Hate Me (Collateral Book 1) Page 2
“Rubia?” he calls out.
Taking a deep breath, I rush at him, swinging the metal pipe at the back of his head. He twists at the last minute, and the pipe collides with the side of his face. There’s a cracking of bone before he hits the floor and lets out a low groan. I don’t look at him, I just run. Tearing the door open, I sprint across the warehouse, looking for a way out. There’s a metal walkway with a ladder up to it. I run for it and climb the ladder as fast as I can. Once I hit the walkway, I’m running for the open window sat ajar at the top of the warehouse. Poking my head out, I squint against the bright sunlight. It’s a long way down to the ground. There’s a garbage bin off to the side. If I can just get a little farther along…
A series of shouts echo around the warehouse below. I’m out of time. This is it, now or never. My pulse pounds against my eardrums—adrenaline is pumping through my veins and driving me on. Swinging my leg over the window ledge, I reach for the next window, trying to find something to grab onto. There is nothing. Shit. I drop to a crouch and slowly lower off the edge, gripping onto the worn concrete ledge with my fingers. Long-dormant muscles scream in protest at the abuse. I can barely breathe. The garbage bin is just to the left of me. If I can just…I swing my weight back and forth until my fingers can’t hold on anymore, and then I release and close my eyes, waiting for the ground to rise up and break me like a fledgling bird. Something hits my ankle hard before I land in a heap of hot, smelly trash. Biting back tears, I clutch my ankle as pain lances through it. I must have just clipped the top of the dumpster. Forcing myself to move, I drag myself over the edge, onto the ground, and hobble behind a small outbuilding. This is so pointless. The likelihood of getting out of here is slim to none. I glance around. There’s a perimeter fence topped with razor wire and men walking around everywhere. A row of cars is parked, maybe twenty feet away. I watch as a guy leaves the warehouse via a side door and gets in his car, reversing out before driving across the compound to the gate. The guard simply waves him through without hesitation. Nervously, I glance from the guards at the gate to the row of cars. They don’t seem to be paying attention to the inside of the compound. They’re here to keep people out, and I can’t imagine many girls escape. Alejandro is going to come out here soon with half an army to bring me back. I need to move. Shoving away from my hiding place, I hobble as fast as I can over to the cars. I duck down behind an old Ford SUV just as two armed guys come around the corner. I need to get inside, but what if I set off an alarm? Carefully, I round the hood and gently pull the back door handle. Locked. Damn it. Glancing down the line of cars, I look for something old and shitty. There’s a Honda Accord three cars down. I drop to the floor and roll beneath the car next to me, slowly making my way down the line until I’m next to the Accord.
“Please, please, please,” I whisper under my breath, rolling out from under the car. I gently pull on the handle, and it gives. The door clicks open, and I breathe a sigh of relief, climbing inside. A quick glance around tells me there’s nothing to hide under. The trunk. Feeling around behind the back seats, I find the latch to release the seats. The seat folds forward, and I fight back the urge to gag, slamming my hand over my mouth. A body. There’s a body in the trunk. A clear plastic bag covers the man’s face and his horrified bloodshot eyes stare right at me.
My hands tremble with fear as I try to make a decision. Whoever owns this car, they probably work for the cartel. They’ll kill me if they find me, but Alejandro probably will as well. I swallow back bile as I consider having to crawl into the trunk with a dead body. What if they remove the body and find me? My heart pounds rapidly, my mind processing options, and then I hear voices. My breaths come in rapid pants, and I reach inside the trunk space, squeezing my eyes shut and breathing through my nose as I feel around. My fingers brush over cool metal, and I grab the object, pulling it out. The gun weighs heavy in my hand, the weight of it so foreign to me, and yet utterly empowering. The voices move closer, and I make a decision. Steeling myself, I crawl in, next to the dead man. This is sheer desperation. I have no other options right now. Reaching for the back seat, I pull it upright, making sure it doesn’t fully click into place. The trunk plunges into darkness, leaving me alone with a corpse. I think of anything but the cold, waxy skin pressing up against my thigh. The space is tight, and I have no option but to be almost on top of the body. A door opens and then the car shifts under the weight of someone getting inside. There are voices and laughing before the engine starts. I strain to hear over the Spanish rap music blaring through the speakers. There are two of them. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try desperately to steady my breathing, which I’m sure they must be able to hear. Adrenaline fires through my veins, the drive to survive riding me hard. I’m a girl with nothing left to lose and my freedom to gain. Fear blends with that long forgotten feeling of hope. So near and yet so far. This really is freedom or death. There’s nothing else for me on this path, and there’s something thrilling in that. I’m taking control of my own fate for the first time in a very long time.
The car pulls away and then pauses briefly. I silently pray that the guards don’t look in the trunk. There’s the low rumble of voices before we’re moving again. I don’t know how long it takes, but the car rolls over bumpy, pothole-filled roads for what feels like forever. The trunk gets hotter and hotter until the faint odor of rot starts to come from the guy crammed in here with me. I try hard to breathe through my mouth so as not to retch on the ever-intensifying smell.
Eventually, the car rolls to a stop, and my heart leaps into a sprint. I clutch the gun so tightly that my fingers start to go numb. The car doors slam and then a tense silence, broken only by the sound of my erratic breaths, descends. When I hear nothing for a few seconds, I tentatively push the back seat forward and press my face against it, looking through the gap. I can’t see much. People pass by the window, and there’s the faint red glow of what looks like neon lights cutting through the dusk. They’re going to come back for the body, and then they’re going to kill me. I clasp the gun to my chest as I close my eyes and try to think the situation through. I’ve never fired a gun before. What if I miss? What am I even thinking? Of course I’ll miss. I’m a whore, not a damn sicario. A cold, lifeless limb presses up against me, and I lose my hold on any semblance of calm control. Slamming my weight against the seat, I sprawl into the back seat, sucking air into my tightening lungs. Without hesitating, I yank the door handle and fall out of the car onto a busy street, drawing attention. People look at me as I get to my feet and glance around. The car is parked outside a run-down bar with rows of motorcycles out front. There’s a wooden porch outside, and several men covered in gang tattoos stop and stare at me. They study me intently, until one of them steps forward, a twisted smile on his face.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” he shouts over the music.
I turn and run. I run as far and as fast as I can on my injured ankle. At least my captors had a reason to keep me alive. Out here is where unleashed monsters live, and I’m now the limping gazelle in a city full of them.
Four
Rafael
Andre stands in front of my desk, his lips pressed into a tight line and his gaze fixed on his beat-up converse. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket as I stare at him. He’s a fucking cockroach who makes money from cutting off the top of other people’s deals.
“They lost her?”
He glances up at me nervously. “They say she escaped when they were bringing her to the meet.” I lift a brow. “They are refunding the money,” he blurts quickly.
I laugh. “Nero Verdi doesn’t give a fuck about the money.” Shit, he’s going to be pissed. I don’t know who the girl is, but he’s gone to a lot of trouble to get her.
“She shouldn’t be hard to find. She’s Russian. Blonde…pretty.”
“Get out.” He nods and turns away, closing my office door behind him. With a resigned sigh, I take a seat at my desk and open my laptop to video call
Nero.
After a couple of rings, he picks up. The screen jolts and bounces before settling on his face. “Yeah?”
“We have a problem,” I say.
“I don’t like problems, Rafe.” He drags a hand over his jaw, tensing it beneath the five o’ clock shadow.
“Yeah, well, your collateral has done a runner. Like it or not, I assume that’s a problem.”
“Fuck! You lost her?” His whiskey-colored eyes lock with mine through the screen; dark brows pulling together in a stony frown. I like Nero, I do. We understand each other, but sometimes, he forgets who I am.
I lean forward in my chair and cock a brow. “Careful, Italian. Your fence lost her before I ever laid eyes on her.”
He huffs an exasperated breath. “Where is she now?”
“She ran before the Sinaloa even got her to the exchange. They have no idea where she is…” I smile.
He narrows his eyes at me. “But you do…”
“This is my city. I know everything, and a rare bird is not hard to find amongst the pigeons. Your little Russian cannot hide for long, and my dogs are already on her trail.”
He nods. “Good. If you can keep her safe until I need her, I’ll pay you one million on top of our deal.”
“Nero, we both know I owe you a debt far greater than that.”
I hang up the call and stand, taking my suit jacket off the back of the chair. I just got a shipment from Colombia today, so the warehouse is full. As soon as I step out of my office, Samuel is beside me.
“We lost nearly a kilo in Miami,” he says.
“Fucking shit. You need to train them better, Samuel. You’re sending them out looking nervous as shit with my coke in their guts. They are costing me money!”
He sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
“Have you heard from Fernando?”
“Yeah, he’s got his guys looking for the girl.” I start walking towards the door. “Boss, the shipment to Miami is going to be late now. You want me to send another?”
“Yeah. Change the flight to Fort Lauderdale and find that fucking girl even if you have to go and do it yourself.” He flashes me a look, and I hold up my hand. “I don’t need Nero up my ass.” I walk away from him before he can say anything.
Forty-eight hours. I’ve had my men scour the city, called in every contact, and they still can’t find her. I tap my finger against my bottom lip. How does a girl like her just disappear? The one thing I know about slaves is they’re sheltered by design. The people who own them don’t want them to think for themselves at all. They’re fuck-bots for all intents and purposes. She’s either dead, or she’s been taken. There is no way she’s made it out of this city. I’d know.
A window pops up on my laptop along with a high-pitched ringing. Nero. Brilliant.
I click the green button with a sigh and lean back in my chair. “Well?” he asks.
I lift the cigar from the ashtray and place it between my lips, lighting it. I take a slow inhale, and I can see the irritation blanketing his features. Good. His collateral is causing me enough irritation.
“Nothing yet,” I say, allowing smoke to stream through my lips.
“Two fucking days!” He slams his hands on his desk.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair as I watch him through my computer screen. “She can’t hide forever.”
“Rafael, for all you know, she’s crossed the border. I need her.” There’s an edge to his voice, just a hint of desperation. His jaw tenses and his brows pull tightly together.
“She won’t have crossed. How is she going to leave the city, Nero? She has no money, no passport. Nothing.”
“Or she’s dead.” Honestly, that’s far more plausible. He must see it on my face because he drags both hands through his hair. “Fuck!”
I shrug. “Juarez is a dangerous place for a girl like her.” This is not my problem. I didn’t lose her, the Sinaloa did.
He inhales a deep breath, and the muscle in his jaw twitches erratically. “Keep me informed.” He hangs up, and I smile. It’s good to see him sweat a little sometimes. The Italian is always far too sure of himself. It’s not healthy.
I don’t have time to be handling a damn girl, but honestly, she’s starting to make me look shit. Some of my best men can’t find a runaway whore with no money, friends, or means of escape. If that doesn’t look weak, then I don’t know what does.
I pick up my phone and dial Carlos’ number. “Yeah?”
“Put the word out, ten grand to the man who brings me the girl alive.”
Five
Anna
I barely made it a few blocks from the car before a guy approached me. I tried to run, I tried to fight, but it was pointless.
And now I’m here. Wherever here is. I tug at the chain attached to the wall and clasped around my wrist. The skin beneath the metal cuff is chaffed and raw. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rest my forehead on them and tentatively brush my fingers over my swollen ankle. A sharp breath hisses through my gritted teeth as pain lances up my leg. I think it’s broken. A tremor rips through me, and a chill sweeps over my sweat-slicked skin. My stomach rolls and clenches violently. Groaning, I lean over the edge of the bed as far as I can and throw up on the floor. My vision swims and blurs. The coarse sheets beneath me feel like sandpaper tearing over my skin. I need…I need a hit. The craving is so intense, so all-consuming. It’s like my senses are being overloaded, and everything is too bright, too loud, too real. I crave the darkness, the feeling of nothingness that has surrounded me for so long and made my life bearable. Another convulsion tears over me, and my body feels as though it’s tearing itself apart.
I lay on my back gasping, staring at the beige walls, peeling and stained yellow with years of nicotine. A window is covered with dirty and torn curtains, letting in a depressing, muted light. The entire place smells of body odor, cigarette smoke, urine, and now vomit.
I ran from one master only to gain another. But now, I’m literally chained to a bed, and I feel like I’m dying. Really though, it’s all the same. Men fucking me. Why does it matter which men they are? And honestly, I don’t mind being fucked. It doesn’t hurt me. It’s just an act. It’s all the other things that I know will break me if I have to endure them again.
The door opens, and I wince against the bright light that pours inside for a moment before it closes again. A skinny man covered in tattoos grins at me, and I sigh, fixing my gaze on the stained ceiling.
“Eh, a little gringo bitch,” he says, sniffing as he walks over to me, already stripping out of his shirt. He grabs my breast and squeezes roughly. I barely feel it. Simply remaining conscious is an effort right now. Pawing at my thighs, he wrenches me down the bed so hard that the chain snaps tight, threatening to rip my arm from its socket. I can feel his eyes on my naked body. With a sigh, I close my eyes. I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the rustle of fabric, and then the door opens again…
Bang!
My eyes flash open, and my heart leaps into my throat, my ears ringing. Something wet covers my chest and stomach, and when I look down, I have to fight blind panic. Blood. I’m covered in blood. A man in the doorway stares at me, a gun in his hand as his enormous frame almost blocks out the light from outside. He approaches me, and I watch him through slurred senses. Closing my eyes, I wait for the shot to come. I know how this works. No witnesses, and really, no one will think twice about shooting a whore, especially not a gang member. A smile touches my lips at the thought that this might end here and now. I wonder what it will be like. Will it be as peaceful as I’ve often thought it might be? Will there be something beyond this, or simply nothing?
Fingers brush my arm, and I flinch. The man yanks at the cuff on my arm, and I hear the click of metal against metal before it falls away. Tentatively, I glance up at him, my heart beating in a ragged rhythm as I take in his thick biceps covered in ink, his vest, and his jeans. I try to look at his face but my vision hazes. He picks up the dead guy’s shirt, tossing it at me
with a grunt and a jerk of his chin. With trembling hands, I pull the shirt over my head, the scent of body odor and marijuana clinging to the fabric. The man grabs my arm, dragging me from the bed and out of the door without a word. The bright sunlight physically hurts my eyes, sending blinding pain ripping through my skull. My legs threaten to give out, and the world tilts and spins on its axis. I stagger, and his fingers grip my arm tighter, but it’s too late. I blink once and time seems to slow for a moment before everything goes black.
Six
Rafael
There’s a knock on my office door, and I huff out a breath, sitting back in my chair. “Yeah?”
Carlos walks inside; his hoody pulled up over a ball cap. “I have her,” he says. “One of my contacts just dug her out of a back street brothel.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Whose?”
“Eh, Espanoza.”
I raise a brow. “Make sure Dominges knows that Espanoza found one of his escaped slaves and failed to turn her in.”
It’s not my domain, and I can’t be seen to be getting involved with shit that doesn’t concern me. It’s not supposed to concern me, but I’m pissed because this fucker has caused me no end of hassle. All slaves have a cartel tattoo on them. Only someone with a death wish would steal one of Dominges’ girls.
“On it, boss. She’s at Diablo’s. One of Fernando’s boys found her.”
I stand up and walk to the door. “Let’s go and see what all the fuss is about then.”
Carlos guides the car through the busy streets. It’s a Friday night, and every street corner is bustling with dealers and whores alike. The steady pop, pop, of gunfire echoes in the distance like fireworks. This is my city. She’s a rose, her thorns coated in the blood of her victims, her petals war-torn and damaged—yet she will always be beautiful.