Page 2 of Rake

My adrenaline spikes as the street comes back into view. I’m so close. One of my shoes flies off but I keep going. I’m going to make it.

But I don’t.

Another set of hands grabs me. I scream as much in raw frustration as from the terror flooding my veins this time.

“She’s smaller than I imagined,” this second man says, huffing a laugh as he squeezes me around the waist, his beefy hand clamped over my mouth. “From the description I was expecting some six-foot-tall Amazon.”

My breaths come in shuddering gasps as I try to suck in air, my lungs tight from running.

“Yeah,” the first man says, “she’s not so big but she’s quick. Take her over to the chain-link fence.” I can sense a hint of admiration in his gruff tone. What kind of sociopath am I dealing with here?

I’m trying not to whimper. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction, but my pride loses out to my fear. Salty tears make fresh tracks through the sweat already drying on my cheeks. When they get me to the fence, a vision of my little brother opening the door up to police officers there to share the news of my death flashes through my mind. I’d promised my mother I’d take care of him. Get him away from our loser of a father.

If you can hear me, Mom, help me. Please.

“Tie her up,” the first man orders.

“You lost a shoe, Cinderella,” the second man says jovially. If I do survive this, I’ll never forget his laugh. Never forget his cavalier humor as he watches me shaking and crying, terror compressing my chest even as my heart tries to pound through my ribs.

I almost wish my eyes didn’t adjust to the darkness. Seeing him laugh at his own joke as he secures my arms and legs to the rusty fence with nylon rope makes me so nauseous I’m on the edge of vomiting.

Pressure immediately builds in the joints of my shoulders and ankles. My feet dangle, searching in vain for ground that’s not there. The disgusting man takes a step back to admire his work of hoisting and securing me at least a foot off the ground to this rusty wreckage of a fence.

The first man claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, P.J.”

“No problem, boss.”

“Miss Saunders,” the first man says, approaching me.

How the fuck does he know who I am? I thought I’d reached the edges of my fear, but the still calmness of his voice and the way he says my name, cool and clinical, lets me know the worst is yet to come. I pull against the ropes, struggling, thrashing, the nylon tearing into my wrists and ankles.

“I apologize for this. I promise you it’s not personal, but you’ve been sticking your nose in places you shouldn’t, and unfortunately there are consequences.” He tips my chin up.

I desperately try to swallow my fear, but my mouth is too dry. My body vibrates with the terror of it, rattling the fence slightly, and doing nothing for the pain in my arms.

“I hate doing this to women especially,” he continues, searching my face. He doesn’t have a mask on. Neither man does. They couldn’t be bothered hiding their identities from me.

The consequences are all mine, then. They’re not planning to leave me alive to be a witness against their crime.

The man directly in front of me is tall and has a dark goatee. His hands are surprisingly cool on my skin.

“When you enter a predominantly male occupation like union organizing, Miss Saunders, these things are bound to happen. And if you stay in this field after this, well, unpleasantness, I think you’ll find that your colleagues will have a new level of respect for you. But I will have to ask that you stay away from organizing around casinos.”

So James Carney does know.

That disgusting son of a bitch. My fear bleeds into rage. If by some miracle I do survive this, I’m going to make him pay.

It was clear that he wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t expect this. And who’s our leak? How did Carney find out that his people planned to organize?

Carney’s goon reaches a hand back to the heavy-set man he addressed as P.J.

“Normally I let P.J. do this part, but as a courtesy to your youth and your gender I’ll be handling it tonight.”

What the fuck?

P.J. chuckles again, handing an object to his boss.

A breeze blows off the Mystic River and I shiver. The smell is atrocious.

---