Текст книги "Seduced in the Dark"

Автор книги: C. J. Roberts

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter Six

Matthew tried very hard to concentrate on the computer screen in front of him, but as he typed, his mind couldn’t help but wander off. Olivia Ruiz was most certainly suffering from Stockholm’s Syndrome, pining over her lost lover, her kidnapper and abuser. Matthew didn’t care for abusers – not one little bit. They were all the same. His mother used to try and apologize for beating him by taking him to the park. The best abusers could make you believe they felt guilty for what they’d done, right up until you got in their way.

Still, he would be lying if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, Olivia’s storytelling abilities were quite…compelling. For four hours he’d listened to her talk about her relationship with Caleb and he’d watched as her cheeks had colored and her skin flushed with what he knew was arousal. How could he not be affected?

Yes, he’d grown hard, painfully so, but he didn’t like it. What kind of person got a hard-on while listening to a victim talk about her abuse? It made him feel sick. He was sick.

And it wasn’t necessarily a new problem. He had a long history of strange sexual proclivities. It was the reason he was thirty-one and still single with no viable prospects on the horizon. He was afraid of someone seeing him for what he was. Being alone didn’t mean he was lonely, not really. He kept very busy with work at the Bureau. However, he often thought it would be nice to have someone to come home to, someone he could talk to that wouldn’t make him feel like a freak – even though he knew he was. And like, attracted like.

He was attracted to damaged and fractured women as much as they seemed to be attracted to him. Olivia Ruiz seemed to be no different. She was drawn to him for some reason, he could intuit that much, but he knew it was an attraction that could only run the one way. He would never compromise an investigation, never take advantage of a witness, and never try to save someone who was so obviously broken. He’d learned his lesson all too well.

He would do his job. That’s why the Bureau kept him on board; because at the end of the day he could be counted on to do what needed to be done. He was a closer. Nothing got in the way of that. No one got in his way.

Bringing his attention back toward his screen, he continued to type up Olivia’s statement about her time in captivity. He tried to remain impassive as he typed, but certain sentences continued to jump out at him:

“He made me beg for food…”

“Spanked me repeatedly…”

“…forced me to come.”

His report was reading more like an erotic novel than a case file. His mind was beginning to wander again, this time toward his last girlfriend, the one who couldn’t come unless he called her a whore. He was starting to get hard again—Stop!

He saved the file and decided to take a much needed break from Olivia and her relatively useless memoir and opened his browser to search for more information on Muhammad Rafiq. He was the lynchpin of the entire investigation.

According to the witness, Caleb had reported his involvement with Rafiq began because they needed to kill Vladek Rostrovich, A.K.A. Demitri Balk.

“Why?” Matthew whispered to himself and then remembered the comment about Rafiq’s mother and sister. Were they dead?

Doesn’t matter, he thought. The important thing was the auction, everything else was inconsequential. So why couldn’t he get it out of his head? Why did the story seem relevant? It was motive, sure, but how did it lead to the location of the auction in Pakistan?

Matthew let out a deep sigh and got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. He’d heard the local cops gripe about the coffee on an almost daily basis, but unlike them, he actually enjoyed the coffee in the office. It was likely true the coffee machine had never been cleaned, but maybe the grit added something. He smirked. Back at his desk he grabbed his notepad and started digging through his notes to find a starting point for his research.

Olivia’s jerk-off story didn’t provide much of a jumping off point, but he did manage to learn min-fadlik meant ‘please’ in Arabic. Caleb apparently spoke Arabic with so much ease he used it in private. He would guess people typically spoke their native tongue while alone and certainly while engaged in that particular activity. Lord knew he’d never yelled out in Mandarin while in the throes of ecstasy. Of course, he didn’t speak Mandarin.

He flipped through more of his notes and found Caleb also spoke Spanish and his English was spoken with a strange accent, one characterized as “…a mix of British, Arabic, and Persian…maybe on the Persian.” Matthew pulled out a map of Pakistan and tried to narrow down an area with such a mix. It seemed highly unlikely he would find it. Still, an accent meant Caleb was either born or immersed long-term in an area where he’d have heard those languages on a daily basis. Afghanistan, India, and Iran all surrounded Pakistan and each of those would certainly have similarities in demographics and social conventions. The Brits obviously had influence in each mentioned country, but he knew their influence would be more pervasive in India. Caleb was obviously not Indian, and if he had grown up there, he would have picked up the dialect.

He needed to narrow the list of possible locations for the auction and he had little more than experience, old case files, and the internet to work with. Pakistan was making strides toward reducing or eliminating the number of human trafficking crimes committed within their borders, but they were very much a long way from succeeding in any way as to impact their society or their politics. Slavery was very popular there, though most of it came from an indentured work force made up of women and children.

People were bought, sold, and rented in an almost casual way in Pakistan and it was about time the U.S. Government started to take notice and work with the U.N. to do something about it. Matthew was not naïve; he knew the reason the U.S. had decided to take point on the change throughout many Middle Eastern regions had more to do with the resources abroad. Still, if it meant less women and children were sold into sexual slavery or bonded labor, then he was all for it. Oil and freedom for everyone.

The Sindh and Punjab provinces were large hotbeds for human trafficking activity, but he temporarily opted to exclude them, as the area was mostly agricultural and the slavery predominately bonded labor. Certainly not the location for the world’s elitist playboys and terrorists to arrange for a lavish pleasure slave auction.

Fuck! It was going to be a very long night.

Matthew checked his watch and decided to order his dinner before his favorite Chinese restaurant closed for the night. He was practically salivating over the thought of garlic noodles and crunchy eggrolls. There had been a time when he’d have ordered for two, but it had been nearly a year since he’d had a partner to share the long investigative hours with; these days, he worked alone. It was just as well since he wasn’t really good with people. He was much too honest and people just didn’t appreciate him for it.

He was good at his job and people respected him, but it didn’t mean they jumped at the chance to work with him or wanted to go out for beers after work. Still, they did what he asked them to do and he couldn’t fault them. If he’d asked one of the analysts to stay behind and help him do some research, they’d have begrudgingly done it and kept their disparaging remarks to themselves until the next time they found themselves in better company.

Matthew had asked for a special task force to assist on the case. There was a potentially short turn-around and the possibility of an international incident if they had a raid in Pakistan. Still, his boss refused to get a decent task force together unless Matthew had concrete proof suspected terrorists and political targets would be at the auction.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d accuse the Bureau of purposely letting this case fall between the cracks. Olivia Ruiz’s face was splashed all over the news, complete with grainy surveillance and camera-phone videos of her standoff with the border patrol. Something like that didn’t go away easily.

He scrolled through the information he had available on Muhammad Rafiq and his accomplices. He was a Pakistani military officer and a high ranking one. He had fought beside U.S. forces as part of the coalition during Desert Storm. He was highly decorated and was rumored to be very close to the former Major General who assisted in the 1999 coup that overthrew Pakistan’s president. In short, the man had some very powerful people in his circle.

If he wanted someone dead, he couldn’t imagine it would be difficult for him to carry it out. Of course, he would have to do it without embarrassing himself or his superiors in front of the international community. Could his involvement be the reason the Bureau was hesitating on attacking this case full force?

Matthew picked up his pen and wrote down a list of things he needed to gather information on: military bases in Pakistan, air strips near or on such bases, customs locations and refueling stations. One thing was for certain, Rafiq wouldn’t be flying in or out through commercial means, he’d need a private plane, one that wouldn’t have to contend with customs officials. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The intercom buzzer startled him. His food had finally arrived. He took the elevator to the first floor and met the delivery guy, gave him a healthy tip and trudged back upstairs to enjoy his greasy, delicious treats.

Several hours later, Matthew decided to call it a night and drive back to his hotel. He planned on getting up early in the morning and going to visit Olivia in the hospital again. She’d be expecting news on her request to join the witness protection program and he had no additional news to offer, but he still needed to get the rest of her statement.

If her information delivered the results he had proposed to his superiors, her request would likely be granted, but not for the right reasons. What the girl needed was justice. She needed the men responsible for her kidnapping, rape, and torture to pay for their crimes in the public arena. She needed for those men to be judged and found wanting of basic human decency, only then could she pick up the pieces of her life and move forward.

However, if he was correct in his assumptions, the Bureau would be more interested in the national security elements, rather than justice for one eighteen-year-old girl. There would be no official arrests, no public trials, because the information she could provide and the covert op that would garner evidence of involvement in human trafficking by wealthy and powerful military leaders, heads of state, and billionaire moguls would be an invaluable asset in the hands of the U.S. government.

It was somewhat of a moral conundrum as far as Matthew was concerned. Olivia was running away. She didn’t want to face her former life or its inhabitants and it was a sentiment Matthew understood well, but couldn’t agree with. At the same time, he was the last person to give advice on how a person should move beyond their personal traumas. He was still damaged, still sick in the head, no matter how many therapists he had talked to as a teenager. His records had been sealed and for all intents and purposes he was fit for duty, but he knew his own mind. He knew his own limitations and biases. He supposed it counted for something, his knowledge of his own shortcomings afforded him the semblance of perspective when dealing with his job.

He entered his hotel room and set his briefcase down on the table provided. He emptied his pockets, careful to stack any loose change by denomination and place them in a row by size. His keys, wallet and watch were also placed with care. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and hung it up in the closet. Next, he sat and removed his shoes and socks, followed by his shirt and tie. Finally, he removed his belt, wound it, and placed it on the table with his other things before he removed his underwear. He lined up his shoes under the bed and placed the other items in the hotels dry-cleaning bag. It was his nightly routine and he took comfort in the repeated actions. Order was important.

He stood naked in the warm, slightly humid, Texas air and ignored the tingling sensation of his penis becoming more erect. He knew why he was getting hard and he wished he weren’t. He’d been unable to resist the temptation of perusing his interview notes, despite the promising information he’d garnered through researching Rafiq in greater depth. That much of the girl’s story was filled with violence was regrettable, that the violence was a direct result of sexually charged circumstances was contemptible, but the way she recounted the story with such devious and manipulating zest and obvious arousal was enough to put him over the edge. It pushed all of his buttons and on the heels of his distaste was the undeniable quickening of his pulse.

He wouldn’t do it though. He wouldn’t fantasize. He wouldn’t masturbate. He wouldn’t seek out sexual gratification. Doing so, would be a step in the wrong direction for him because he knew it would lead to the debilitating guilt that inexorably followed.

Instead, he got down on the floor and proceeded to do as many push-ups as he possibly could. He was tired and his muscles protested. Two in the morning was not the time for exercise, his muscles screamed at him, but it was better than the alternative. He pushed himself until sweat ran down his back and his stomach quivered, until his arms threatened to give out…until there was not a chance in hell he could inspire his lust. Then he took a shower and got in bed.

He slept peacefully and without dreams.

Chapter Seven

Caleb couldn’t sleep. He’d done everything he could think of, he’d taken a hot shower, he’d masturbated, and he’d sat in Rafiq’s library and looked through his books. He couldn’t read, but some of the books had pictures in them. He’d walked around the house and discovered the snacks in the kitchen. He’d eaten all the gulab jamun and even now, his fingers and the corners of his mouth were sticky. He still couldn’t sleep.

Where was Rafiq, he wondered? His heart began to race at the thought of the older man. What if he didn’t come back? What if something had happened to him? Caleb’s stomach hurt. He’d never been alone before. There was always someone near him, if not the other boys, then Narweh, if not him, then perhaps a patron.

Caleb stood and pushed his pillow and blanket onto the floor, his bed was too soft. He lay down on the thick carpet and swaddled himself in the blanket he’d been provided. Outside, the wind howled. Why would Rafiq leave him alone? He drew his knees up to his chest and rocked. He wished RezA were with him. RezA was one of the British boys that often shared his bed. If he had a friend at all, it was probably RezA.

For the first time in a week he let himself think of someone other than himself. With Narweh dead, what had happened to the others, to RezA? It was true they often fought and sometimes threw one another into Narweh’s angry path, but it didn’t mean there was not affection there. Whenever one of them was mistreated by a patron or after a particularly savage beating, they would often comfort each other by applying bandages or offering arms that consoled instead of harmed. Caleb was smaller, younger probably, but he was a fighter where as RezA was more amenable and easily manipulated.

“Why do you anger him so often, Kéleb? You know what he will do,” he’d often whispered to Kéleb in the dark and applied ointment to his skin.

“I hate him. I’ll let him kill me before I become his little lap dog. A dog I might be, but not his.”

“You’re not a dog, Kéleb,” RezA kissed his forehead. "You’re a stupid boy.”

“And you’re a lap dog,” Kéleb countered with a half-hearted laugh.

RezA laughed too and put the cap on the ointment. He stood quietly and tip-toed toward his own bed on the floor.

“RezA!” Kéleb whispered.

“What?”

“I’m going to kill him one day.”

After a long pause, “I know. Goodnight stupid boy.”

Caleb had done exactly as he promised. He’d killed Narweh in cold, efficient blood. But he hadn’t bothered to look for RezA, nor had he told everyone they were free. He never told them to run. He would like to say it was because the thought had not occurred to him, but that wasn’t true. He’d been afraid. He’d been afraid they’d turn on him, because without Narweh, many of them would have to choose between poverty and a new and unknown master, perhaps even the drudgery of bonded slavery. He had also been afraid Rafiq would decide all of it, including Caleb, was too much of a burden and he would have to face the fate of the others. So he’d simply let Rafiq lead him away. He’d let himself be shocked and traumatized over what he’d done. He’d let himself be the victim. He deserved to be abandoned in return.

A noise startled him from his self-deprecating thoughts.

He was stone-like in his stillness, listening for any sounds to indicate whether or not he was alone in the house and furthermore, if a presence equated to danger. He heard the door shut somewhat gently and then heard the familiar shuffling sounds of someone removing their shoes and placing them near the door. Casual noises were a good sign, Caleb supposed, since someone intending harm would likely not care enough to remove their shoes.

Caleb wanted to leave his room, he wanted to investigate, but the fear he felt still lingered strongly. Rafiq was a stranger and his moods could be erratic. He remembered with perfect clarity the way he had been tossed into the bathtub and held down by Rafiq’s strong arms. He shuddered.

Footsteps neared his door and Caleb tensed even more, his muscles quivering from being held so tight. The door opened slowly and he shut his eyes tightly. If Rafiq tried to rape him, he would fight back. Somewhere in his mind a voice whispered he should just do whatever was expected of him. He’d survive. He’d want to die, but he could survive it again.

“Caleb?” Rafiq’s voice whispered into the darkness.

Caleb held his breath and didn’t answer.

“Boy? Are you sleeping?” Rafiq whispered again and he seemed in control, not angry or predisposed to violence.

Caleb refused to answer though, he kept his eyes shut and tried to breathe as quietly, shallowly and as evenly as he could until finally, his door shut and Rafiq was gone. Caleb instantly felt relief, but also loss. He was alone again. Alone and frightened in a strange, dark room.

What was his life now? He’d killed someone. He’d murdered. He didn’t feel bad about doing it, he would do it again given the chance, but what was he to do with his life, who could he be? Who was Caleb? He had always told himself one day he would be free, but he didn’t realize freedom could feel…too vast, too open and uncertain. Now he was free, he felt devoid of purpose and without a purpose what did his life amount to? He owed a debt to Rafiq and he would honor it, but once his task was complete he would find himself in exactly the same place.

Caleb swallowed his fear and tossed back the blankets, determined to seek answers from the one person in his life who might have them: Rafiq. He slowly opened the door and tiptoed toward Rafiq’s room. He hesitated at the door, but then tentatively knocked.

“I’m not in there,” Rafiq said from behind him.

Caleb whirled around and stared into Rafiq’s intense gaze, “I-I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I was awake when you came in, but I….” he looked at his bare feet, “I wasn’t sure what you came looking for.” Caleb swallowed.

Rafiq smirked, “And what did you decide?”

Caleb shrugged, “I don’t know. I thought…I’d get it over with and simply ask you.”

Rafiq’s loud sigh caused Caleb’s shoulders to tense, but he didn’t move to walk away from the older man. “That is very brave of you chab, but you have no need to be wary of me; I intend you no harm.”

“What do you intend?” Caleb bristled at being called a boy.

“I would hope I’ve earned your loyalty by now. I only meant to see if you are well? I’ve been gone since very early and I feared my absence was…stressful for you.”

Caleb shrugged half-heartedly, but in reality, he wanted to weep with gratitude. No one in a position of power had ever concerned himself with his well-being. No one had ever just come to check on him. He took a deep breath and pressed his emotions down into his stomach. He did not wish to appear weak in front of the one man offering to make him strong. “It was strange to be alone. Before, with Narweh, there was always someone, but…it was…I don’t know what to say. I ate all of the gulab jamun,” he confessed sheepishly. “I was also in your library. I’ve never seen so many books! You must know a lot of things. But don’t worry!” he was suddenly nervous. “I can’t read. I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I only looked at the pictures. I’m sorry.”

Rafiq laughed and the sound put Caleb at ease somewhat. He relaxed further when Rafiq’s hand landed on his head and ruffled his long, blond hair. “It’s fine, Caleb. This is your home now. The food was left for you and you are welcome to the books. I will teach you how to read them.”

Caleb shut his eyes tight to keep his tears from surfacing. Without warning, he lunged toward Rafiq and wrapped his skinny arms around him. He wanted to express his gratitude. He wanted Rafiq to know how much Caleb felt indebted to him.

Slowly and with shaking hands, Caleb reached up and pulled the older man’s head toward his and pressed his lips to Rafiq’s. The older man stilled, but didn’t stop him when his tongue slid across the opening of Rafiq’s mouth. Caleb had done this many times, with men he hated; surely he could do it once with someone whom he respected.

Caleb’s youthful body responded to the kiss and he pressed forward, chasing Rafiq’s mouth, his taste. Rafiq pulled away.

Caleb panicked. If Rafiq rejected him, he would die. He would die of shame because he was a whore and knew no other way.

“Caleb, no.”

“I won’t fight you. I’ll do as you ask,” Caleb whispered. His words were shaky and full of fear.

“Do as I tell you, now, and stop this.” Rafiq’s tone held the slightest bit of contempt.

Caleb pulled away and tried to run past Rafiq, but his path was blocked and soon Rafiq’s firm grip held his arm. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I won’t do it again.” This time the tears were present in his voice. He couldn’t hide his shame.

Rafiq pulled him to his chest and held him tight, “You are, Kéleb, no longer. You are not a dog, and no one’s whore. You don’t owe me that. You owe it to no one.”

Caleb cried and held tighter to Rafiq. He couldn’t speak.

“Have you ever been with a woman, Caleb?” Rafiq whispered above him.

Caleb shook his head. He had seen them of course, there were female whores Narweh kept, but they were separated from the boys and never shared with them. He’d caught glimpses of their bodies and wondered what it would be like to touch them, but it was a pleasure he’d never experienced.

Rafiq led Caleb toward his own room and opened the door. Slowly, he released Caleb and urged him inside. Reluctantly, Caleb loosened his arms and meekly stepped toward the bed he’d made for himself on the floor. “Tomorrow, then” Rafiq said casually, “Tomorrow you’ll begin to learn how to take your place at my side. You’ll have your choice of them.” He smiled as Caleb stared at him in shock and then he shut the door.

Caleb still couldn’t sleep, but now the reasons were different. For the first time since he could remember, Caleb was excited about what the morning would bring.

***

Caleb’s eyes opened in the dark. The dream, the memory, lingered. He suddenly felt like a boy again, scared of the dark, scared of the unknown, and lonely. It was strange how a dream could make itself real. It could take control of one’s mind and invoke sentiment, so much so, it affected the body. Caleb felt a lump in his throat; it shouldn’t be there, he was far removed from the scared boy he had been and yet there it was. His heart hammered strongly in his chest and his palms were sweaty.

He told himself over and over it had been a dream, but the emotions clung to him like thick molasses. No matter how he tried to wipe them from his thoughts, they remained, shifting from one side of his psyche to the other, vacillating between the joys he had felt in experiencing his first moment of acceptance and the grief of knowing the future.

RezA had died. Rafiq had burned Narweh’s body where Caleb had left it, inside the house. He had not looked for survivors, he had not warned anyone in the house. Rafiq had imparted the information to Caleb one morning after breakfast, when he’d finally found the courage to ask about what had happened.

He had wept for RezA and the other boys in private after scalding himself with a hot spoon he’d been using to stir beans. As his flesh burned, he tried to envision what RezA had felt in the last horrifying moments of his life. Caleb had killed his only friend and in the end the only scar he had to show for it was on the inside after his burned skin was cut away and new skin took its place.

Caleb wanted another shower, one so hot he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, but he knew the behavior was stupid and would likely cause more damage than could heal in time for him to continue with his mission. It had been some time since Caleb had had this many compulsive episodes. Yes, he sometimes needed the pain, but such needs were usually spread out over long periods of time. In the last few weeks, he’d struggled not to give in to his impulses many times. It couldn’t continue.

Rafiq had done what he needed to do. For Caleb to become the man Rafiq needed him to be; to become the man he wanted to be, there could be no witnesses that knew him as Narweh’s dog. It was a harsh and debilitating truth at the time, but Caleb understood it as a man in a way he never could as a boy. RezA would have done the same.

Caleb rolled over on the floor and sat up to stare at the shape of Kitten’s body sleeping on the bed above him. She moved around a lot, her legs jumping beneath the blankets occasionally. It appeared to Caleb she wanted to roll onto her side, or her stomach, but even in sleep, the pain kept her in a slightly upright position.

Her words from earlier drifted toward him:

“You could not sell me… I could stay with you… be with you?”

He sighed, wishing things could be so simple. What would Rafiq say to such a request? Did it even have to be a request? Caleb was a man after all, and a dangerous one at that. Perhaps Caleb need only inform Rafiq of the way it was to be and move on from there. The girl was beaten and bruised, her virginity in question as far as Rafiq would be concerned. How difficult would it be to simply call it a lost cause with Kitten? But honestly, it wouldn’t repair anything. He would forever be her captor and she would forever be his prisoner. He had to stop going back and forth. He’d made a decision, he would stick to it. End of story.

Kitten shifted some more on the bed and whimpered for a few seconds before her eyes finally opened. Her lungs rose and fell deeply and harshly. Apparently, Caleb wasn’t the only one suffering from nightmares. To her credit, she hadn’t cried out or asked for him. She looked around the room and caught sight of him, then looked away and sat up slowly.

“Morning,” he said wryly.

She nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond. She tossed her blanket off of her legs in a slow, taxing motion and stiffly stood before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. Within seconds he could hear the water from the sink running. Caleb wondered how she was planning to use the facilities because the toilet was set into the ground and required the user to squat above it to do their business. It would be difficult for her to maintain her balance given her injuries, but he decided her need for privacy was perhaps greater than her need for help at the moment.

Caleb went about setting the room to rights and collecting the things he’d need to get ready for the day ahead. Neither of them had much in the way of clothing, but they only had one more day to travel, so the point was moot. He looked through the groceries he had purchased and found the bananas as well as some raspberry pastries. That would do nicely for breakfast. There were plenty of bottles of water left as well. He checked his watch and noted it was only five-thirty in the morning. The sooner they were out and on the road the better. They could make it to Tuxtepec by dinner time, even if they took another twelve hours to get there. He would have to make a stop in town before they left.

Caleb reached for his cell phone and dialed Rafiq.

“Salaam.”

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Am I to answer to you, then?”

“Why the fuck not? We’re partners, or has Jair usurped my position in the last two days?”

Rafiq laughed. It was the kind of laugh Caleb had suffered through for years, a dismissive, derisive laugh, meant to put Caleb in his place, below his master. “Don’t be childish, Caleb. You’re the one who made our last conversation so hostile. Jair is hardly in a position to incite your jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m irritated and you’re only making it worse. Where are you?”

“Where are you, Caleb? Where is the girl?”

Caleb took a deep breath and exhaled away from the phone. It was the moment of truth. “We’re in Zacatecas. We should be in Tuxtepec by morning at the latest.”

“The morning?” Rafiq admonished, “You’re less than a day’s drive from Jair and your hostages, why would you be gone any longer?”

“It’s the girl, her injuries slow us down. I keep having to stop for her.”

“You’re going to arouse suspicion by driving around with her like that.” Rafiq paused, his breathing as grating as his voice. Caleb braced for it. “She is the final part of this, Caleb. She must be ready. She must be perfect. If you can’t do this, I would be more than willing to take over.”