Trigger warning: sexual assault
Photos in hand, Najeem sat in Flint's camaro, running through possibilities. Who would hire criminals? Najeem began to think about the city he'd lived in for the past 20 years. Immigrating to America had been a difficult road and trying to build a life in it had been harder. He had met his wife while working at a horrible insurance job in the city. He hated it, the racism, the condecending tones of not just customers but coworkers. He wouldnt change it because it led to him meeting his wife, Evelyn. Evelyn was pale, small, a school teacher with thick glasses and who seemed to be socially awkward. She was the opposite of who people anticipated Najeem to be with but they didnt know Evelyn. On the inside Evelyn was a strong willed woman, ready to tell anyone what was on her mind and set people straight. Her personality, once known, made Najeem and her seem like the perfect couple. Najeem loved her. The thought of anything bad happening to her made Najeem's blood boil. His normally calm demeanor, outgoing personality was gone. He was mad, not as mad as Flint but he was still willing to do whatever it took to get information about Clara.
Flimt parked acrosd the street of the ex- chef's apartment building. His run down apartment building had trash piled on the side of it. Steam rose from the underground of the city. The dark building along with the background noise of a couple yelling at one another made Flint realize the chef was as cliche as anticipated. Greedy. Slimy. Willing to do anything to get ahead and get rich. For the salary Flint had paid him he was wondering why the chef decided to retreat to this kind of apartment. Was it debt? Was he frugile?
"You're thinking hard about how you'll get the information out if him?" Najeem asks.
"Thats not hard to think about. How to get him to come willingly is what I am considering."
"Use his pride and ego against him," Najeem chuckled.
Flint new then. The plan simple, formulating in his mind like a puzzle. A string of events however one aspect was missing. A place to keep the chef. The bar was surrounded by heavy foot traffick of the night life. Taking the chef there would be too risky. Flint knew though what he needed. A secluded place where yelling and screaming couldn't be heard. A large place, scary to outsiders. Foreign to thosd outside his inner circle.
Starting the camaro up and putting it back into drive, Flint aimed for the city's bridge leading to the outskirts of the county.
***
Clara couldnt decide if she was covered in sweat and a small breez was hitting her or if she was cold. She felt gross in her undergarmets, laying on the floor of a... actually she was a but unsure where she was. The ground felt cold and rough like concrete. The walls were rough stone and there was dirt in parts of the room. "Definitely a basement," she thought.
Her limbs ached as she stretched. And curled back up into a ball on the floor.
Suddenly her breath caught in her throat as she heard the door to the room open.
"My dear, you are in dire need of a shower and fresh clothes. Lets go," the nasaly voice of Mr. Colt shook her. It wasn't fear that gripped her. It was disgust. An annoyance. His very existence was like a needle jabbing you in your spine; the pricking was not hard enough to warant a strong reaction but the pricking was conducted so often that irritation grew to the point where you wanted to ring the mains neck for simply breathing. His voice. His eyes. The words that seeped out of him lile venom. The spew of utter bullshit that was humorous to think anyone could believe, yet pissed you off to know others somehow did.
She pushed herself to sit upright. She knew deep in her soul what she wanted most. If Flint or Cavenaugh couldnt save her, she was gonna go out by pricking a needle back into Colts spine. Just hard enough to piss him off but not hard enough for him to react irrationally. "What am I thinking? He already is irational!" She thought.
She stood up, taking her time. She made sure not to show she was in pain. Instead she acted like she was taking her time because his request was an inconvenience.
She strolled to him slowly, this illicited a cocked eyebrow of impatience.
Once within arms reach he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly out of the room. Colt dragged her up the staircase. His hand gripping her so hard she knew bruises would be left. His nails digging into her skin as she was dragged up.
She recognized the house. The same one he has had for years, just a few houses down from her parent.
He took her up another flight of stairs in the craftsman style home. He led her to a bathroom shoving her in.
"Shower and change." He instructs.
"Are there cameras in here?"
"Why on earth would I do that? I would never want someone else to see you naked. That belong to me." He says gesturing to her body.
She forces a chuckle. "Too bad. I've been sleeping naked beside a grown man for over a month. Trust me, there isnt a part he hasnt seen of me."
She had said it before thinking. In fact in all her life she never anticipated his response.
Swiftly, his hands jolted forward, his hand on her throat, grasping so hard air seized to get through. His nails dug into her skin even more than they had her arm.
"You filthy little heathen. You whore. Selling yourself to demons in the flesh!" He screamed, his voice deeper.
"We'll make sure you are clean," he says more quietly. Calmly he lets go of her throat. She gasps for air, her arms reach for the bathroom counter to hold herself up.
"Take off the clothes. I'm going to scrub you clean."
She regreted her words in that moment.
***
Flint parked outside the large wharehouse. Its location was beside a small creek that lead to the river.
"Where are we?"
Flint sighed. "When I trained for fights. Cavenaugh hired a trainer, a friend of mine, and bought us this wharehouse to use."
Flint exits the vehicle. Najeem follows suit.
"And..."
"Cavenaugh gave the land to my friend, Lenny. Lenny has been training small scale fighters for Callum ever since. But the wharehouse is usually off limits."
Flint points to the truck parked closer to the side door of the wharehouse.
"Thats Lenny's."
"And we are just gonna ask him to use his land to house a piece of shit chef with a fake accent so we can torture him for information on your girlfriend whose half your age and has been taken by possibly a rapist's friend or her family's cult religion. What a wonderful reunion. We should have brought a gift, like a bottle of pinot."
"Shut up... he hates pinot, he likes moscato."
Flint and Najeem reach the door. Flint turns his hand to a fist, about to knock when the door opens.
"About fucking time you came by," the thick Cuban accent came to Flints ears and caused Flint to smile. The man was in his sixties. His tan skin glowed ubder the light above the door. His thick moustache neatly combed. His hair still black and thick, slicked back. His loose button up short sleeved shirt was green. His black pants werent slacks but werent jeans or sweats either. He wore a pair of faded leather shoes to put his retired, grandfather look together.
"Been waiting on you to come back. The Italian says you are going to train again. The fucking nerve of you to wait..."
Lenny turns and walks away leaving Flint and Najeem to follow him.
The whare house had what looked like wood panelled walls. The the far side of the wharehouse consisted of doors leading to different rooms, bathrooms, recovery rooms, a crash room of sorts, and a locker room. The center of the room hosted a ring, one big enough to either be a large boxing ring or caged in to be an octagon. The blue padding was so clean one could see their reflection. Unused, ready to be torn apart as training began. The pillars alone the side of the wharehouse held up the second floor railing for people to observe from above. Below these far off to the side were various gym equipment. From treadmills to rowing machines, simple barbells to speed bags, the gym didnt lack a sing piece of equipment. The stairs to the second floor were located in one corner while another corner contained tje staircase to the basement. Deep below the surface laid multiple rooms in the basement. A kitchen and living quarters, almost like an in-law suite. Another part of the basement was used for storage, some rooms empty. Flimt had idea for one room in particular. A room that was going to be renovated but the job was abandoned, leaving the room to look more like a prison than a room.
"Len, I need to use the wharehouse," Flint said as Lenny lead Flint toward a bench next to the barbells.
"No shit. Look at you, you're pushing what... thirty-seven and you are already losing your posture," Len scolds, his accent getting thicker.
"Lenny, no, I mean I need to use a room in the basement. You see... I'm not sure what Cavenaugh has told you but-" before Flint can continue Lenny interjects.
"He has told me that he is helping your girl. I didnt believe him about how you'd settled down, you know... got a ball and chain or whatever... but he said you are in love and the illness of love has consumed you. You're angrier, viscous, out for blood of those who did things to her. I understand. I heard on the police scanner about the kidnapping. I called Cavenaugh and he confirmed it was the same Clara he told me about. I came here because I knew you'd need to unleash some anger. A man of your size, taking your anger out on others, that leads to prison time, time you could be using to be training. See full circle." Lenny shrugs then gestures for the bench.
"Lenny. We have a lead on Clara and I need to barrow the room in the basement so that Najeem and I can have some privacy to ask him some questions," Flint explains.
Lenny rolls his eyes. "Then call the Italian. He takes care of that shit. He already is a criminal, adding another crime on his rap sheet isnt a big deal. You on the other hand must focus."
Lenny snaps his finger and again gestures to the bench.
Begore Flint can argue Najeem interjects.
"He has a point. Let Cavenaugh do the dirty work. Lets call him, explain our idea and hopefully he goes with it and does it himself," Najeem explains.
Flint was torn. He knew though that this sort of thing was out of his wheelhouse. Kidnapping the chef, bringing him to tje wharehouse, that wasnt in Flint's list of expertise. He was more the type to "convince" the chef to give information. A call to Cavenaugh might not be the worst option.
"I'll give him a call."
Flint walked off to the locker room, his cell phone in hand.
***
Clara's body ached. Her skin was scrubbed raw, its color now red. Her face puffy from the tears, her lips swollen and her head ached from the crying. It was torture. The sponge he used was rough, the smell of cinnemon scented soap would forever make her feel ill.
Scratched on her body bled, some out scab over, some would scar. Fighting him had been a mistake. Clara's injured arm was no longer in its brace, he had taken then a while ago, her pain meds had long since worn off. Her arm and hand to say the least felt flimsey and almost like jello. He used that against her, twisting the arm when she had refused to allow him to scrub in the most intimate of places.
She felt defeated. Abused. Hurt was an understatement.
She put on the underwear and bra he had for her, they were small while cotton pieces that were her size. She felt sick knowing that he knew her bra size. Just another thing to add to the list of private things taken from her.
She wore a dress, a sun dress that went just to her calves. The dress was white as well. She finished brushing her hair and put it in a bun. Slowly she walked to the door. She knew at this point it wasnt about giving in, it was about sirviving.
"Can I come out?" She asked.
The foor swung open and she found not Mr. Colt but another familiar face.
"Oh sweety! Look at you! So pretty!"
Clara's mother wrapped her arms around her like she had been gone for years. The tight hug was painful. Clara accepted the embrace.
"Come on lets get you some food. Colt said you were starving," her mother says grasping her hand and pulling her to the staircase. If only her mother knew it wasnt a metaphore. Colt had been starving her.
As they entered a dinning room on the first floor Clara heard the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.
"Ara!" The squeal of her sister made Clara gasp and turn. The young girl grasped Clara tightly, wraping her arms around Clara's legs.
"Nice to see you've done your duty, Colt," a voice at the table said.
Clara's heart which had been full of love for her sister as she embraced her suddenly turned to hate as she gazed over and saw her father at the table. Colt smiled vicously.
"I cleansed her. Its safe to say she is on her way to being clean but lets face it... theres a lot of work to be done," Colt says with a chuckle.
***
Cavenaugh said he was on his way to pick up the chef. With that Flint returned to Lenny and Najeem.
"Its gonna be a while. You can sleep on the medic cot in the spare room over there," Lenny says to Flint.
"We are gonna wait for the chef," Najeem says.
"I'm not-" Flint begins but is interuppted.
"Look mijo. I know you want the girl back safely but that aint happenin' if you are about to collapse. Nap. We'll wake you when we find out where she is."
Flint knew deep down if he wasnt 100% then he couldnt fight for Clara. And he knew, they all did, that Flint was going to fight for her and unlike a fight in the ring, all bets were off, no rules were written, and revenge was the only motivation.