Tossing a couple of bills on the table to cover the beverages and a tip I wave at the waitress and head outside. I hesitate on the curb for a moment deciding where to go first. I doubt I could have missed her walking by the windows of the café. Decision made, I cross the street and turn left, walking up the block toward the club. Maybe they got busy and Starla asked her to work late. Not having my number, she wouldn’t have been able to let me know so it’s the logical place to check first.
The overly loud music assaults my ears as I push past a cluster of young men having their IDs checked by the door. The bouncer doesn’t give me a second look. It’s a little less packed than it was the night before, the difference between a Saturday night and a Sunday evening, I’m sure. This time I don’t hesitate. I head straight for where Sebastian is standing at the bar mixing drinks.
“Hey man,” I say, dropping a heavy hand onto the bar. He stops and looks at me, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.
“Hey. Where’s Nikki? Wasn’t she meeting you somewhere not here?”
I nod. “She didn’t show. I thought maybe she got held up here.” The sinking feeling in my stomach expands. Knowing that she told Sebastian our plans and didn’t show up has anger and anxiety battling each other for first place in my gut. Something’s definitely wrong.
“Dude, she was excited to see you. Maybe she went home first to change or something,” he offers with a casual looking shrug, but everything from his expression to the rigid set of his shoulders says he doesn’t believe that any more than I do.
“Thanks, Bas,” I tell him over my shoulder, already heading out to find my girl.
“Hang on a second,” he calls behind me. I slow my forward motion and watch him wave to one of the dancers. “Get Star for me,” he directs her, his voice commanding. The woman hurries off and Starla comes back in her place just moments later.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her welcoming smile melting away when she takes in my worried expression.
“Nikki didn’t meet me at the café,” I tell her, not caring if I sound more frantic than I should for a second date. “Did she say anything to you about a change of plans?” That’s assuming she told Starla she was planning to meet up with me after work, but if she told Bas, it seems likely that she would have told her friend as well.
Dark anger flashes in Starla’s eyes. She blinks slowly and it’s gone, leaving only concern glittering in the ebony depths.
“It’s gotta be Dom,” she mutters, her voice a tightly controlled whisper. “He promised he would leave her alone.”
Rage explodes inside every cell in my body. “Are you saying Dominic Cerelli has her?” I almost shout the name in her face. She flinches away from my anger, something I never thought I’d see Starla do. She’s always been fearless. I can’t necessarily blame her, I’m sure I look like a crazy man. Just the thought that Dominic would dare to lay a hand on what’s mine makes me feel unhinged.
“He saw her at our building a few weeks ago.” She whispers, her voice trembling. “I thought I was able to distract him. I guess I was wrong.”
I think she murmurs again but I’m not sure, and to be honest, in this instant I don’t care if Dom’s done this to someone before. I only care that he’s done it to Nikki. Sweet, surprisingly innocent Nikki. I know he’s hurt plenty of people in his business, it’s just never been anyone that I fucking care about.
“If that piece of shit hurts one single hair on her head I’m gonna kill him,” I promise her. I file away the hope that brightens her expression before I turn and shove my way through the crowd and back onto the street outside. Before I completely panic I’m going to check Nikki’s apartment, just in case I missed seeing her and she’s there.
God, please let her be there.
I’ve only gone a block, Sebastian on my heels, when something bright in the gutter catches my eye. A small purse. Nikki’s purse. There’s no mistaking the bright Southwestern fabric and weathered leather. The small shred of hope I had that I’d find her at home evaporates instantly, replaced by white-hot fury. She’s gone. No one ever comes back once Dom gets his hooks in them. Not even my mom. Growing up we all knew better than to ask questions when a girl from the neighborhood went missing. Even the cops didn’t look for them. It’s fucked up, I know, but it was just the way things were. He had all the power then, and not a whole lot has changed. I did my best to distance myself from that part of my life after Mom died, only maintaining a connection through my friendships with Xavier and Geno Rossi. That changes now. I still know the rules of the game Dominic plays, and if I don’t find her fast I know she’ll be lost forever.
Chapter Eight
Nikki
Twenty-four days. I’ve been counting. Or at least I think I have.
Every day starts the same. I’m woken from a drug-induced stupor when I’m dragged to my feet. Usually by my arm, but sometimes if I’m too slow, by my hair. I have no idea if it’s day or night, I just know that when he gets me up, he says good morning, so I assume that it’s morning, but there’s no way to know for sure.
I’m in a basement, I know that much. They have me attached to the wall by my neck with just enough chain to reach the small half bathroom. A dirty floor pillow has been serving as my bed. I’m still telling myself it’s a floor pillow anyway. I’m pretty sure it’s a dog bed, but admitting that feels like giving up somehow, and I’m not ready for that. My head is clearer today, as evidenced by the fact that I woke up before he got here. I’m also hungry. Ravenously hungry. Since my muddled brain figured out that they’ve been drugging my food I’ve been eating less and less. I’m lucky they haven’t gotten me strung out on something like heroin. I know that happens. I also know I’ll never have a chance to escape if I can’t keep my wits about me, and I can’t do that if I’m too sedated to function.
I’m sure that he’ll be here soon to unhook my chain and drag me to the bed where he’ll attempt to rape me… again. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t real and I wasn’t so sure that he was going to kill me. He says he wants to fuck me, but even after rubbing his limp dick between my thighs, he can’t get hard enough to do it. That’s when he burns me. I hardly notice the pain anymore, but I have twenty-four small round burns in various stages of healing marking the flesh around my navel. They’re a disgusting mix of weeping blisters and black scabs. I try not to look at them except for when I use the small sliver of soap on the edge of the sink to clean them. They aren’t the worst thing that’s happened. I’d gladly take two of them a day if it would spare me what happens next. A shiver of revulsion and fear wracks my body. When his attempt to rape me fails, I get chained back to the wall and he calls his accomplices in. Usually two or three of them at a time. He likes to watch while they use my mouth and jack off on me. It’s horrible. I don’t even have the words to begin processing it.
The first few times I fought with every ounce of strength in my body and tried to bite them. All that accomplished was a punch in the face so hard I saw stars, and while I lay limply on the floor, my mouth and nose bleeding, they took turns abusing my mouth until I passed out. I have no idea how many of them there were that day, but when it was over I was soaked in semen and vomiting on the floor with a dead body beside me with a gunshot wound to the head. The man who says he owns me was sitting in a desk chair and filled me in. One of his men decided to take advantage of my inability to resist and thought he’d take a turn fucking me. My captor shot him as a warning to the others.