Page 43 of Dangerous Refuge

“Okay, what would you like to say?” The computer talks to me as my car bumps over a rough patch of road.

“The kid stays with the nanny.”

“Okay, your text says, ‘The kid stays with the nanny.’ Would you like to send it?”

“Yes.”

The swooshing sound of a message being sent echoes out in my car speakers and I check the GPS. Only a few blocks away now. He better not have laid a hand on her or I will make his death slow and painful.

23

ALLIE

Ican’t tell where we are. The room is dark and I’ve been crying too much so my vision is blurry. It’s an apartment of some kind, though it is in a horrible state of disrepair. The walls are filthy, covered in handprints, dirt, and mold. The carpet looks like someone vomited on it and left it to dry. It smells like rotting garbage and sewage. He can’t possibly be living here. But there is a single mattress on the floor in the corner of the room with a dirty sheet draped over it, so maybe he is.

I’m seated on a chair in the corner of the room where he left me. My hands are tied behind my back, my feet zip-tied to the legs of the chair. Paul paces the room, gun in hand. He keeps running his hand through his hair like a lunatic. I don’t see any drugs or paraphernalia but I know he’s not sober. Something is eating away at him and it’s not just the fact that I’m hiding his son from him.

“Where is he, Allie? Where is my boy?”

“Fuck you,” I say, then I spit at his feet. I won’t give Rico up. I’d sooner go back to Sven and let the Bratva raise my son. No, I’ve come this far in trying to give Rico a better life. I can’t cave in just because I’m afraid. Sarah called 9-1-1; I know she did. When we were in that shitbox of a car headed away from Sarah’s apartment, I heard sirens.

Paul is angry. He stomps over and uses the back of his hand to strike my face. He hits the same spot where he pistol whipped me earlier and I yelp in pain. Tears fill my eyes and leak out against my will. I don’t want him to see me cry, but it’s painful.

“Tell me where he is.” Paul hovers over me, demanding answers I won’t give him. He’ll have to kill me first and even then, the court will lock him up. He’ll never have Rico.

I can’t respond. My face hurts too badly. My head hangs and I taste blood on my tongue. I see his shoes move away from me across the room and I let my eyes shut briefly. Everything in my body hurts, my shoulders, knees, every joint. I don’t remember ever getting a beating this bad, but he’s got me. I know he won’t let me go unless I give him what he wants and even then he may still kill me. My silence protects my son, and he can’t force me to talk.

“My god,” he hisses and finally he leaves the room, walking into an adjacent room.

My neck hurts as I lift my head. I struggle against the rope tying my wrists together but all I manage to do is give myself rug burn. Rico must be terrified. And Sarah—I know they won’t let him stay with her. I need to get to him, and that sudden need to comfort my son causes me to struggle against the restraint harder. My entire life the past ten years has been devoted to loving that little boy with everything inside of me. I have to fight harder. I can’t let Paul get to me.

But what if I can manage to get Paul to change his mind? Paul is on something; he’s not thinking straight. I’ve seen him like this before. I remember a night when he was so drunk and high on something that I was able to calm him down so he didn’t hit me, just by offering him sex. I used that tactic on Sven, hoping to get information that night. I know it will work. I just have to convince him that I’m being sincere with him.

I’m ready when he walks back into the room. This time the gun is tucked in his waistband and he has a beer in his hand. His angry glower hasn’t softened any at all, but I’m practiced at helping change his mood. I have done this for years; I just have to dig into my memories to remember important things about how to calm him. Admittedly it would be easier if I were free and not tied to a chair, but my words will have to do.

“Paul, please let me go. I know we can work this out.” I lick the coppery tasting liquid off my lip and stare him in the eye. “Baby, I’m sorry that I’ve been away. I just got selfish. I—”

“Shut up,” he hisses, then slurps his beer. I don’t think that drinking is a good thing for him right now because of whatever else he’s taken, but if I warn him, he’ll just get upset with me again.

“Look, let me help you relax, okay? We can connect and talk about our future.” Paul stops pacing and moves closer to me. I hope I’m getting through. If this works and I get through to him, all I have to do is get him to drink so much he passes out and then I can escape. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. You were right for me and you deserve to see Rico.”

He snarls as I say his son’s name, but I press on. “He misses you. He asks about you sometimes. You’d love him. He’s smart and funny. He loves video games and superheroes. And he’s got a dog. Its name is Odin.” Now I’m just lying, but it seems to be calming him down. He sways, taking another swig of his beer as he hovers over me. His expression is growing softer. “He gets all As in school. He’s so smart. And he wants to play soccer. I will sign him up in the fall, I think. You like soccer.”

“You expect me to buy this shit?” he asks, then he brings the beer bottle to his lips again and drinks the rest. When he’s finished, he smashes it on the ground and shakes his head at me. My heart sinks.

“I mean it, Paul. I mean everything I said. Rico really misses you. He asked about you just yesterday. And I—”

“You,” he snarls, glaring at me, “have kept me from my son for years. You are a piece of garbage I want out of my life for good. You have no intention of letting me be with my son. This is just more of your manipulation to make me let you go so you can escape. I know your game, Allie, so stop playing. Just tell me where he is.”

Anger starts to rise up again but I push it back down. My wrists are burning; I want out of these restraints. “I’m not manipulating you. I am telling you I realize that I am better off with you. Sven was violent—really violent.” The words are bitter on my tongue. Sven would never hurt me. I hate saying this about him. “He kills people a lot. He comes home covered in blood.”

Paul stalks closer, his boot crunching the broken bottle. “You think that’s violent? You don’t even know what violence is, honey.”

The stench of alcohol on his breath makes me gag and tears well up in my eyes. Paul laughs a deep, hearty laugh and uses my hair to pull my head upward so I’m forced to look at him. “I know you hate me. I can see it in your eyes. You detest me. You want to get away from here.”

“No, baby,” I mewl, forcing the bile down my throat. “I want to reconnect.” If my hands were free I would touch him, as disgusting as that sounds. I just want to put him at ease so he’ll let me out.

Paul holds my head up with a tight grip on my hair and smacks me across the face with the other hand. He has no intention of letting me out. I can’t hold back the tears anymore. I’m terrified now. He’s sick, and I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me really badly this time.

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