“Ella, my, my, my.” The biggest man says, stepping into the room. I look at his chunky body, the gold rings adorning each finger and vomit gurgles at the back of my throat. “Your Daddy didn’t do you justice; you are far prettier than he gave you credit for.”
“W-who are y-you?” I stammer, holding the thin sheet against my body, my pee turning cold and making me shiver.
The dark-haired man laughs and reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls something out, a needle of some kind, and I push back towards the wall, my eyes darting everywhere, in search of some way to escape.
“My name, sweet girl, is Vladimir Chrobak, and you now belong to me.” He says, reaching my bed, and his huge weight makes the bed sink as he sits.
I hear his words, but I don’t understand. “What? What do you mean?” I’ve been hit so many times, I know the sting of my parents’ hands better than the feeling of their comforting embrace, but his slap knocks the soul from me. His enormous rings cut into my skin, ripping open flesh on my cheeks, and my head collides with the wall beside me. No noise escapes my mouth, my vision swims, and the pain is so potent I cannot even cry.
“One thing you need to know before we live this shit-hole, sweet Ella, is that you do not question me. You do not speak unless given my permission. Understood?” He yanks the sheet from my body and sneers as he sees the mess underneath. My eyes are fluttering shut, and I’m fighting to stay conscious, wholly aware that he’s ripping the clothes from me, and yet too weak to protest.
Where’s my Daddy? Why isn’t my Daddy stopping this man?
His big fingers probe at my legs, pushing my thighs apart, and on instinct, I bat his hands away.
SLAP! Another, almost deadly blow to my face, and this time, I cannot see. My eyes close, but still, my body does not give up, it does not give in to the need to fall asleep. I slump backward, my mind a whirling mess, giving Vladimir the perfect opportunity to continue what he was doing.
My legs, now no longer controlled by me, flop open, and I heard the four men groan. A weird noise, an unsettling sound. And still the stars dance in my vision.
Sweat pools at the base of my spine, its coldness almost soothing the bruise I know is forming, and I try my best to gain some strength, anything to remove this man’s hands from my body.
“Perfection, docela pussy,” he murmurs. He has a funny accent, it’s strong and not one I can place in the world.
With my vision black, I can only make out the movements of the men intruding into my life. There’s movement on the bed once more as Vladimir’s weight shifts. There’s a small prick in my neck, I can only just feel it, and then I’m weightless, floating in his arms. The panic swells within my stomach, and all I can smell is strong aftershave and smoke. It’s a sickening smell, and I want to fight. I want to kick and scream, but my limbs have become burdensome, my eyes glued shut.
Voices echo around the room, distorted and scary. I hear the click of a lock, and then I’m floating down, spiraling towards a new kind of hell.
A cold breeze blows across my face. A woman laughs and lets out a long, satisfied sigh.
Mama? Open your eyes, Ella, I plead with myself.
We stop for a brief moment, male voices speak once more, and fighting against the overwhelming urge to succumb to sleep, my right eye flicks open. Through a haze, I see Mama. Her body sprawls across the couch; Daddy is next to her, unwrapping a strap from her arm. She’s got her medicine now. Things will be okay now. Mama will be happy again.
My eye shuts, far too much of a weight for me, and darkness takes me. A darkness I’ll come to know very, very well.
Chapter Five
Jax.
Three days passed since Carter had found Amy and since our lives had been snatched from under us.
I had watched him cry, sleep, drink and trash my apartment, in no particular order, and it was on the fourth day when my father rang me to let me know when the meeting was happening. The last thing I wanted was to leave Carter; there was no way of telling what he would do without me watching his every move.
Amy's body had been moved to Purgatory's morgue, leaving us Murdoch's unable to carry out any further investigations. A Chrobak would oversee the post mortem, meaning all we had to go on, to find out who the fuck did this, was all the guys had collected at the scene. So far, it was proving fruitless.
Amy's parents were informed. Jozef had paid them a little visit and warned them to stay away. He told them he'd send details of her plot when she was buried. It was all so fucking cold and callous. None of it sat right with me.
Tonight, after spending an hour comforting Carter, I was sitting, sipping my whiskey when my cell rang. "Jax, how is he doing?" My father asked. I placed my glass on the table beside my chair, and I got to my feet, pacing my open plan kitchen. "The same."
My father sighed, "Well, I hate to drag you away from him, son, but we need you at the meeting tomorrow. It's that time of the year again." He didn't need to remind me. Soon, another Murdoch would be leaving his world behind to join Vladimir's.
"Any ideas who he'll choose?"
"I couldn't tell you, son. Vladimir is calling at three tomorrow, so meeting starts at two, okay?"
My father and I said our goodbyes, and the last few days crept up on me, twisting my muscles and cracking my bones. I needed a shower, more drink, and a fuck. Anything to release the tension of tomorrow hanging over us. None of us wanted to leave; once you were in Vlad's crutches, in his home, there was no leaving unless you died or he killed you. It was a life sentence. Heading for the bathroom, I stopped in my tracks upon hearing carter's despairing wails. I cracked my neck, expelling the stress, and moved across the landing for the spare room. Knocking on the door, purely to let him now I was entering, I pushed it open and stood there. Carter was half-naked and staring out the window, his shoulders shaking with each sob. His blond hair was a ratted mess; bruises covered his back; I had no idea when or how they'd appeared.
My bare feet padded into the room, and I took a seat at the little desk on the right-hand side, resting my forearms on my knees.
"My dad always said I didn't deserve her," Carter's voice filled the air between us.
"Your dad was an asshat. He never saw you guys together, now's not the time to torture yourself with the ramblings of a madman, Cart."
An empty bottle of scotch sat on the desk, and it wasn't lost on me that just a few hours ago, it had been full.
"Madman or not, maybe he was right. It's my fucking fault she's dead, so-" Carter looked up, craning his neck, "Well done, dad, you proved me wrong, again!" His voice oozed bitterness, and he turned around eyeing me and then the bottle next to me. His face contorted with the war coursing through him, I had given both my nuts to take his pain away.
Pissed that my friend still fought the demon he once called dad, I got up and crossed the room, taking his sweat-soaked face in both my hands. "It's not your damn fault, and I don't wanna hear that shit from you. I'm so, so fucking sorry this has happened to you, but it's not. Your. Damn. Fault."
Carter pulled away from me and sat on the bed, wrapping himself up in the dark blue sheets, pulling his knees to his chest. I returned to the desk chair, my eyes never leaving him, and I waited. I waited for him to talk, to cry, or to get angry; instead, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. For a moment, he looked peaceful, and for that, I was grateful.