie nods, slouching back in his chair. I wait for him to say something of value but words don’t pass his arrogant lips.
I lean over his desk on my fists and speak through clenched teeth, hissing, “You can’t expect James to—”
“Your brother also needs to be taught a lesson.” Charlie stops me from talking by lifting a hand. “When we get him back, he must know he cannot risk trying to take you again. Everyone—specifically my enemies—knows I’m in love with you...do you understand the severity of that? Do you understand the weak position that puts you in?”
I don’t care to understand. I want to hit him and scream that I will not accept this plan. It’s madness!
“Robert’ll know I’m not playing games,” Charlie says, “since we managed to kidnap one of his brothers, too. Should the situation call for it, I’ll be sending him back in pieces.”
I search my lover’s wicked eyes, in that moment sensing his bloodlust. I realize he wants this. He wants Robert’s resistance. He wants to murder the brother. The girls are off limits since two of them are underage and Charlie doesn’t believe in hurting kids. But Robert’s brother is fair game.
“You are playing with fire,” I say, whacking the desk. “Do you really think Robert is going to take this sitting down? If you kill his brother...” I have no words.
Charlie doesn’t answer my concern. He reiterates that once the four weeks are up, negotiations will begin, and he will guarantee James is returned alive and well. “Anything other than that shouldn’t concern you, Blaire.”
My eyes flash, insulted now more than ever before. Having Robert’s daughters and brother will guarantee James’ safety, yes, but still, I can’t agree to this plan. We should call for a meeting, commit to straight swaps—James for the girls—and be done with it. Torturing Robert can happen later.
“You’re going to offer Robert a chance to safeguard his daughters, aren’t you?”
“Course I am. I told you already”—he gestures up at me—“for Robert to ensure they remain unscathed, he must send regular footage of James.”
I nod, though I still think his plan is lunacy. I understand people need to learn a lesson on what they can or cannot do, but how am I meant to be okay with James being caught up in the middle of all this?
“I don’t get a say in this, no?” I cross my arms, battling for deep, inner strength to keep my cool. “I’m supposed to just let you leave my brother helpless at the hands of our enemy for four whole weeks, so you can teach Robert a lesson?” There’s something more I want to say, but I know I shouldn’t. Yet I also can’t help myself. “Would you do this to your brothers?”
Charlie stands up to me and hisses from across the desk, “If my brothers dared to take you for their own desires—or any other reason—I wouldn’t try to save them.”
My mouth opens to protest but closes when I realize he’s serious. He would actually leave his own brothers if they pulled a stunt like James did. I can’t believe it.
“The only reason I’m employing strategies to get James back, is for you.” He points at me with a hint of bitterness. “The sooner you realize that, the better.”
His laptop pings with new mail. Both our heads drop to it. He opens the message, reads it, and tells me it’s Robert. “He’s demanding we give his daughters back, obviously.”
I lower onto the chair as Charlie’s fingers whiz across the keyboard typing a reply, blooming with an odd sense of sadistic pleasure. It feels good to torment that Albanian mudak for once. I don’t know who he thinks he is, emailing demands when we have most of the leverage.
Another email pings on the laptop. I listen closely as Charlie reads the message aloud, saying Robert has agreed to send regular footage of James over the next four weeks in exchange for a public promise that his daughters will remain unharmed. Charlie won’t agree to it. He’s concerned that if he cannot adhere to his promise, it’ll make him look bad for business. He won’t commit to anything other than what he’s already brought to the table, choosing to force Robert’s hand by a no-nonsense approach. I momentarily wonder why anyone deals with him. He’s cold, ruthless, and he doesn’t budge on a deal. It’s either his way or the highway.
“So, what are you going to say now, Charlie?” I ask, lifting my shoulders in an arrogant shrug.
He rubs his bristly jaw, unsure of how to reply to Robert’s email. “I don’t want to murder his brother yet or the eldest daughter, and I can’t threaten to hurt the underage girls because he’ll know I’m bluffing. Everyone knows I won’t handle underage girls.”
“Tell him I’ll handle the girls,” I say, and Charlie’s eyes lift from the laptop to mine. “Tell him he’s got one hour to send the footage of my brother before I get to work—and I will. I don’t give a shit if they’re underage or not.”
There’s a second of edgy silence between Charlie and I, where he watches me under a wary frown, where he watches the real me. He knows I’m not bluffing, as does Robert, it seems. Thirty minutes later, after Charlie has sent my warning, the laptop pings with another new message. Charlie attaches a set of headphones and watches a video for fifteen minutes, while a mixture of expressions race across his face: surprise, awe, arousal...
“Is that of James?” I ask, and he nods. I then ask if I can see, to know my brother is well.
Charlie extends a steady hand, gesturing at the laptop. I spin it around on the desk and stare wide eyed at the sight of James, bone thin and stark naked. He’s strapped to a chair by his wrists and ankles, dark red hair all floppy over his face. The camera is recording from a high corner in the room, so it’s hard to see him properly. I scan his body, the withdrawn bones in his chest and hips. I can’t be sure, but I think his inner arms are bruised. Long, streaky shadows mar his skin there, exactly like the puncture marks that disfigured my body before they faded to nothing. I clock the messy, round scars on his left shoulder—from where Maksim shot him—and it’s then I know it is definitely James.
On the recording, a raven-haired beauty appears in the doorway, covered in a floaty black cape. She crosses the room and crouches to her knees between James’ legs, rubbing his twitchy thighs. Her head starts bopping up and down. My brother yanks back and forth in the chair in a sloppy state, as if to stop her.
I turn the laptop back to Charlie, face coiling with revulsion that Robert is making people do that to my brother.
“At least Robert isn’t hurting him,” Charlie says, half amused.
“Make him stop!” I punch the desk again, feeling anger come off me in waves. I won’t let this happen. I won’t allow Robert to sexually abuse my brother against his will. “Warn that if he doesn’t, I will do unspeakable things to his girls—hell, I will pay a crackhead to rape all three of those girls if this disgusting abuse on my brother continues!”
“Dios mío, don’t speak like that, Blaire,” Charlie snaps, slapping the laptop shut. “We, Los Zetas, have a rule: we do not harm children.”
“I am not a Los Zetas.” I get up and walk around the desk to Charlie, lean down, and say in his face, “You don’t know me, not really. You don’t know how far I will go to keep James safe...how far I’d go to keep you safe if the tables were turned.”
His face hardens, but he doesn’t speak over my authority, just observes me.
I point at the laptop, maintaining eye contact with him as I do. “Either warn Robert, or I will, Charlie—and believe me, your plan to remove all the cars from your house and arm your men with tranquilizer guns will not stop me.”