Page 80 of Swerve
SHE COMES OUT of the fog with a start, opening her eyes to find a woman standing next to the bed, studying her.
Mia has never seen anyone with eyes like this. They make her think of a machine. Her eyes are more robot than human. Taking in what is in front of her without emotion, simply processing information and drawing a conclusion.
“You are awake,” the woman says.
Mia bolts upright, the haze around her brain fully lifted. She doesn’t bother answering, pulling the front of her robe closed and sliding back to the headboard of the bed.
“There is nowhere to go,” the woman says matter-of-factly. “Surely you realize this by now.”
The sudden urge to launch herself at this evil woman is nearly overwhelming. Mia’s fingernails aren’t long but she wonders if they would be sufficient to claw the woman’s eyes out. She wants to. She wonders where the girl of a few days ago has gone. That girl would have been nauseated by the idea. Now, the thought is so exhilarating that she has to forcibly tamp it back down.
“Yes,” she says, reaching deep for a note of meekness.
The woman smiles. “You might try whatever tricks you feel are worth your effort. But I must assure you that I am aware of them all. You are not the first to be here. You will not be the last. You see, once you are in the trap, fighting will only expend your energy. There is no escape. The trap has been created to make certain of that. It has been perfected.”
“You’re sick,” Mia says. “How does anyone become so evil?”
She stares at Mia long enough that Mia is certain she is reconsidering her fate. Maybe she will go ahead and kill her, end what is inevitable.
“I’ve always respected a worthy adversary. I can see I’ve found one in you. But you must know there have been others like you. And that I never lose. It is time for you to get dressed. Your clothes have been laid out for you.” She points to the outfit at the foot of the bed. “Shall I have Helga come and help you?”
“No,” Mia says quickly.
The woman laughs. “I thought not. And so I will share with you some information about your guest this evening. His taste apparently runs in the direction of younger . . . women. You will notice the outfit I have provided is more girlish than we will normally give you, but we try to make sure our guests get exactly what they wish for. The doctor has told me you’re still a virgin so that will be a bonus, I’m sure.”
Mia feels all the color drain from her face, as she realizes the doctor must have examined her while she was unconscious. Her face burns, as if hot pokers have been pressed to her cheeks. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”
The woman sighs. “More theatrics? You will do this, my dear. There are cameras in the room, and if I do not see that you are giving our guest what he has paid to receive, I will send Sergio to your sister’s house and instruct him to finish with her what he started with you. Before he kills her, that is.”
Tears of pure fury well in Mia’s eyes and stream down her cheeks. “I hate you.”
Her laugh is lighter now. “Hatred is not a bad thing. It might just keep you alive.”
Sergio
“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men…”
?Robert Burns
THE CHOP SHOP thrives in a hidden garage behind a well-known car dealership in downtown DC. New vehicles are sold on the front end, happy customers driving off with no idea that the real moneymaker at the place is the stolen car business on the back end. Some of the stolen vehicles are even sold as new.
Sergio pulls around to the rear of the impressive building, waiting for the center garage door to open. He’d sent Leonard Henderson, the guy in charge of the operation, a text a half hour ago with a short message:
Need to move the Range. Can you provide a new ride?
The answer was yes, of course.
The part Leonard hadn’t added was “for the right price.” This one’s going to cost him, put a definite dent in his future plans. But he’ll make up for it. So he’s made a couple of mistakes recently. Madison and that new girl at the hotel. He’s learned from those mistakes though, and he won’t be making them again.
Sergio pulls onto the center of the concrete floor. On one side of him, guys in coveralls are searching a Mercedes-Benz S65 AMG Cabriolet, no doubt looking for personal items to remove. List $250,000. On the other side, two more guys are unbolting the front end of a BMW from the frame. He’d watched them take a car apart once, marveled at how they cut out the windshield, removed the doors and seats. They also cut the roof supports and sawed through the floor beneath the steering wheel. It’s quite a production, and they are usually finished with the whole job within a few hours. If he didn’t have his own line of work already established, it’s something he could see himself doing.
Leonard walks through a side door, waves a hand in greeting. Sergio cuts the engine and gets out.
“You got heat?” Leonard asks.
“Maybe,” Sergio admits.
Leonard reaches out to shake his hand, and they meet eyes for a moment. Sergio doesn’t bother lying to him. Leonard isn’t the kind of man you lie to. At six-three with boulder-wide shoulders and a grip that means business, he reminds Sergio of his employer. They have in common the same knack for reading people, eyes of steel culling truth from fiction, bullshit from reality.
