Chapter 22
By the time we land a couple of hours later, I'm dying of thirst and desperately need to pee. Sneaking a glance at Sorn, I see that she's in even worse discomfort, her eyes glazed and feverish-looking. The swelling on her face has turned into an ugly bruise, and her lips are crusted with blood. With my hands cuffed together, I can't even reach over to give her a comforting pat on the arm.
As soon as the plane touches down, they unbuckle us and drag us out of the plane with our hands still cuffed in front of us. The leader approaches us, giving us a quick once-over before pointing toward a black SUV parked a few yards away. He spits out some order at his men, and I understand it to mean that our journey is about to continue. Before they can force us into the vehicle, however, I speak up. "Hey," I say quietly, "I have to use the restroom."
Sorn flashes me a panicked look, but I ignore her, focusing my attention on the leader. I'm pretty sure I'd sooner die than piss my pants—or my hospital gown, as the matter may be. He hesitates for a second, staring at me, then jerks his thumb toward the bushes. "Go, bitch," he says harshly. "You have one minute."
I scramble toward the bushes, ignoring the man with a machine gun who follows me there. Thankfully, he looks away as I hike up my gown and squat to relieve myself, my face flaming with embarrassment. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sorn following my example a dozen yards away.
Once we're both done, we get into another hot, stuffy car. This time, the ride is even longer, the road winding through what appears to be some kind of jungle. By the time we get to a nondescript warehouse-like building—our final destination—I'm soaked with sweat and badly dehydrated. I'm hungry too, but that need is secondary to the thirst that's consuming me right now.
When we get into the building, we are led toward two metal chairs standing in the corner. My handcuffs are unlocked, but before I have a chance to rejoice, the same man who guarded me at the bushes binds my wrists together behind my back. Then he ties my ankles to the chair, one to each leg, before wrapping a rope all around my body to secure me to the chair. His touch on my skin is indifferent, impersonal; I'm just a thing to him, not a woman. Turning my head to the side, I see that the same thing is done to Sorn, except that her handler seems to enjoy causing her pain, yanking her legs roughly apart to tie them to the chair. She doesn't make a sound, but her face gets even paler and her cracked lips tremble slightly.
I watch it all with helpless anger, then turn away once the man leaves her alone, focusing my attention on our surroundings instead.
It seems that my initial impression was correct. We're inside some warehouse, with tall boxes and metal shelves forming a maze in the middle. Now that we're securely tied to the chairs, the men leave us alone, gathering around a long table in the other corner.
Sorn and I finally have some privacy to talk.
"Are you okay?" I ask her, taking care to keep my voice pitched low. "Did they hurt you? Before I came out, I mean . . ."
She shakes her head, her mouth tightening. "Just smacked me around a bit," she says quietly. "It's nothing. You shouldn't have come out, Jennie. That was stupid."
"They would've found me anyway. It was just a matter of time." I'm convinced of that. "Do you know who they are or what they want from us?"
"I'm not sure, but I can guess," she says, her hands clenching tightly in her lap. "I think they're part of the Jihadist terrorist group that Lisa told me about a couple of months ago. Apparently, they're upset that she wouldn't sell them some weapon that her company recently developed."
"Why not?" I ask curiously. "Why wouldn't she sell it to them?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. Lisa is very selective when it comes to her business partners, and it could be that she just didn't trust them enough."
"So they took us as leverage?"
"Yes, I think so," she says softly. "At least, that's what you're here for. Someone at the clinic must've been in their employ because they knew who you were and what you meant to Lisa. I was sleeping in one of the rooms downstairs when they found me, and they immediately went up to the second floor, to the room where you were staying. I think they intend to use you to force Lisa's hand when it comes to giving them this weapon."
I draw in a shaky breath. "I see." I can only imagine how men psychotic enough to kill innocent civilians would 'force Lisa's hand.' Gruesome images of severed body parts dance through my mind, and I push them away with effort, not wanting to give in to the panic that threatens to swallow me whole.
"It's lucky that Lisa wasn't at the clinic when they came," Sorn says, interrupting my dark thoughts. "They killed everyone, all sixteen of Lisa's men who were stationed there guarding us."
I swallow hard. "Sixteen men?"
Sorn nods. "They had insane firepower, and they came with a good thirty or forty men of their own. You didn't see the worst of it, because they entered from the back. There were bodies piled six feet high in the other staircase, with many of the casualties coming from their side."
I stare at her, trying to control my breathing. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. For them to sacrifice so many of their comrades, whatever they want from Lisa must be a hell of a weapon. Would she give it to them to save us? Does she care for me and Sorn enough? I know she wants me—and is concerned about my well-being on some level—but I have no idea if she would put me ahead of her business interests.
Of course, even if she gives them what they want, there is no guarantee that they will let us live. I remember what Lisa told me about Ruby's death . . . about how she was killed to punish her for some warehouse raid. In Lisa's world, actions have consequences. Very brutal consequences.
"Do you think she'll come for us?" I ask Sorn quietly. The irony of it all doesn't escape me. I now regard Lisa as my potential savior, my knight in shining armor. She's not the one I need rescuing from anymore.
She looks at me, her eyes dark in her pale face. "She will," she answers softly. "She'll come for us. I just don't know if it will matter to us by then."
The next couple of hours drag by. The men largely ignore us, though I've seen a couple of them looking at my bare legs when their leader wasn't paying attention. Thankfully, the hospital gown is generally shapeless and made of thick material—about the least sexy outfit I can imagine. The thought of one—or several—of them touching me makes my skin crawl.
They also don't give us anything to eat or drink. That's not a good sign; it means they don't care if we live or die. My thirst is getting so bad that all I can think about is water, and there is an empty, gnawing feeling in my stomach. The worst thing of all, however, is the cold fear that comes at me in waves and the dark images that flicker through my mind like a bad horror movie.
I try to talk to Sorn to keep myself from freaking out, but after our initial conversation, she's become quiet and withdrawn, responding in monosyllables at best. It's like mentally, she's not even there. I envy her. I'd like to be able to escape like that, but I can't. For my mind to let go, I need Lisa and her particular brand of erotic torture.
When I'm just about ready to scream from frustration, two more men enter the warehouse. To my surprise, one of them looks like a businessman; his pinstriped suit is sharp and tailored, and a stylish Strotter bag hangs messenger-style across his body. He's also relatively young, probably only in his thirties, and appears to be in good shape. Smoothly shaven, with olive complexion and glossy dark hair, he could've been on the cover of GQ—if it weren't for the fact that he's most likely a terrorist.
He exchanges a few words with the men on the other side of the warehouse, then heads toward Sorn and me. As he approaches us, I notice the cold gleam in his eyes and the way his nostrils flare slightly. There's something vaguely reptilian in his unblinking stare, and I suppress a shudder when he stops a couple of feet away and studies me, his head cocked to the side.
I stare back at him, my heart pounding heavily in my chest. Objectively, he could be considered handsome, but I don't feel even the slightest tug of attraction. The only thing I feel is fear. It's actually a relief; some part of me has always wondered if I'm simply wired wrong—if I'm destined to desire the men who scare me. Now I see that it's a Lisa-specific phenomenon for me. I'm frightened and repulsed by the criminal standing in front of me now—a perfectly normal reaction that I embrace.
"How long have you known Manoban?" the man asks, addressing me. He has a British accent, mixed with a hint of something foreign and exotic. At the sound of his voice, Sorn looks up, startled, and I see that she's back with us for the moment.
I hesitate for a second before answering. "About fifteen months," I finally say. I don't see the harm in revealing that much.
He lifts his eyebrows. "And she kept you hidden this whole time? Impressive . . ."
I suppress the sudden urge to snicker. Lisa quite literally kept me hidden on her island, so this guy is more right than he realizes. My lips twitch involuntarily, and I see a flicker of surprise cross the man's face.
"Well, you're a brave little whore, aren't you?" he says slowly, watching me with his dark gaze. "Or do you think this is all a joke?"
I don't say anything in response. What can I say? No, I don't think it's a joke. I know you're going to torture me and probably kill me to get back at Lisa. Somehow that just doesn't have the right ring to it.
His eyes narrow, and I realize I somehow managed to make him angry. He looks like a cobra about to strike. My heartbeat spikes, and I tense, bracing myself for a blow, but he simply reaches for his Strotter bag and opens it to reveal his iPad. Glancing down, he quickly types some email, then looks up at me. "Let's see if Manoban thinks it's a joke," he says quietly, closing the bag. "For your sake, girl, I hope that's not the case."
Then he turns and walks away, heading back to where the other men are gathered.
Despite my terror and discomfort, I somehow manage to fall asleep in the chair. My body is still recovering from the operation, and I'm both physically and emotionally exhausted from the events of the past day.
I wake up to the sound of voices. The guy in the suit and the short one I had pegged as the leader are standing in front of me, setting up what looks like a large camera on a tall tripod.
I swallow, staring at them. My mouth feels as dry as the Sahara desert, and despite all the time that's passed, I don't have the least urge to pee. I'm guessing that means I'm badly dehydrated.
Seeing that I'm awake, the Suit—I decide to call him that in my mind—gives me a thin-lipped smile. "It's showtime. Let's see just how much Manoban wants her little whore back."
Nausea roils my empty stomach, and I turn my head to look at Sorn. She's staring straight ahead, her face white and her gaze vacant. I don't know if she slept at all, but she seems even more out of it than before.
They point the camera toward us, checking the angle a couple of times, and then the Suit comes over to stand next to me. As soon as the camera light goes on, he puts his hand on my head, roughly stroking my tangled hair. "You know what I want, Manoban," he says evenly, looking at the camera. "You have until midnight tomorrow to get it to me. Do that, and your slut will remain unharmed. I'll even give her back to you. If not, well . . . you'll get her back anyway." He pauses, smiling cruelly. "Little by little."
I stare at the camera, bile rising in my throat. I haven't been harmed—yet—but I can sense the violence in these men. It's the same darkness that stains Lisa's soul. Men like these are different. They don't abide by the social contract. They don't play by the same rules as everyone else.
The Suit's hand leaves my hair, and he takes a step toward Sorn. "You may be doubting me, Manoban," he says, still speaking to the camera. "You may be thinking that I lack resolve. Well, let me do a little demonstration of what will happen to your pretty whore if I don't get what I want. We'll start with the blonde and move on to that one—" he nods toward me, "—tomorrow after midnight."
"No!" I scream, realizing what he means to do. "Don't touch her!" I struggle to get free, but the ropes are holding me too tightly. There is nothing I can do but watch helplessly as he wraps his hand around Sorn's throat and begins to squeeze. "Don't you fucking touch her! Lisa will kill you for this! She'll fucking murder you—"
Ignoring my screams, the Suit barks out an order in Arabic, and a man steps forward, cutting Sorn's ropes with a sharp knife. I catch a glimpse of her terrified eyes, and then they throw her on the ground, face down. The Suit presses his knee against her back and yanks on her hair, forcing her head to arch back. I can see her legs drumming uselessly against the ground, and my screams grow louder as the Suit takes out a short, thin knife and begins cutting Sorn's cheek.
She yells, struggling, and I can see blood spraying everywhere as he slices open her face, leaving behind a deep bloody gash. I gag, my stomach heaving, but he's far from done. Sorn's other cheek is next, and then he presses the knife into her upper arm, cutting off a strip of flesh. Her agonized screams echo throughout the warehouse, joined by my own hysterical cries. I feel her pain as though it's my own, and I can't bear it. "Leave her alone!" I shriek. "You fucking bastard! Leave her alone!"
He doesn't, of course. He continues cutting her, his dark eyes shining with excitement. He's enjoying this, I realize with sick horror; he's not doing it just for the camera. Sorn's struggles grow weaker, her cries turning into sobbing moans. There is blood everywhere; Sorn is practically drowning in it. I don't know how she's able to remain conscious through this. Black spots swim in front of my vision, and I feel like the walls are closing in on me, my ribcage squeezing my lungs and preventing me from drawing in air.
Suddenly, Sorn's body jerks, and she lets out a strange gurgle before falling silent. All I can hear now is the sound of my own harsh, sobbing breaths. Sorn is lying there unmoving, a pool of blood spreading out from her neck area. The Suit gets up, wiping the knife on his pants, and faces the camera. "That was an expedited show for you, Manoban," he says, smiling widely. "I didn't want to drag it out too much, since I know you'll need the time to get me what I asked for. Of course, if I don't receive it, the next show will be much, much longer." Taking a step toward me, he runs one bloody finger down my cheek. "Your little whore is so pretty, I might even let my men play with her before I start . . ."
This time I can't control myself. Hot vomit rushes into my throat, and I barely manage to turn my head to the side before the contents of my stomach empty out onto the floor in a series of violent heaves.