Page 38 of Delivered to the Devil

“I’ve got you, Rebecca. Just come back to me.” I lean her back against the edge, cradling the back of her head in one hand as I kneel between her legs so she won’t slide farther down. Then I caress her face, her chest, and her arms with my free hand.

Finally, her eyes move. At first, it’s just a flicker, then they find me, though unfocused.

“Good girl, stay here,” I tell her, trying to urge her back. But awareness clearly comes at a price for her. The moment she starts to focus her gaze on me, she whimpers, and her face draws taut with pain. She drifts off again, and I know I’ve lost her. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, slap her cheek, and demand she return. But I know the pain—physical and psychological—is too stark for her to face. Forcing her back right now just might cause more damage.

I clench my jaw and finish washing her.I should have stopped him.

The words play on repeat in my mind as I take her out of the tub, dry her off, and tuck her into bed.

Dropping into the red armchair, I take my phone from my pocket and check to see if it survived the splashing water. I don’t care about my phone, but I need something to take my attention off the broken girl in the bed in front of me for a minute.

The screen comes alive as I press my thumb to the side. But the distraction proves to be much more worrying than the sight before me as I find a text from Gabor:

See if you can fix her before Friday next week. If not, get rid of her.

Pushing out a heavy breath, I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling. Gabor doesn’t want any bodies for the police to dig up. They can easily dismiss a rape charge, but a body is harder to ignore. When things go south, his idea of ‘getting rid of’ is much worse than snapping a girl’s neck and burying her in the forest. His idea of getting rid of is more a type of revenge than a means to remove a problem. The last time I got the order, I shot the girl up with fentanyl for a few days, then took her to Szabadkai út and left her there with a kit to keep the habit going for a while. I’m not sure what happened to her, but I suppose she either OD’d or is now living a life where she wishes she had.

I didn’t care at the time. She was just another job. But the idea of shooting Rebecca up with drugs and leaving her to live out the rest of her short, miserable existence as a drugged-up whore has me clenching my hands to subdue the urge to tear the whole place apart. I’d rather snap her neck than do that to her.

But I can’t betray Gabor. Disobeying by cleaning Rebecca up is one thing, but ignoring an order like getting rid of her is on a whole different level. I just can’t do it. He’s the only reason I’m not stuck on Szabadkai út myself, dealing and doing drugs. I owe him everything, and not even this girl who has stirred this irrational protectiveness can make me betray him.

So I only have one choice.To fix her.

CHAPTER 17

“Borders”

by Kalandra

Rebecca

Everything is a distant blur. Only small things seep into my awareness. Like the sunlight invading the room from the big windows.

I blink my eyes against the blinding light. It’s too bright. Too happy.Shutting my eyes, I turn and burrow under the comforter, wincing as pain flares in my body.

When I open my eyes again, the room is dark except for a soft glow beside the bed.

I don’t want this light either, so I pull the covers up and close my eyes.

Something presses in the lower part of my belly. I try to ignore it like I do the rest of my body, but the sensation keeps growing stronger, urging me to react.

It’s my bladder, I realize and stagger out of bed. My weak legs refuse to hold steady, and I fall against the wall and stay there, letting it support me as I take one slow step at a time. Everything throbs and burns. I want to collapse, and I think I’m about to when large hands grab me from behind, and somehow, I make it to the bathroom and back to bed without crashing to the floor.

Time passes. I don’t know how much, don’t know how long. At least a day, probably several. The fading light should give me a hint, but I can’t make my brain decipher its coming and going.

A new light flashes on above me. I stare into it. It hurts. But I keep staring. Somebody hovers at my side, maybe trying to get me to sit. I don’t know, I don’t care. A straw pokes between my lips, and my thirsty body works on its own to suck up the liquid, but when something solid—probably food—prods at my mouth, there’s no reaction.

The light finally disappears, and I stare into the murky gray of the room.

The next thing I know, the room is dark. Empty. Hollow.

I turn in bed and hear a small whimper, like a wounded cat. I think it might have been me.

The darkness isn’t complete as I see a soft light beside me. And a person—surrounded by red. I can’t make sense of it, and I don’t try. Something about the vision tugs at me, begging me to come closer, but I don’t want to leave this emptiness. So I move my eyes to the wall. A blank sheet of nothing.

Another leap in time and I slip into something warm. I’m weightless, my arms floating. When I try to feel my body, it doesn’t hurt as much. It’s welcoming, the thing that envelops me—like it wants me.

Water, I realize.

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