Page 45 of Hateful Union

That’s exactly how I feel about Raylee.

I just pray that when the shit hits the fan, we’re still standing.

18

Raylee

My hands are in my hair, tugging hard, praying for pain, absolutely any pain is welcome, anything to take me away from this nightmare that I’m in. That I’ve been in for the past eight days.

My entire body is shaking as I try to fight the fear that’s been clawing at me since I was taken on my way home from school. I have no idea what these men want. I’ve been here eight days and in that time, they’ve said very little to me other than they’re waiting for a ransom. That if my father wanted me back alive, he’d pay to see to it.

But as the days pass I wonder if the men are lying and something else is at play? There’s no way that my dad would let me be gone for eight days and do nothing about it. Mum must be going crazy, it’s just her and I. My dad and brothers are in Spain for the majority of the year, they come home every few weeks, but they live in Spain, it’s where they do their business.

Dad’s always assured me that it was safer for Mum and I in Manchester rather than in Spain. The business he does isn’t good, I know that, I’ve known that for a long time. The drugs and weapons he runs will never be good.

I hear a door opening in the distance and my heart beats faster, so fast that I’m shocked that it hasn’t burst yet. Footsteps begin to draw closer and I close my eyes, God, they’re here. They’re coming. I move slightly and my ribs protest. Damn it, that blow to my side hurts more as each day passes.

The jingling of keys has me biting back a whimper. They’re coming for me.

The door opens and light floods into the room and I’m blinking harshly as I try to adjust to the light. “Ray-Ray.” Is the emotional whisper and everything in me relaxes as a sob bursts free from me.

He’s here.

“Raylee, wake the fuck up.” I hear the snarl as I’m being shaken.

I come awake with a gasp, my body pressed tightly against Malcolm’s. “What’s going on?” I whisper as I try to catch my breath. I blink trying to keep the tears at bay, I’m staring at his naked chest. I listen to his thumping heartbeat, studying it, and let my own ease with the sound of his.

“Baby, what the hell was that?” His voice hoarse and raspy.

“What?” I whisper, knowing damn well he’s seen me in the throes of a nightmare.

“You were whimpering and crying,” he says as his hand goes under his tee that I’m wearing and spans across my bare back. “Talk to me,” he pleads in a soft tone, one that I’m unable to deny.

“When I was fourteen, I was snatched on the way home from school,” I tell him, keeping my eyes firmly on his chest.

His arms tighten around me, drawing the breath from me. “What?”

I raise my hand to his chest and pet him, “I’m okay, I’m here.”

“What happened?” he demands to know as his thumb draws circles on my back.

“I still don’t fully know. Dad and my brother’s lived here in Spain and I was in Manchester with my mum, that was how it was for years, for as long as I can remember. They’d come home once a month, maybe twice, but they lived here. Everything was fine. Until one day, I was walking home and a van stopped beside me.” I blow out a breath as I remember the fear that I felt that day as three men jumped out and grabbed me.

“It’s okay,mo stór, you’re safe,” he whispers against my hair.

“I was left in a dark room, there were no windows. It was tiny, l could barely move in it.” I scrunch my eyes closed, trying to stop the barrage of memories trying to assault me. “There were five different men that came,” I tell him and he stops breathing. “They didn’t do anything,” I say quickly, wanting him to know that nothing like that happened. “They’d use their fists and kick me, but nothing bad happened.”

“Baby, love that you’re trying to reassure me that those arseholes didn’t rape you, but them hurting you is fucking bad.”

I press in closer to him, needing his comfort. “Within a few hours of me being there. The guy in charge told me that I was being held for ransom. They wanted six million and they weren’t letting me leave until they got it.”

“How long did it take your dad to get the money and pay?” he questions, his thumb still drawing circles.

I pull back and look up at him, his gaze intense as he looks down at me. “He didn’t pay,” I whisper, retelling my ultimate shame. My father doesn’t and hasn’t given a fuck about me, ever.

His eyes narrow as rage blazes in them. “What?”

“He never paid.”

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