Transparent by Erin Noelle
“Blake?” she asks, obviously concerned. “Is she okay? What’s going on?”
“I was hoping you could answer that for me. I’m currently standing in the parking lot at your office building where her car is, but it’s nearly nine-thirty, and I haven’t seen or heard from her this evening,” I reply curtly.
“I don’t understand. She said you were picking her up after work today,” she claims, the worry quickly morphing into panic. “She got a text from you this afternoon and said you had a surprise for her . . . that you were gonna send a car to pick her up at six.”
My stomach contracts with a sickening lurch. What in the fuck is going on? “No!” I snap, my mind whirring. “I couldn’t have sent her a text this afternoon; I lost my phone earlier today!”
“Oh shit,” she mutters. “We’ve got a serious problem. What do you need me to do?”
I give her my home address and instruct her to meet me there as soon as possible before hanging up. Then, dropping my head back, I stare up into the starless night’s sky as I force back the suffocating fear. There’s no time for that right now. Blake’s in danger. I know it as certain as I know the sun will rise tomorrow morning. Every minute is crucial.
Opening my car door, I slide onto the driver’s seat and start the car then dial my brother’s number. I hope to God he’s not involved with this, but once again, my gut is pointing unwaveringly in his direction.
As soon as he answers, my voice drops to a low, deadly tone. “I swear to God, Easton, if anything happens to her, I will fucking kill you myself.”
“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?” he replies with obvious confusion.
“Blake!” I shout. “Where is she?”
“I have no idea where your little girlfriend is. I’ve been at the track all day trying to win back some of the money I owe Kabinov—the money you refused to loan me, I might add—and I just sat down for dinner. Alone.”
Baffled by his logic to continue gambling to payback gambling debts, I shake my head to myself and sit there quietly, choking on the panic building inside me. “Madden, are you still there?” he asks, his voice softening with a tinge of concern. “What’s going on?”
“I . . . uh, I don’t know,” I stammer. “She was supposed to come over tonight, like she does every Friday, but when she never showed and never answered my calls or texts, I came looking for her. I found her car parked outside her office, and her coworker told me I had contacted Blake earlier today and told her I would pick her up for a big surprise.”
“And you never contacted her?”
“No. I lost my phone earlier today,” I huff, my mind shifting into overdrive as things begin to make sense. “At least, I thought I did.” The car heaves forward as I pull out of the parking lot mid-sentence.
Easton asks someone where he is for his check and then returns his attention to our conversation. “I’ll help you find her, bro. There’s gotta be an explanation. I can be at your place in thirty minutes.”
Already entering the highway, I agree. “Okay, see you then. Use your key if you beat me there, and don’t say a word to anyone, not even Emerson. I have a bad fucking feeling about this, and I don’t want anyone to know anything until we can piece together a timeline.”
Easton’s flashy Maserati and an unfamiliar Infiniti SUV—presumably Jae’s—are both parked in the driveway when I pull up to my house. The abundance of lights on inside casts a warm glow around the property, but the unsettling feeling inside me is anything but.
Throughout the entire drive home, numerous scenarios of what may have happened run through my head, and I don’t like where any of them lead. So many mysteries still surround her—questions about her ex-husband and what she meant when she said he’s gone now, questions about how her mom and brother died, questions about why she looks so different from the pictures I’d found of her. A shitload of questions, zero answers, and now the girl I love has disappeared. I slam my fist against the steering wheel, the sharp honk from the horn shattering the stillness of the night.
Springing from my car, I rush inside, where my brother and Jae are waiting at the kitchen island. Their heads pop up as I fly through the back door, hoping I’ve heard something, but with one look at my expression, their faces fall.
“The first thing I need to do is pull my phone records from today,” I announce authoritatively. “I thought I forgot it in my office before my one o’clock meeting, but when I had Caroline check for it, she couldn’t find it anywhere, so I went straight to the store and had them turn the old one off and hook up a new one to my number. I didn’t even think for them to run one of those phone locator searches; it was under warranty and I was in a hurry to get home.”
I retrieve my laptop from the office and set up shop on the kitchen’s granite island. “Easton, were you at the office at all today?” I ask, glancing over to my only sibling. Sometimes I forget how much we look alike. Other than his sandy-colored hair being longer than my tousled, wavy locks, we share the similar bone structure and bright blue eyes, exactly like our mother.
Staring down at his shoes, he shakes his head. “No, I’ve been at San Anita’s since the morning pole race.”
“Was Emerson at the office? Do you know?” I bark, desperation taking control of my tone.
“Yeah, she called me around lunch to give me my messages and let me know she was leaving early to go out of town with some friends for the weekend. I didn’t ask a lot of questions ‘cause . . . well, ‘cause I was busy and not really paying attention to her.” Easton shrugs his shoulders and threads his fingers through his hair as he talks, the same exact thing I do when I’m either frustrated or at a loss—both of which I’m overwhelmed with right now.
“I received an email from her at some point today with comments on the latest player graphics I sent over. Hold on, let me check what time that was,” Jae chimes in as she searches for the message on her phone. Her face falls when she finds it. “Oh, it was at nine-fifteen this morning.”
The next forty minutes, I spend talking to Sprint, only to find out that texts to Blake’s phone were indeed sent from my old phone around one-thirty and the GPS locator had been disengaged. That confirms it. My missing phone has to be connected to Blake’s disappearance. Whoever set her up to meet me was smart enough to make sure we wouldn’t be able to trace fingerprints or DNA.
Surveillance footage from the security cameras set up at the office is our next task. I make a call to the head of our internal security, and within ten minutes, I have the film from the cameras positioned directly outside my office. Fast-forwarding through the tape to the afternoon, there’s only one person other than my assistant who enters my office the entire time I’m away.
Emerson Lister.
Betrayal boils inside me, and I’m afraid of what I’m capable of doing when I get my hands on her. Family friend or not, she’s crossed the line this time.
“Find her. Now.”
I LIE AWAKE, BUT DARE not open my eyes. Bound together with an abrasive rope digging into the paper-thin flesh of my wrists, my arms are tethered above my head to the frame of the bed, though my feet and legs remain free. Lying curled in a fetal position, a musty, threadbare blanket covers my otherwise naked body as I count my breaths, wondering which will be my last. A chill slices through me as I think about what I’m about to endure, causing goosebumps to blanket every inch of my exposed skin and my teeth to chatter violently against each other. The visceral fear of my situation roots deep within my bones.
I have no idea where I am or how I got here. I haven’t the slightest clue what time it is or even what day it is. But the one thing I do know for sure is who is responsible for my being here.
That jealous, conniving bitch, Emerson. I should’ve known after hearing her talk with her friends at Madden’s party that she’d do anything possible to get her hands back on him. But once again, I was too busy falling head-over-heels in love with someone who seemed too good to be true, and I let my guard down, became bl
I’m so fucking stupid.
The unexpected image of Emerson sitting cross-legged, waiting for me in the backseat of that town car, all high-and-mighty with her typical arrogant expression, will be forever etched in my mind. Perfectly styled, strawberry-blonde ringlets framing her equally flawless heart-shaped face. A wide-spread, malicious grin showing off her impeccably straight white teeth. Bright, emerald green eyes sparkling victoriously as my birth-given name rang out loud and clear between us in the confined space.
I should’ve known the façade of a life I was living wouldn’t last long. I knew better than to believe I’d ever be able to start over and not be discovered. The day I pulled the trigger on Ish, I sealed my fate. Moving to California and pretending to be someone I wasn’t only prolonged the inevitable.
The only way out of the mafia is death, and now, all I can hope is for it to be as quick as possible. But I know better than that, too. I’m sure by now my ex-father-in-law, Vincent Ricci, has developed his own special form of torture, a way of inflicting the most pain possible before I actually die, intended specifically for the woman who killed his son. Bastard or not, Ish was his blood, and Vincent won’t rest until mine is spilled.
Footsteps. A pair of thunderous feet echoing angrily outside the room, growing closer with each stride, startle me and cause me to lose count. Trembling with trepidation, I roll over onto my stomach and bury my face into the mattress, praying silently for mercy.
The visitor stomps inside and grunts, turning on the overhead light just before the door closes behind him.
“Wake up and uncover your face, girl,” the man orders in a rumbling baritone, his heavy accent unfamiliar—maybe Eastern European, but definitely not Italian. “We have to leave soon.”
Squeezing my eyelids shut as tightly as possible, I ignore his command. An infinite number of questions swirl in my mind as I desperately try to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. If I’m not with Vincent or the Italians, where am I? Who else would want me captured? And how is Emerson associated with all of this?
“Uncover your face,” he repeats gruffly as he approaches the bed. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
Again, I remain stubbornly still, blatantly refusing to roll over and look at him. My palms, underarms, and the backs of my knees all feel damp and clammy, as my nervous system switches into fight or flight mode. If it’s true what they say that you can smell fear, then right now, I reek of it.
An exasperated sigh whooshes from him as he grabs the sheet and insistently yanks it down to my hips, revealing my bare back and butt to him. Instinctively, I stiffen, waiting for the blow I know is coming . . . but never does.
The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the bed next to me, bending down so his mouth is less than an inch from my ear. “Girl, I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll do what’s necessary to make sure you cooperate. I’m going to ask you one more time to show me your face before I put my hands on you and force you to.”
His warm breath feathers over my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. Much like his accent, his scent is foreign, a pungent mixture of exotic spices and formidable danger. My heart bangs frantically against my sternum as the reality of the situation seeps in. I know without a shadow of a doubt I’m going to die, so I decide to stay obstinate and make him work for it.
“Fuck you,” I croak into the sheet, grimacing at the painful rawness of my throat.
“Unbelievable,” he snarls, adding a word I can’t understand as he pushes off the headboard and returns to standing. He paces silently for a few moments, but stays close to the bed, his presence looming as I continue to conceal my face.
“I know you do not know me, but right now, you need to realize I’m the best friend you have.” The words are clipped with forced control as he restrains himself from reacting to my insubordinate behavior. “Show some respect and do what you are told. I mean you no harm, but I will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to ensure that you cooperate,” he repeats.
He pauses briefly as something soft lands on the bed, brushing against my ribcage. “I’ve brought you some clothes to change into. I trust when I free you that you won’t do anything stupid to force me to tie you again. Now, I’m going to ask you for the last time to turn your head and look at me.”
The foreigner’s voice overflows with increasing irritation, and innately I know he’s not one to make idle threats. Ever so slowly, I twist my neck to the side and rest my cheek on the mattress. My dry, scratchy eyes are open, but I still refuse to meet his eyes as I stare at the blank white wall behind him. I’m hanging on to the tiny bit of courage and dignity I have left, refusing to submit completely.
Fully expecting him to yank me by the hair or to backhand me like Ish used to whenever I didn’t agree with something he said, I’m surprised when a burly chuckle escapes him, and without thinking, my inquisitive gaze cuts upward to his.
I gasp with surprise then quickly look away. Oh, shit. He’s huge. And scary.
“My reports said you were timid and docile, but I can see my investigators were fooled. Sassy and stubborn seem a bit more fitting.” He smirks while untying the knots of my restraints. “It’s a good thing I love a challenge.”
Determined not to let the warm smile tugging at the edges of his mouth lull me into thinking this man is a nice guy for any reason, I lower my freed arms to my sides, grimacing at the soreness in my biceps and shoulders from being suspended. Pushing myself up to sitting, I inspect the enflamed friction burns around my wrists and am reminded of my own self-destructive behaviors.
My life is a fucking mess. Good thing it probably won’t last much longer.
“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” I snap angrily as I glower up at him. “Just fucking kill me already and get this over with.”
“My name is Raze, and I want you to put some clothes on.” His piercing, icy blue gaze falls to my bare breasts momentarily before he lifts it back up to mine again. “I have no plans on killing you, girl, but if you don’t get dressed soon, I’m not going to be responsible for other things I may do with you.”
I snatch the folded, oversized white t-shirt from the bed where he tossed it minutes ago and quickly slip it over my head. Glancing down, he raises his eyebrows at the white lacy panties, which I recognize as the ones I had on when I was abducted, still atop the covers. Then, without me asking him to, he slowly turns around and steps a few feet away to give me a bit of privacy.
As he’s facing away from me, I contemplate jumping on his back, attacking him, and making an attempt to escape, but not knowing where in the world I am or how many others like him are waiting outside the door, I wisely stick to putting the panties on. If I have any chance of a getaway whatsoever, I need to make smart, well thought out decisions, not hasty, impetuous ones. Those will only get me killed . . . faster.
Even though I now have enough clothing on to cover me, I keep the blanket pulled up over my legs and chest as I sit cross-legged on the mattress. Once he senses I’m settled, he pivots around on his heel and locks his penetrating stare on me, the amused expression all but erased from his face.
Up until now, I’ve been too scared out of my mind to take a really good look at him other than his arresting eyes, and not that I’m relaxed or optimistic about the situation now, but I figure he didn’t bother with having me get dressed just to kill me in the next several minutes. So as he moves back toward the bed, I do a quick assessment of my captor, in the infinitesimal chance I may one day escape and need to describe him to authorities.
His straight, dirty blond hair is cut short in the back while the top is long and unruly, though it doesn’t strike me as the fresh-out-of-bed look. No, he’s just a man who doesn’t give a fuck and has more important stuff to do than waste time styling his hair. An angry, jagged scar starting right below his left brow zi
“I see your mind working on overdrive, girl, but you need to be patient. Everything will be revealed to you in due time,” he says as he leans against the bedframe, keeping a fair amount of distance between us.
“Where’s Emerson? What do you want with me?” I blurt out, ignoring his previous comments.
“I have no idea who Emerson is, and right now, I want you to shut up,” he retorts, shaking his head. He mumbles something else I can’t understand before adding, “Do you Americans ever just listen?”
“What language are you speaking? Who are you? Where am I?”
He holds his hand up in the air as he pinches his brows together. “Shut up!” he barks. “If you would shut the fuck up for one goddamn minute and let me talk, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
Deciding it’s in my best interest to keep my mouth closed at this point, I press my lips into a straight line and tip my head toward him, indicating I’m finished with my outbursts. For now, at least.
“As I already told you, my name is Raze, and we are inside one of the many houses owned by my grandfather, Anatoli Kabinov, which is who’s currently waiting downstairs to see you.” Exhaling a deep breath, he pauses briefly, but keeps his intense stare locked on me. “Get ready, girl. You’re about to become the most important pawn in the biggest mafia war this country has ever seen.”
ALL MY SENSES ARE ON full alert as I follow Raze from the bedroom I’ve been held in, out to what seems like an ordinary house—well, what I assume is ordinary for Russian mafia warlords.