Page 25 of The Society (Spy Girl 3)
"Why don't you tell me your name?" I sass.
He grabs my hair and pulls it, his move quick, completely catching me off guard. I have misjudged this man based on his looks. A mistake I will not make again.
"I said, tell me your name!"
"Calliope," I spit.
I'd take him out right now, but even though the man who brought me here has left, two guards have entered, one standing at each end of the room and armed with an M4 carbine assault rifle. Seems like overkill, but who knows what else this man is into.
The money man pulls out a chair, motioning for me to sit.
So, I do. This is crazy. Like some sort of sick date.
He sits adjacent to me, at the head of the table. I'm sitting to his right.
"You are mine now," he says. "I paid a lot of money for your freedom. You will have to work to pay me back, and only then will you be allowed to leave."
"What kind of work will I be asked to do?" I grit my teeth and ask as a servant brings in caviar.
Once the servant leaves, the man says, "By doing whatever I'd like." He gives me what I assume is supposed to be a charming smile.
He eats in a way that is as disgusting as he looks. I pretend to eat, but after each bite, I wipe my mouth with the fine linen napkin that was laid across my lap and spit it out. It could be tainted with drugs.
And when he puts his pudgy hand on top of mine during the second course and says, "How are you feeling?" I know I have to pretend.
"A little light-headed," I say, blinking slowly. "May I please have some water?"
"Of course," he says, pouring some into my glass, directly from the container he has been drinking from.
The third course is steak, cooked rare. Surprisingly, I'm given a sharp knife to cut it with. When the servant comes to clear our plates, I drop it and my fork on the floor, put my foot on top of the knife to hide it, and then pick up the fork and hand it to him.
After he leaves the room, I put my elbow on the table and rest my head in my palm, acting a little woozy.
The man snaps his fingers, and the armed guards leave.
"It is important that we work well together. Now that we have shared a wonderful meal, our fun will begin. Stand up and take off your clothing. I'd like to see all your beautiful tattoos."
I do as he asks, stumbling a bit for effect when trying to get my shorts off.
"How did someone as young as you end up with so many tattoos?" he asks with genuine interest.
"My stepfather didn't treat me well, and he hated tattoos," I slur, closing my eyes and swaying. "After I ran away, I got as many as I could."
The money man stands up and quickly sheds his clothes. It was bad enough to look at him dressed. His skin is white and pasty and riddled with pockmarks. His belly hangs down so far that I am thankfully not exposed to what's lower.
He moves next to me and slides his hand across the dragon tattoo then he begins to pleasure himself. It takes everything I have not to shudder under his touch. Instead, I give him a goofy smile and say, "Isn't the dragon so pretty?"
"So are you," he replies. "I'd like you to touch me now."
I stand there, swaying, pretending I don't know what to do. He doesn't bother to explain, simply shoves me to the ground and says, "On your knees."
Which is exactly what I was hoping he would do.
I grab his erect private part in one hand and the steak knife off the floor in the other.
"Make one sound, and I'll cut it clean off you," I tell him.
"You don't have the balls," he sneers. "They all start out trying to fight me but, trust me, you'll end up dead just like all the rest of them."
Rage fills me. Rage for what he wants to do to me. Rage for what he's been doing to those girls. Rage for what he let his men do to Ana.
Without further thought, I channel all my anger into the knife, slicing downward and cutting it clean off his body.
He stares down in disbelief and then drops back into his chair.
Blood is flowing freely from the wound. Not enough for him to die from it, but enough to freak him out as it pools on his pristine white marble floor.
"I'm told, if you keep this on ice," I say, waving his member in front of him, "there's a chance it can be reattached. I will give it back to you and leave if you tell me who gave you the money to hire The Priest."
He lets out a maniacal laugh. "I don't know. All I have is a phone number and the number of an account I move the money from."
"I don't believe you." I'm still holding his part in my hand, so I dramatically set it on the table. "I guess I'll have to filet this then."
"Wait, no!" he says as the knife gets closer.
"You're not looking very good." I throw him a napkin. "You might need a Band-Aid, or a doctor, or something."
"I would tell you if I knew."
"Okay, fine. I'll just take this thing with me. Good luck"--I motion to the general direction of his bleeding--"with everything."
I go about the business of collecting his phone and laptop. I expect him to put up a fight, but he's probably going into shock. I set the items on the dining table along with his part.
"Fine," he says, bursting into tears. "Just give it back to me, please. I'm not a bad guy, really."
"Tell that to the girls in the basement. Tell that to Ana, the girl your men killed just a few minutes ago after they tortured her."
"I take care of those girls! They would be out on the streets if it weren't for me," he argues.
"They'd be better off on the streets," I say, moving to pick up the items. "Last chance."
"My guards will kill you."
"Not if you want it back. Call them in. Now!"
He does so.
I'm not sure what his guards expected to see but probably not this sight. I use their shock to my advantage. The first one to approach me gets a sideswipe punch, causing his head to snap violently to the side and an immediate blackout. The second guard witnesses this and instead of shooting me, drops his weapon and comes after me. I allow him to get in the first punch, deflecting it with my forearm so that it doesn't do much damage. I fall back a step into a solid stance then sweep my right leg upward, hitting him hard in the temple. He falls to the ground, unconscious, but still breathing as I quickly gather up their guns.
The money man watches his guards fall. And when I take a position in front of him, he sighs heavily, looking defeated. "Just who the hell are
you?"
"Doesn't matter. Tell me what I need to know." I encourage him further by aiming both guns at him.
Very quickly, he recites a name--Marquis Dupree--along with an account number.
"And who does Mr. Dupree work for?"
"Someone very powerful. I told you everything I know. Please, give it back."
"All right," I say, picking his part off the table and tossing it in his direction.
He stands up and manages to catch it with a defiant look in his eye--like he's somehow won our little game--as he yells out, "Guards!"
I don't know how many guards are still in his house, but there is at least one in the basement.
I level the gun at him. "It doesn't matter how many guards come. You are going to die. You don't deserve to stay on this planet and harm one more girl."
I don't stop shooting until both guns are out of rounds.
I stand there, my finger still on the trigger, wishing for more bullets, when Intrepid bursts into the room, gun drawn. I have no idea how he managed to get in here. He told me earlier the place was a fortress. But based on the still-smoking gun in his hand, I'm guessing whatever guards he crossed paths with are now dead.
"It's done," I say simply, still not letting go of the guns because my eyes are transfixed on the dead man in front of me.
"Did you get the information we needed before you killed him?" he asks.
I nod.
"Then we need to get out of here," he says, pushing me toward the door.
This takes me out of my trance. "No! We can't leave! We have to get them out. Set them free! I promised myself that I wouldn't leave without them."
"Who are you talking about?" he asks.
"He doesn't just like young girls. He keeps them. Down in the cellar. In cages. I have to get them out."
Just as the words come out of my mouth, the man who put me in the cage comes running into the room, gun in hand, trying to zip up his pants.
Intrepid takes him down with a single shot to the head.
Sirens sound in the distance.
"The police will be here any minute. Someone must have reported the automatic gunfire. We've got to get you out of here."
I shake my head. "I'm not leaving. Not until I know they are free."
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. I don't really hear what he says. I don't care. All I can think about is those girls down there and the horrors they have been through.
I begin to feel light-headed.
"Don't throw up," he says, pulling me down a hall and toward a back exit.
