Cocky Biker(18)

The lump in my throat twisted to coal as I watched pure evil rise from his chair and walk toward me.

Out of instinct I recoiled.

“STAY!” he shouted, as if I were a dog.

Panic-stricken I froze and watched as his wrinkly fingers reached over and slithered across my right breast. He made a noise of appreciation that sounded like a snake smelling its dinner.

Tears started to pour down my cheeks. I made no move to hide them. I wanted my mother. I wanted to be rescued.

Malignant eyes locked on mine and I knew then he was going to rape me. And there was nothing I could do to stop him.

“They’d never know you weren’t a virgin…would they?”

“Sir?” a male voice interrupted.

The age-spotted hand retracted as Evil shouted, “I’M BUSY!”

“Two of the girls are missing. The ones we told you about.”

I knew immediately he meant Teresa and Juaquina. I’d heard them talking about running away, and because they’d found a friendship in each other, the feat seemed possible. They were new and not beaten down yet.

They thought maybe the rope couldn’t really hold them if they pulled it out together.

They talked in front of me the way everyone did, making the mistake of thinking because I was young, I wasn’t listening. But I didn’t tell anyone what they were planning. I never thought they’d actually try it. They’d be the first. In my mind, it was impossible, leaving here. So I kept my mouth shut and acted like I hadn’t heard a word. Didn’t even tell my Mom.

Yet here this bodyguard was, saying they’d done it. Something bloomed in my heart I’d never felt before – hope.

Evil was furious. Fire seemed to explode from his eye sockets as he rushed out to drag those poor girls back. Silently I prayed for them to make it and never be found.

And that gave me an idea.

Alone in the room, I raced forward and grabbed the wooden box of money. I shoved the bills he was counting onto the neat stacks inside and ignored the ones that escaped fluttering to the ground like butterflies.

If they wanted to be free, let them.

With everyone distracted looking for those young women…I escaped.

I’m twenty-eight now. Over the eighteen years since, I have imagined his face when he found me gone that night. Was it the next morning? Or did he come home and go to the room my mother and I had shared with five other harrowed women, to grab my arm and drag me to his bed?

Now is the time of reckoning. The girl told me the truth. This mansion is his. I saw a familiar face of a bodyguard in one of the windows as I stole across the lawn. Although he’s much older than when I knew him, I’ll never forget that profile. It was the man who’d pushed me back when I tried to hold onto my murdered mother for one more precious second.

Evil has profited since I ran away. If this is where he keeps the girls now, he must have more of them and business is booming. I feel sick picturing his gloating face as he dines with his demons night after night on food he’d never serve the women who earned it.

As usual the grounds around the house are unguarded. There are cameras, but few. The people who come here don’t want their ‘good’ names connected to atrocity.

Silently I move toward a side door and pull out the skeleton key I got off a drifter in Miami. It works most of the time. Slipping it into the lock, I hold my breath then turn. It doesn’t budge.

Twitching with nervous apprehension, I tuck it into my pocket and look over to the quiet street. Not a single car has passed. We’re high enough in the hills that no one comes through except those who live in this neighborhood. If they only knew what was right next door.

I can’t see the van I stole, which means they can’t either.

It’s late. He’ll be in bed by now. Or having cognac by the fire. I’ve no doubt he’ll have a fucking fireplace in his upgraded bedroom.

I will slip in there and shoot him before he even says my name.

Jimmying the door with a paperclip takes longer than the key would have, but I’m pro. Soon I hear the low click and know I’m almost there. My heart is beating painfully hard. I’ve waited my whole life for this moment. The knob gives under my pressure and the door opens.

Success.

With the gun in my hand, extra bullets in my jacket pocket, I go in.

What the fuck?

Do ALL the lights have to be on?

Swiftly and carefully I slink forward, listening for voices.

Several men are chatting casually in a room just ahead on the right about Kobe Bryant, obviously fans. That’s right, boys, keep talking sports. Stay nice and distracted. As I near the open door I slow and wait until I gauge the distance from me to them. From the acoustics it’s a big room. When I’m satisfied they’re not nearby and are engrossed in recounting last night’s game, I edge by unseen.