Page 70 of Devious Eyes
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dark.
That’s all I’ve known for the past however long. I wasn’t in the van for long before being shoved out the door onto concrete. Without any idea of where I was, and having my hands tied, meant I landed pretty hard. One of the men dragged me to my feet and pushed me up some metal steps. The clang of each step echoed in my ears before it went quiet and I was forced into a soft seat.
We’ve now been sitting for a while on a plane, a small one. It’s probably a private charter judging by the sound of the engine. I have no reference as to where we’re travelling, just my own guess at how long we’ve been in the air, which is precisely no idea. Time has a funny way of lasting a lot longer than you think when you’re pumped full of fear.
The men who took me must be Yakuza. There’s no other theory I can fathom. They’ve spoken very little English since we boarded, just endless Japanese. I was given a bottle of water shortly after we took off. When I pushed up the material of my mask so I could take a drink, someone from behind leaned over my seat and covered my eyes so there would be no way to slip the hood off my head accidentally.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” I wish I didn’t, but my body doesn’t appreciate the situation I’m in. I hear a few people mumble, perhaps between two of them, before I’m pulled out of my seat.
“This would be a lot easier if I could see.”
“No.” It’s not the man who spoke to me in the van. Assuming there are just the three people I saw, perhaps a driver? Realistically, I don’t know how many people are on-board, what they want, or if I’m even going to get out of this with my life.
He shoves me into what I guess is the bathroom. My hands lift instinctively to brace my fall forwards. I hear a slight click and wait. My heart drums in my ear as I listen to check if I’m alone. In my head I count to five and then scramble to take the hood off, pushing it back and off my head as if I suddenly need to be free of it to breathe. When the scratchy material is off, I resist opening my eyes right away.
Logically, I’ve been hidden in the dark for so many hours, I need to adjust to the light first. But I also don’t want to admit to the situation I’m in. I tease my eyes open and flutter them for a few moments, letting the light in to illuminate where I am.
It’s a small, well-appointed bathroom. Nothing too fancy but definitely not from a commercial flight. My guard is probably keeping time, so I quickly relieve myself before looking around the tiny room. My hands are still bound, but they are in front of me. I set the water running while I open the two slimline cupboards. Towels and toilet paper only. Nothing of use. The handles and fixtures would take too long to try and break off, and realistically, what am I going to do with a door handle?
A resonating thud shakes the room, and I know my time is up. I’m not going to make it easy on them, though. The horrible hood that’s kept me blind the whole journey isn’t going over my head again. I stuff the material down the toilet and flush several times, hoping it will get stuck. Then, as I push down on the door handle, I press all my weight against the door, hoping to knock my babysitter out of the way.
A crack followed by a low grumble tells me I hit my mark, so I barge against the door and push my way past. My eyes zip around the interior of the plane, taking in as much as I can. It’s all cream leather with wood panelling, nothing like a commercial plane. A bank of two four-seat sectionals take up most of the space, each with a table between the seats. A few single seats on the opposite side of the aisle make this a twelve-person plane. Two other men sit in the rear sectional. They stand when they see I’ve exited without my hood.
A lot of hand gestures and what I’m sure is Japanese come firing at me. Everything sounds very serious and insistent, but I hold my ground.
“Let her sit.” A female voice rings out above all the commotion, and both men freeze in their tracks. I use the opportunity to take my seat, walking past the men who haven’t moved an inch since the order was issued. Clearly, she’s the one in charge.
From my position, I can’t quite see the woman. Her seat is in front of mine on the opposite side of the cabin. She’s kept herself away from me and the men—presumably the muscle to keep me in line.
All the men settle back into their seats around me. My heartbeat picks up as I wait for my guard to come back. He sits opposite, his nose red and a lump developing nicely on his forehead. The smirk inside me is desperate to escape but I know the importance of keeping my poker face. If they learn how terrified I am, they’ll play on it.
Minutes tick past with no conversation or movement. I’m left inside my head wondering what Nate is doing back in Antwerp. If he thought I ran out on him again…No.
No, he wouldn’t. I wrote a note. He knows how I feel about him.
Doubt eats at my core, causing the steel-like strength I’m summoning to crack. I’ve been kidnapped by the Yakuza for god only knows what end. And the man I love may be some kind of gangster. I couldn’t have made this scenario up if I tried.
As time passes, the murmurings of conversation pop up between the men. None of them addresses the woman or me directly. I listen, but there are no words that betray anything I can understand.
My buddy opposite has remained quiet, the bump on his head growing in size each time I glance over. “Does it hurt?” I ask, motioning to my head in the same spot.
Immediately, his brows close together, and his face turns to thunder. A crackle of tension runs through the air, and I regret my words. It was the pressure from all the hostility weighing me down. I had to say something.
I brace myself for a punch or slap, but nothing comes from him. Instead, the woman, anonymous until now, stands and turns to me.
Her jet-black hair is silky smooth, trailing down her back. Her suit is immaculate and cut so crisply you could cut yourself on the edges. Her face holds no emotion, no expression, but she turns me to stone. She glides the few feet to stand in front of the table that separates me from my captor.
I thought the men were intimidating, but this woman sets a feeling inside of me that wipes out any hope or light at the end of the tunnel. She’s all business. No messing. She fiddles with something in her hand, and my eyes drop to see what it is. It’s then she strikes.
A blow to my cheekbone, so precise and delivered with so much force it knocks me sideways. My entire face feels like it’s going to explode from the pain. I struggle to right myself with my hands still tied, but I do, easing myself back to sitting. The pressure around my eye immediately hinders my sight, and I can feel my cheek swelling and press against my eyelid.
I look at her hand and see a metal plate running along her palm. The reverse of a knuckle duster. The tears sting and as I hold my breath to keep them locked inside, the throbbing in my cheek grows.
She doesn’t say a word but continues to stare over me like I am an errant child who’s had to be told off. Without doing or saying anything else, she leaves and heads back to her seat.
For the rest of the flight, I don’t mutter a word. My head drops, and I keep focused on my hands—hands that once held everything I could ever wish for. Only now it’s too late to grab hold and never let go.
