Page 16

FIFTEEN

Inessa

T here are no visible marks on my neck as Misha follows me to my office in Steorra. It’s later than I usually arrive with moving into Vlad’s and spending extra time covering his father’s brutish hand. Verelli’s guard stands on the door speaking to a courier and he abruptly turns, leaving his normal post. Rushing ahead of us, he takes the stairs with urgency as Misha becomes alert looking for whatever flames of hell are on his heels.

We built this to be a sanctuary for the children, but it’s become mine in the process and I watch the new area filling up with parents and their young ones. It’s only just gone 10am, and the class has started for the mothers to get what they need. The glass elevator keeps it all in view as we start our ascent.

Stale tobacco fills my nose once we’re closed in, and I don’t move as I get Misha’s attention.

“Stop smoking, it’s going to kill you.”

He’s the closest thing I have to a cousin with being Dariya’s son and he shoots me a dopey smile showing he’s going to be an asshole. His playful voice comes out, “Stop worrying, it’s going to thaw your cold dead heart.”

He steps back as we continue up the last two floors, ready to leave and stand guard out of sight from the other organization’s guards.

The elevator pings as we come to a stop and Gio has beat us taking the stairs. He’s halfway in Mara’s office, handing her a package, as I go into my own. I don’t even have time to close the door as she follows me in with anger and sadness written all over her face.I know what she’s going to say. I round my desk as I attempt to formulate an argument that will appease her and stop any harm coming to Vlad. I don’t know why that’s my first thought — him not being hurt. But I can’t stop it.

She closes my door and begins pacing in front of my desk as I wait for whichever prick has decided to threaten us today. The pacing can’t be because of the ongoing feud with Vlad and the Enterprise. It’s always the same bullshit that she needs to vent, weak fuckers who have beat their children and partners wanting to know where they are. Even if they manage to find out, they’ll never get close enough to do harm again with both the Bratva and ‘Ndrangheta guarding each safe house.

The pacing stops and she takes large steps to the front of my desk to empty the contents of the package in her hands. There’s a manila folder and a flash drive with my name on each of them. Taking the folder first, lead drops in my stomach at her low explanation.

“Trinity called. Another group of kids turned up.”

Ever since we opened Steorra, children will turn up in the middle of the night at the group home. At first it was a beautiful coincidence getting the kids who had clearly been trafficked away from the fuckers who hurt them, but it’s coordinated and more of my soul dies with each pair of blank eyes showing the cruelty of the world.

I go through the folder numbly. Whoever the vigilante is has provided as much information as they can about each child. There are details on their health, the condition they were found in, and their originating country. None of that is important or gets my attention when I see their ages. Five children, babies really, from 8 to 3. How the fuck can you hurt a child, an innocent baby who can barely talk, and take them from everything they know, only to drop them into the worst hell that even the devil would throw up at.

I don’t have the stomach to check the flash drive, there’s never been anything explicit. It’s usually a pre-recorded message that we can’t trace and each of the children speaking in hopes we can locate a translator for them. But I can’t force my hand to move. Every instance kills the ignorant hope inside of me and I’m selfish, not wanting to see the blankness. That’s the thing that kills me more than anything else, that blank stare as they sit, afraid to blink in case another monster unveils themselves and takes more of their innocence.

The first package that was delivered had explicit instructions; it gave more information on how I can process the information. Now, they’re just the bare minimum as though they’ve successfully trained me in their justice, and I don’t need it anymore. It always had the same sign off at the end of the clips too — breathe. Because they knew I needed the reminder.

The door opens, giving me an excuse not to watch anything, and Amber walks in. She’s our numbers person, and she’s amazing at what she does, but no one is built for this sick and twisted shit. The worry on her face makes me hope for a rare fuck up, so I can put off facing the depravity in front of me. It’s a privileged position to take, knowing those innocent children don’t have that luxury, but I’d rather break alone than with an audience. Closing the door behind her, she takes hesitant steps and comes to Mara’s side with a small voice, “Is everything ok?”

No, we live in a world with sick fucking bastards and the only fucking silver lining is knowing we can take the law into our own hands.

“We have another envelope, five kids this time,” Mara whispers.

The groups have always been small. This is the biggest and I fucking hate knowing these are the lucky ones. They’re lucky because they got out and can heal whatever has happened so far and while I make sure it never happens again.

Plugging in the flash drive, now I don’t have an excuse, the distorted voice is too loud in the tense room.

‘ You have been entrusted with five lives, don’t break that trust. Should you require anything further, there is a burner with a pre-programmed number .’

It cuts off as small voices take over, giving their names, full of fear. Even without any video evidence I know they’re going in age order as they get smaller and smaller. The last one is barely a squeak and I push back, getting ready to leave.

Staying on my heels, Amber follows me, not caring about a coat, and Mara stays back in case anything further comes through. Telling Misha where we need to go, he nods once and stays in step, not wanting to delay us and we move in silence.

Mr. Roberts meets us at the door of the group home as we pull up outside. He doesn’t go through any more details, and I maintain a blank mask as we follow him into the private room at the front of the building. It’s warm and friendly, exactly how it should be to mimic a family home rather than a place children leave with their belongings in plastic bags. I focus on the surroundings, the inviting walls covered in layers of artwork that have been produced until I’m forced not to as we’re lead into a private room beside the intake office.

The children are all huddled together, breaking my heart while I remain unfeeling on the outside. Amber can’t do that, and she smiles softly at them. She refused to stay at Steorra, and she thought she recognized one of the kid’s dialects when they were giving their name, so at least she can be useful. She also has a calming presence, and she’s not intimidating as she slowly walks towards them. They shuffle closer together when she crouches in front of them and softly introduces herself to gauge their understanding.

“Hi, I’m Amber. Can you tell me your names?”

The oldest boy out of the group is fixed on me with his brows drawn together, not my face but my hair.

Taking a chair, I soundlessly pull it closer, learning from the first time when the furniture scraping was met with pained screams. He looks away as I sit in front of them, and a little girl pops her head out of the huddle. She’s small, the youngest, but there’s hope in her huge green eyes.They’re not dull and lifeless, showing that she hasn’t been forced to be trapped in her mind or she’s too young to understand what they did.

The moments they disassociate are worse, I’d never seen a living ghost up until that point when a little girl sat staring at the wall for three hours and fifty-four minutes.

I timed it, I watched the seconds tick over and waited for her to blink, for her to say something. Somehow that was worse than the screams. The screams told me she was still alive.

Amber takes as many details as she can as she attempts to coax information from them with the limited range of language. Thomas and Jamie will be arriving soon to assess them, and they should have the translators too.

It’s all fucked up.

We shouldn’t have a plan in place for situations like this, no one should. Innocent souls aren’t meant to be tainted. They’re meant to be given the tools to make the decision for themselves. If I grew up with warring thoughts regarding my family’s affiliation to crime, they would have disappeared with the five pairs of eyes in front of me. Grandfather may be a ruthless bastard, a murderer, or any number of crimes, but he has a strict rule regarding the chuskis — the untouchables.

Amber continues her attempts to get their names as the curious green-eyed girl whispers, “Geedar.”

I don’t know the language, but she obviously does, and she speaks more confidently.

“Geedar khun hai?”

The little girl’s hope sparkles at being understood and she shrugs. Their conversation continues with the eldest boy’s eyes coming back to me. But he doesn’t say anything, assessing if it’s safe after taking up the task of being the leader.I want to scream and sob, but I swallow it down. They’re not screaming, they’re not crying, it’s their life and I have no right to add my emotions on their shoulders.

Trying to appear gentle, I smile hoping it comes across as soft and not the cold bitch I’m used to. I lower my voice and it doesn’t dim my conviction.

“You’ll be safe, I promise. My name is Inessa, what’s yours?”

He doesn’t answer and I hold my hand out dumbly.

Staring from my hand to my eyes, he makes the decision that I’m safe and turns, giving me his full attention. Shaking my outstretched hand, he only provides his name and stops anything else coming out.

“Aro.”

I want to ask a million questions, give every promise, and even a blood oath that they’re protected now, but I stop myself. There’s no pattern in when the children are rescued, or in how they’re picked. Each time is different, it could be a child taken from within the states or ones from different countries like today. We fall silent as Amber exhausts the little girl with questions.

The door opens behind us, and I keep my body in front of the little ones protectively. I relax seeing Thomas Haigh and Jamie walk into the room. Mara managed to find them, and I’ve never been happier to see two people before. It grows further when Dr Lane makes up their trio and they start their work, putting the children at ease with their mix of languages.

I stand and move out of their way, keeping to the side, watching everything they do. Amber follows me and keeps her voice low so as not to disturb anyone.

“Afiyah, the little girl, she said a wolf saved them.”

She’s the only one without blank eyes and whoever it is, they’ve managed to save her at least one form of torture. Nodding my head so she knows I’ve heard, she gives me all the information she managed to collect.

“There were two of them who came into the house and the wolf told her to be quiet, he didn’t show her his eyes and the other one didn’t speak. Someone else was driving, a woman. She smelt like sugar when she picked her up.” She smiles to herself, it’s small and doesn’t fully reach her eyes making me look at her fully as she adds, “Afiyah said she gives nice hugs.”

I can’t go back to Steorra and pretend this shit isn’t happening anymore. It’s disgusting and bile burns my throat as Jamie’s words replay in my head. Aro had been with those sick fuckers for four years, half of his short life he spent being subjected to depravity. If anyone needed to see strength, it exists in a tiny body who has become a protector when he didn’t have any reference of his own.He didn’t even ask any questions about his own safety. He offered to do what he needed, to make sure the other children were safe.

Misha doesn’t force any conversation, it’s our routine when this happens. I shut down outwardly and delay my emotions until I’m away from anyone. I don’t wait for him to fully stop as he pulls through the Vartanov gates, and I get out of the car. My steps aren’t rushed despite every cell in my body wanting to escape this godforsaken planet filled with humans that are incapable of humanity.What the fuck is wrong people?!

I can understand murder, I feel like committing multiple right now. But I can’t understand how anyone can look at a child and feel anything close to lust. It doesn’t make sense. It is the one crime that has no rationality. Violence does — you’re angry and need an outlet. Stealing — you want something, and you take it. Maybe that’s what all crime is, theft.

Stole a bike.

Stole a life.

Stolen innocence.

Going straight to the top floor, I make it to the bathroom just in time to throw up. My knees crack against the tile, but I can’t stop my organs wanting to escape. It all purges out of me, every horrible thought and idea of what those children have been through. The door is open and small footsteps come to my side before a little hand strokes down my back. Viktor continues stroking my back, making circles, and my tears fall. I want to hug him and wrap him in my arms, so I know there’s at least one child that’s safe, but he’s comforting me when he’s a boy. A child surrounded by the brutal bastards he calls his family is the only thing he needs to be safe.

He tilts his head to the side and makes a fish face. A watery laugh escapes as there’s nothing left to throw up. His palm is still making circles between my shoulder blades as he becomes the adult and softly asks, “You want ice cream? Dima always gives me some when I’m sick.”

Shaking my head, I stand and rinse my mouth. The blank stares come back as I throw cold water on my face, and I sound pathetic seeking comfort from a child.

“Can I have a hug, Vityenka?”

He nods and wraps both arms around me. Picking him up, I give him a silent promise to wage war with the devil himself in protection of his innocence.

Tapping his fingers on the back of my head, the sweet boy hugs me with one arm and explains, “Tali does this, to make me feel better.”

I nearly jump at the sight of Valentin in the hallway as I leave the bathroom. I’m sure I’m on the right floor and his focus slowly moves from his son to me. The hard stare softens slightly at my red eyes, and he turns abruptly without saying anything.Everyone in this family is strange and they have deep-seated issues with communication.

Viktor’s feet hit off my knees as I keep carrying him to the sofa and he whispers to himself, “You’re really strong, you can pick me up.”

I let him get settled and sit him down before putting on one of his shows, ready to learn a language with him and hoping it’s one that will be useful while hoping I never have the opportunity to use it. He shuffles closer to me and looks up at me with a smile.

“Are you going to be sick on me?”

Stroking his dark inky hair back, I press my lips to his forehead with a promise.

“No, no one ever will okay?”

Bile burns the back of my throat again, knowing that the children weren’t just violated, they made them hold their abusers’ waste.

We all know there are bad things in the world, I see it surrounded by violence within the Bratva.Grown men beating and killing each other isn’t an issue, it barely registers in my mind. This is different, it’s not a cut that will heal and leave behind a scar. It is blank eyes and whimpers while they try to get themselves out of their skin. People, adults, sick fucking bastards have made their bodies a place of pain while those children have barely started life and they’ll carry that hurt with them for the rest of their lives.

My tears come again, and I can’t swipe them away fast enough as dress shoes steadily tap against the tile, coming closer. Viktor wriggles beside me and I know it’s not his dad coming to get him before Vlad is even in view. His voice is still harsh as he sends his nephew away.

“Go to your dad.”

They switch places and Viktor runs away, taking the service elevator to leave.

Vlad’s eyes are burning into the side of my face, and he sighs like a prick when I’m clearly upset, before lowering onto the seat beside me. Fuck him. I get to be upset and angry. If I kicked him in the balls he’d probably crumble, this is worse, so he doesn’t get to act like I’m weak for having normal human emotions. But I keep my mouth shut and stare at the wall because I’m not mentally prepared to argue with him and part of me, a really stupid small part, doesn’t want him to see me as weak.

An even more idiotic part of me, one that I will deny having, wants him to hold me. For him to wrap his violence around me, so I know I’m safe.