Keeping Allie (Breaking Away #3) (3 page)

And doesn’t trim his pubic hair.
Ever.
 

“Put that thing back in, for God’s sake, Frenchie. There’s a lady in the room!” Chase barks at him.  

A hysterical laugh starts deep in my belly but it just bubbles there, like the beginnings of food poisoning. It gurgles and groans. The Allie before all this would have found the scene funny.

The Allie right now is just trying to remember to breathe.

“Where?” Frenchie says, pretending not to see me. “Oh, her? She’s about to become the opposite of a lady. You know, I heard El Brujo has this thing about making sure he gets all four holes on a woman.”

“There ain’t four holes on a woman,” Chase says. “There’s only three.”

“Yeah,” Frenchie says, looking me over. “El Brujo finds a way to make a fourth.”

I hold back from looking at Chase. I can’t. If I look at him, I might blow his cover. He’s secretly working to get me out of here. I have to remember that. Nothing Frenchie says matters. I have to screen him out. 

My head throbs like someone’s hit me from behind. They probably did.

I need to stop being scared.

I need to just do whatever it takes to get through this, however long it takes, until Chase rescues me.

Chapter Four

All I can do now is comply. I don’t fight Frenchie as he leads me out of the room. Chase looks like he’s pissed at me. He has to act that way. Whatever plans he has to get me out of here depend on it. I understand that now. It makes sense. Maybe he left L.A. in a hurry because he knew something. Knew I was going to be handed off to El Brujo.

Asking myself why he didn’t stop my kidnapping is just a kind of torture. I don’t need that right now. If I get out of this alive, I’ll ask him then.

Too many ifs.

As Frenchie pushes me slowly down a long hallway, I stagger. My legs aren’t used to walking. My feet ache from being bound. My muscles are rubber. I grab the wall for support. It’s so cold for late summer. How can the walls be so cold? The hallway is dim and the floors are tile, clean but old. Most of the tile is white, with a beautiful turquoise border around the edges. If I were in a different situation I’d admire it for its beauty.

But not right now.

I’m dressed in a simple pair of red panties and a half bra. Someone picked these out for me. Someone dressed me up for my meeting with El Brujo. My hair is clean but matted. I can feel all my cuts and scrapes throbbing on the surface of my skin. My mouth feels like someone painted it with turpentine. Even the water they made me drink doesn’t help.

A cramp seizes my calf and I fall. Chase starts to help me and he stops himself. A flicker of emotion passes over his face. Frenchie stops and sighs like I’m doing this to aggravate him. He’s annoyed.

“You need more stamina than that, Girlie Girl. El Brujo won’t take none of this.” I massage my muscle. It’s like a giant chunk of concrete, the pain twisting my leg and pinkie toe. It screams with a burning tear. It’s nothing compared to what I felt when I woke up in the chair in that big room, tied down and naked.

When was that? How many hours was I out cold?

How many
days
?

I open my mouth to ask Chase and realize I can’t. Frenchie’s eyes meet mine. His eyes are clouded. A little uncertain. For once, he’s not looking at me with scorn.

It feels really, really weird.

“Get up,” he orders, eyes going cold. “El Brujo has strict instructions for you. Jackie don’t wanna wait forever. Now we’re supposed to move you from that other room to the new one. Jackie’ll make you look good for your new man.” He widens his eyes and gives me an air kiss. 

Who’s Jackie?
I wonder. Again, I want to ask. Again, I realize I can’t. The hallway smells musty, like old books. Nothing in the desert smells quite like this. I know the scent because the basement of our school library has this odor.  

I stand and wobble my way down the hall. The wall is smooth and cold against my palms as I stumble by. Chase and Frenchie walk behind me. Frenchie makes comments about my ass the entire time. It appears to please him. 

Chase doesn’t say a word.

I finally get to the end and I’m in the big room I woke up in. At least I’m not tied to a chair right now. I also have some clothes on, even if they’re just a bra and panties. My situation is improving. A crazy laugh starts in the base of my throat. I choke it down. Laughing is a luxury I don’t have. Anything that brings attention to me could make this worse. 

Anything that might make it hard for Chase to get me out of here can’t happen. I have to make myself an object. A quiet, inanimate thing. A blob. A nothing. 

Shouldn’t be hard. They’re already treating me like I’m just a bag of flesh. A thing El Brujo owns. Like a slave. Property. I’m not human to them. 

I have to learn to play the part.

We walk across the wide room. It’s as big as I thought, even though I wasn’t exactly in a position, when I was naked and tied to the chair, to really take in my surroundings. The ceilings are high and the walls unfinished. There’s a set of stairs leading up to a kind of walking deck, and a series of doors are up there. Chains hang from the ceiling. I shudder involuntarily, seeing a huge, sharp hook at the end of one. 

Right over the chair I was tied to.

A group of four bikers is at one end. I don’t recognize any of them. All of them are about Galt’s age, with salt-and-pepper beards and scowling faces. They’re just a mass of denim and leather, beards and murmurs. They don’t even look at us as we walk across the room. Chase and Frenchie’s boots make a loud clap on the floor as they walk.

I’m barefoot.

We pass them. Frenchie grunts at one of them. The guy is bald and has hoop earrings in both ears. He’s shirtless and turns.

Hoops in his nipples, too.

That laugh starts again in my throat and I keep it down.

We make a left, then we’re outside, the sun blinding me. No comfort in the fresh air, though. It’s too much sensation, like a fake kind of freedom. I can’t get my hopes up. It’s hotter inside than outside. There’s a rare breeze. I tip my face up to the sun. It’s the first time I’ve seen it in...

I don’t know. The full force of how little control I have over my own body—and, soon, my mind—hits me. I have no idea how long it’s been since I saw the sun.

I am outside, walking on dirt in my bare feet, wearing a silly set of lingerie at a biker compound. Chase assured me Marissa isn’t here, but then where is she? Is she at least safe? Will El Brujo come after her? The smart thing for her to do is go to the police, but they may not believe her. The whole situation is unbelievable. I wouldn’t blame the detective if he thought Marissa was inventing this mess. 

My mind starts to race through all the ways that what’s happening to me are unreal. If I can turn off my anxiety and my thoughts, I can survive this.

The problem is that I can’t.

And that may doom me, in the end.

The hot, sandy dirt feels fluid against the soles of my feet. My arms and legs move in wider arcs as I get used to having the freedom to move. I feel like I’m happily baking in the hot summer sun and wish I could just walk outside forever.

Forever
. I have to stop that. Stop thinking in terms of forever. Right now, my life is lived in one-minute increments. If I survive this minute, I get to think about the next one. I have no future.

Getting one is like having a prayer answered. I need a miracle now.

Frenchie grabs my arm and yanks me to the right, toward a building. It shocks me, his fingertips digging hard into bruises.

“Where’s Jackie?” Chases asks Frenchie. He sounds exasperated. 

“Hold your horses. She’s coming. Said to meet her in the offices.”

“The offices? Why there?” Chase spits out. He’s behind me. I don’t dare look back.

“Do I look like fucking 411? I’m no information booth. You want a better answer, go Google it.”

Chase makes a dismissive sound but stops talking. I trip over something and fall on my knees. A bone makes a horrible popping sound as I fall, the pain vibrating up into my hips. My head is bent down and my hair brushes the ground. The black strands look so otherworldly against the brown dirt.

Chase’s legs are behind me suddenly, and his hands are on my shoulders.

“You look like a coupla barnyard animals fucking,” Frenchie says with a sickening glee as Chase hauls me up, hands under my arms. He’s rough, swinging me like a bag of bones.  

“Do the pelvic thrust, man,” Frenchie continues, moving his hips to demonstrate. 

“Shut the fuck up, Frenchie,” Chase snaps.

“Make me.” Frenchie grabs me around the waist. My skin tingles, fear spearing through me. He starts humping my ass and cackling.  

I go limp. If he’s going to treat me like a fleshbag, I might as well become one.

“You fucking bitch,” Frenchie mumbles as he bends down to haul me up. “Get up.”

“I can’t,” I croak. Chase’s eyes catch mine. His widen slightly. I think the message is to stand up and walk. So I do.

He blinks twice and gives me the tiniest of nods.

I feel like he’s kissed me a hundred times. A solid feeling fills me. I’m tethered, even just a little. All the spinning pieces of my broken self come together for a split second. 

Hope has a funny way of coming back over and over, even when you think it’s long gone.

I stand. Frenchie smacks me on the ass. “Good girl. Now walk.” We’re headed toward a weathered wood building with an adobe roof. The roof is made of brick-colored tiles layered all over. It’s the kind of roof I’ve seen my whole life out here in the baked southwest. 

I’ve never seen anything like the Atlas compound before, though. I know if I gawk, Frenchie will say something. If I want to see anything, I have to pretend I’m not looking. As far as I can tell, there are four buildings. The one I came out of, the one we’re headed to, a big one with giant doors that looks like a garage with four bays, and a smaller one that is like a huge, sprawling house. There are three dogs running loose. They seem friendly. All three are big German Shepherds. 

As if on cue, one of the dogs runs over to us. Its tail is wagging. Within seconds I have a nose in my crotch. The dog is big and nudges up, hard. 

At least it’s not Frenchie.

“JuJu! Get down. At least you got good taste,” Frenchie cackles, pushing the dog away. I hold out my hand so JuJu can smell me. The dog looks me in the eye with more humanity than Frenchie’s shown me. JuJu wags its tail, licking my hand. He wants to be petted. I’m afraid to even try. 

“JuJu don’t like people,” Frenchie says, eyeing me carefully. “She’s mine. Raised her since she was five weeks old. Maybe I misjudged you, Girlie Girl.”

I want to ask him what that means, but I don’t. I have to remember to say as little as possible. Make them think I’m stupid. Submissive. Passive.

Broken.

That way I can do whatever Chase needs me to do when the time comes.

Frenchie spits on the ground, missing my foot by a few inches. “Sometimes JuJu’s wrong, though.”

Something Frenchie said earlier won’t leave my head.
“Maybe she’ll be the one to cure him.”
What did he mean? Cure? I want to ask so badly, but I can’t. I shuffle forward. Frenchie grabs the doorknob and yanks it open. He plants a thick, callused palm on the small of my back and shoves me forward into the dark building.

I step over the threshold and try not to fall. His body is right behind me, the crusty jeans sliding against my thighs, his slightly sour scent surrounding me. He’s everything Chase isn’t. Gross and nasty, intimidating and vile. Frenchie seems like he’s enjoying what he’s doing with me. Making me ready for another man’s torture of me. 

“Jackie’ll make you nice and ready for what’s coming, Allie,” he says with a hiss, his finger tracing a long, slow line from my earlobe to my collarbone. 

Allie. A chill runs through me when he says my name. I want to look at Chase, but I can’t. I just freeze and close my eyes, trying to think about anything but Frenchie’s fingers traveling down into my bra. He’s doing this right in front of Chase. 

Chase is looking out the window. He knows what Frenchie is doing to me.

And he’s not stopping him.

“What is coming?” Chase asks him under his breath, making Frenchie’s hand jerk and pull away from my skin. “You keep talking about it like El Brujo is the fucking second coming of Christ.” 

Frenchie snorts as he grabs my wrist and wrenches it, pulling me to the right. “Hardly. He’s chasing a cure for the bug.”

“The bug? What the fuck is ‘the bug’?” Chase asks.

“The bug? You don’t know what the bug is, man?”

I keep my head down, my hair hanging like dead snakes around me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see them, heads together.

“The bug,” Frenchie whispers, “is AIDS.”

Chapter Five

“What?” Chase shouts, incredulous, breaking his act of being bored and morose. “Quit fucking around with me, Frenchie.”

“Not fucking around, man. This is serious. El Brujo got it from some whore in Mexico. Or from shooting up. No one knows. Once you got it, you just got it. Who cares how you got it, you know? He knows a guy from South Africa who took a virgin’s cherry and was healed. So now he’s on a quest.”

I feel like like someone cracked my head like an egg and poured my brains out into a vat of boiling oil. I can hear the panic in Chase’s voice. 

I can hear it over the sizzling in my head.

I’m dead, aren’t I? If Chase can’t get me out of here, I’ll die today. If El Brujo doesn’t actually kill me, I’ll get AIDS and die anyway.

But that’s
not
how I’ll die. No way. 

If Chase can’t get me out of here, I’ll just kill myself. I’d rather die at my own hand than face what El Brujo has planned for me.

The clarity of that thought gives me hope. I have a choice now. I didn’t have a choice before. A calmness seeps into my bones, making me less afraid.

I have a plan. A direction. Something to do.

Chase avoids looking at me and says to Frenchie, “That’s fucked up.”