Page 47 of Omega
“Where are we going?” I asked, after an hour or so had passed.
“São Paulo,” Yuri muttered. “No more questions. Nearly there.”
Harris is coming. Harris is coming. Harris is coming.
A city came into view, vast and sprawling, the jungle giving way very suddenly to an urban landscape ensconced a few miles inland from the sea. God, the urban sprawl. It was dizzying. The helicopter zipped in low, only a few hundred yards above the tallest buildings, making a beeline across the city. I heard the pilot speaking—Brazilian? Portuguese? I was pretty sure they spoke Portuguese in Brazil, and São Paulo was in Brazil. Right? God, I was so ignorant of world geography. Anyway, I heard him speaking, and then the aircraft slowed as we approached a specific building, our destination. A hotel, by the looks of it, a big, fancy one, the kind that had helicopter landing pads on the roof.
The landing was gentle as a feather wafting on a breeze, the touchdown barely registering. The rotors didn’t stop or slow as Yuri unbuckled himself, threw open the door, and leapt out past me. I had myself unbuckled but he refused to let me get down on my own, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me down. The wash from the helicopter forced me to bend almost double, making a tangled nest of my already gnarled hair. Yuri grabbed my wrist and dragged me across the roof at nearly a run, through a door and into an elevator, inserting a key and twisting it.
We descended briefly, and then the doors opened.
“Ah. Miss Campari.” The voice was accented, deep as a canyon, smooth as silk. Quiet, like a predator. “Welcome.”
I saw the man who owned the voice. Only a few inches taller than me, but broad and powerfully built, he had thick wavy black hair, piercing dark eyes, weathered olive skin, and a square, granite jaw. He exuded threat and power. He wore tailored black slacks, and a dove-gray polo shirt left untucked. Barefoot. Clean-shaven.
Something in his eyes as he assessed me made me shiver. This man was…terrifying.
I wanted to hide behind Yuri, but he was already backing into the elevator, twisting the key, and then the doors were sliding between us, leaving me alone. I stood alone, facing Vitaly Karahalios. All but naked, and completely terrified.
He stalked over to me, flicked a loose curling tendril of hair with a fingertip, circling around me like a cat toying with a mouse. His fingertip traced down my spine where the shirt gaped open. I shivered and fought the urge to shy away. Another brief touch, this time to my shoulder. Nudging the shirt off my shoulder; the cotton slipped down to my bicep on one side, and then he nudged at the shirt on the other side, and it fell even more.
He circled back in front of me, hooked his finger in the collar and tugged. I let him remove the shirt, standing before him in nothing but my thong. I kept my back straight, my knees locked, my chin high.
Defiant.
Don’t show fear—I knew his kind all too well.
“They brought you here like this?” he asked. “I will have to scold them. You are a guest.”
“I don’t feel like a guest,” I ventured.
“Perhaps not. Nonetheless, you should have been treated better. How was your trip here?”
I stared at him. “They threw me in a tiny room on a ship that had no windows and stank of fish. The airplane and helicopters were okay, though.”
“Not in a proper room?” he demanded, seeming genuinely puzzled.
I shook my head. “It was worse than a prison cell.”
“Idiots.” He withdrew a cell phone from his trouser pocket, touched a speed dial number, and put the phone to his ear. He spoke briefly in a foreign language, his voice sharp but quiet. After replacing the phone in his pocket, he bent and retrieved my shirt, handing it to me. “I will arrange proper clothing for you in a moment, after we’ve had time to acquaint ourselves. But first, I must have a word with Yuri.”
As if on cue, Yuri emerged from the elevator. If I was any judge of his facial expressions, he was shitting bricks. He glanced at me as if in question, and I just shrugged.
“Yuri,” Vitaly said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is not what I was expecting. I am not pleased with you, I’m afraid.”
“I brought her here, boss,” Yuri mumbled. “Not hurt. No one messed with her. Nico, he tried, and I shot him. He was gonna stop the boat and—you know. But I stopped him.”
“Where are her clothes?”
“This is what she was wearing when we take her. Swear.”
Vitaly was quiet a moment. “And why is her shirt cut open?”
“Nico. I told you, boss, he—he was gonna rape her.”
“And why did you not give her your shirt? Or find her something else to wear?” He stepped closer to Yuri, staring at him. “And why was she put in acell? She should have had the captain’s quarters. Itoldyou, Yuri. She was not to be mistreated.”
“I’m sorry, boss, I didn’t think—”