Page 11 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

CAOIMHE

I groan in pain as blood trickles from the cut at the corner of my eye, as well as at my lip.

I can't see. My eyes are swollen shut from the beating I took from the men who took me.

My entire body aches, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the fear and despair that threaten to overwhelm me.

I try to focus, to remember the training I pieced together during my years on the run.

Stay calm. Assess the situation. Look for opportunities.

But it's hard to stay calm when I can barely see, when every breath sends shooting pains through my ribs.

I'm not sure how long I've been here, hours?

Days? Time has lost all meaning in this dark, damp room, not to mention with me drifting in and out of consciousness.

I hear footsteps approaching and tense, bracing myself for another round of questioning. The door creaks open.

"Well, well. Look who's finally awake."

The voice sends chills down my spine. It's cold, detached, and filled with menace. It’s eerily scary and I don’t like it.

"Who... who are you?" I manage to croak out, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s something you do not need to know,” he replies, his voice harsh like a whip. “Your friend is wanting to ensure you’re alive,” he grunts. “You’ll assure him of your life and that’s all. If you mention anything else, you’ll regret it.”

I shudder at the threat. I know what’ll happen if I don’t do as I’m told. “What friend?” I croak as pain radiates from my chest.

“Cowboy.” He spits the name as though it’s a curse word. “You’ll assure him you’re alive and then he’ll give us the USB drive you gave him. Once that’s done, we’ll do a swap. You for the drive.”

It takes me a few moments to realize that Cowboy is Ciarán. A lot has changed since I left at the age of fourteen. He’s grown into a man; a gorgeous one, but a deadly one at that. I shake my head, instantly regretting it as pain lances through it. “You won’t give me back,” I tell him.

His laughter is like nails on a chalkboard, harsh and grating. "You're right, we won't give you back. Not in one piece anyway."

I swallow hard, trying to push down the fear that threatens to choke me. "Then why should I cooperate?"

He moves closer, and I can feel his breath on my face. "Because, my dear, the alternative is far worse. You see, we have ways of making people talk that you couldn't even imagine in your worst nightmares."

I try to steel myself, to show no fear, but I can feel myself trembling. "I won't help you hurt Ciarán," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, but you will," he says, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Because if you don't, we'll hurt him anyway. And we'll make you watch."

Before I can respond, I hear the sound of a phone ringing. "Ciarán? Ciarán, is that you?"

"I'm here, Caoimhe," I hear him say. I can hear the tightness in his voice. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” I cry, wishing I did. I wish I was able to give him some sort of information as to where I am so he'll know exactly how to help me, but I'm in so much pain that I can't even think straight. But I need to warn him, to tell him not to give them the USB drive. It's the only information they have to find out the truth about what happened to Dylan. I failed in doing so. I only managed to get so far, but there's so much more to uncover. “Don’t give them the information. They’re not going to hand me back—” I’m cut off by a vicious backhand.

The man snatches the phone away, ending the call abruptly.

"That's enough out of you," he snarls, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back painfully. "I warned you what would happen if you tried anything."

I brace myself for another blow, but instead he releases me and steps back.

"You've just made things much worse for yourself," he says coldly. "And for your friend Cowboy. He'll come for you, of course. The hero type always does. And when he does..." He trails off, letting the threat hang in the air.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry with fear. What have I done? I was trying to warn Ciarán, to protect him, but I may have just signed his death warrant instead.

The man moves toward the door. "Get some rest," he says mockingly. "You'll need your strength for what's coming next."

The door slams shut behind him, leaving me alone in the darkness once more. I slump in my restraints, despair washing over me. I've failed. Failed to protect the information about Dylan. Failed to keep Ciarán safe. And now we'll both pay the price.

Over the past four years, I’ve managed to evade these assholes.

I’ve managed to keep myself alive. I did everything I was supposed to.

And now look at me. The one time I went to someone I trusted, someone I knew would never betray me, I ended up kidnapped, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

I just pray to God that somehow, we’ll all end up getting out of this shit.

* * *

The sound of footsteps gets closer and I brace myself for what’s to come.

Once again, I have no concept of time. This tiny room is cloaked in darkness.

Thankfully, I’ve been here long enough that my eyes have adjusted to the dark and I’m able to see bits and pieces whenever I’m not beaten or unconscious.

The door opens, and for the first time in God knows how long, I see light spilling into the room. I pull in a ragged breath, ignoring the sharp pains of protest as I do.

“It’s time to go,” I hear a gruff voice say. Looking up, I see the man is wearing a ski mask and gloves. Confusion hits me. This is new. Usually there’s no light and no gloves.

“Go where?”

The laughter is chilling. “You’re of no use to us like this. The boss has decided it’s time for you to be put to work.”

I swallow hard. “Where?” I ask, wondering where they’ll be sending me to work.

Once again, his laughter sends a chill down my spine. “My bad,” he laughs as he unties me. “You’ve been sold. You’re on the next shipment out of here.”

Trafficked? I’m being trafficked?

I shake my head. No, this can’t be happening.

“You either get to your feet on your own,” he snarls, “or you’ll be carried out of here, unconscious. The buyer has no objection to force being used.”

I try to stand but my legs give out beneath me. The man grabs my arm roughly, yanking me to my feet. Pain shoots through my body and I bite back a cry.

"Move," he orders, shoving me toward the door.

My mind races as he leads me down a dimly lit hallway. Trafficked. Sold. The words echo in my head, filling me with terror. I need to find a way out of this, but my body is weak from days, maybe even weeks of abuse and starvation.

We emerge into what looks like a warehouse. Several other women are huddled in a corner, fear evident on their faces. My heart sinks as I realize the scale of this operation.

"Get in line," the man barks, pushing me toward the group.

As I stumble forward, I scan the area desperately for any means of escape. But there are armed guards at every exit. My chances of getting out of here on my own are slim to none.

A loud voice booms through the warehouse. "Alright, ladies, listen up! You're about to begin your journey to your new lives. Cooperate, and things will go smoothly. Resist, and you'll regret it."

Panic rises in my throat. This is really happening. I'm about to be shipped off like cattle, sold to God knows who for God knows what purpose.

As they begin herding us toward a large shipping container, I notice a tiny girl walking along, crying and begging for them to take her to her mammy.

My heart breaks at her little voice pleading with them.

The men do nothing. They don’t even glance in her direction.

They ignore the heartbroken pleas from her.

A gun is jutted into my back and pushes me toward the shipping container.

I know I’m fucked. There’s no way out for me.

I know Ciarán would have tried his best to find me.

Knowing him, he’ll have Travis all over it too, but these traffickers are a hell of a lot smarter than anyone thinks and they’re good at hiding their tracks.

I edge nearer to the container and watch in horror as one of the men picks up the crying little girl and throws her into the container.

The little girl's scream echoes through the space, making my blood run cold. Without thinking, I lunge toward the container, desperate to help her. But before I can reach it, a sharp pain explodes in the back of my head. My vision blurs as I crumple to the ground.

Through the haze of pain, I hear voices arguing.

"What the hell are you doing? We can't damage the merchandise!"

"She was trying to interfere. I had to stop her."

"The boss won't be happy if she's injured. Get her up."

Rough hands grab me, hauling me to my feet. My head throbs, and I struggle to focus. As they push me toward the container, I catch a glimpse of a tattooed arm. Something about it seems familiar, but before I can place it, I'm shoved into the darkness of the container.

The door slams shut behind me, plunging us into near-total darkness. The air is thick with fear and the sound of muffled sobs. I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the gloom. Slowly, shapes begin to form, huddled figures pressed against the walls of the container.

I feel my way along the wall until I find a corner, then slide down to sit. My head is still spinning from the blow, but I force myself to think. I need to find a way out of here, not just for myself, but for all these women and children.

Suddenly, the container lurches. We're moving. Panic rises in my throat, threatening to choke me. This is it. We're being shipped out to God knows where.

As the container rumbles along, I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart. I think of Ciarán, of the kiss we shared. Of the look in his eyes when he promised to keep me safe. I failed him by getting caught, but I refuse to give up now.

I may be trapped, injured, and terrified, but I'm not beaten. Not yet. Somehow, I'll find a way out of this. For myself and for these other victims. I have to believe that.

The container jolts again, and I hear the little girl's frightened whimper. Carefully, I make my way toward the sound.

"Hey," I whisper softly. "It's okay. I'm here. What's your name?"

A small voice answers, trembling with fear. "S-Saoirse. I'm five."

My heart clenches. Five years old and already caught up in this nightmare. "Hi, Saoirse," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. "I'm Caoimhe. I'm going to look after you, okay?"

I feel a small hand reach out and grasp mine in the darkness. "I want my mammy," Saoirse whimpers.

"I know, sweetheart," I whisper, fighting back tears. "We're going to get you back to her. I promise."

As I hold Saoirse's hand, my mind races. I need to find a way out of here, but how?

The truck continues to drive further away from where we were being held, and I know that with each passing mile we go, the less chance there is of escaping.

Saoirse climbs into my lap and buries her head into my chest and weeps against me. I close my arms around her and hold her tight. I wish I could offer her assurances but I can’t. I have no idea what’s going to happen to any of us.

I just hope that one day, somehow, we’ll escape.