SINdicate: A BT Urruela FanFiction Novel: Cerberus MC Book 1.5 Page 4

  After another long day of kissing techniques classes, I’m ready to bust into the registrar’s office like I’d contemplated a few days ago. Thank God I didn’t get stuck with Candy. I’ve been partnered up with another girl who seems to sincerely want to learn in class, so I haven’t gotten attacked like I did that very first day.

  I gather my things at the end of class and begin to walk out of the room. A petite blonde is waiting outside the door, and not the petite blonde I’ve been thinking of relentlessly for the past several days. We have another class together, but she’s not in the one I just finished. She’s not one of the ones I usually see talking in a group or snickering with the other girls, so her being here, apparently waiting for me, is quite out of character.

  “Hey,” she says as she pushes herself off of the wall.

  I greet her but keep walking, and she falls into step with me.

  “Heard you were asking around about Aviana.”

  I stop in my tracks and turn her direction, giving her one hundred percent of my attention.

  “She’s not been in class for a few days. I’m worried about her.”

  She shifts her books from her side to the front of her chest. The act is clearly a safety mechanism.

  “She lives in my building,” she says. “I don’t know which apartment is hers, but I haven’t seen her in a few days either. We sometimes walk back from class, but she lives on a higher floor, so I have no clue which apartment is actually hers.”

  I want to reach out and hug this girl! This is the best news I’ve had in days.

  “You walk? So the apartment is close?”

  She points down the street. “Goldenbriar Apartments. Just right down the road a few blocks.”

  I don’t even bother with grabbing my truck. I thank the girl and take off toward the apartment complex, trying to figure out a way to get her apartment number. I’m not familiar with the complex, but I know even shitty apartment managers just don’t hand out apartment numbers. Maybe fifty bucks would work? I’ll give everything in my wallet to get the information I need.

  I head to the front of the complex looking for the office, hoping the manager inside is a woman. I’ll use every ounce of charm that I have to get the information I need. I hope they’re a fan of beards.

  I stop short when I reach the front door to the office. The notification on the door is weathered and seems to be old, having suffered the elements longer than the information leads you to believe. The office is closed today because the manager is sick. The sign has clearly been hanging for weeks if not longer. Thankfully, a phone number has been given to reach the complex manager.

  I pull out my phone and call the number. The office being closed is a blessing in disguise.

  The first call goes to voicemail, so I hang up and immediately call again. After five rings the second time around a man answers the phone. He doesn’t sound sick, but he does sound drunk.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Hey man, thank God!” I act much more enthused than I’m feeling, hating that Aviana is stuck living in such a shit hole.

  “What do you want?”

  “I have a flower delivery for Aviana Maguire, and the asshole who ordered them didn’t leave an apartment number. Think you can help me out?”

  “Maguire? Is that the hot little blonde that’s only about five feet tall?”

  I want to say yes, but honestly, a delivery guy wouldn’t have a clue what she looks like. I swallow my rage at knowing this nasty fucker has been watching her. “Yeah, probably,” I finally respond.

  He stays silent, and I can’t tell if he’s going to refuse or if he honestly just doesn’t know.

  “Listen, man. You’d be doing me a real solid. My boss is already on my ass about me taking a few extra breaks last week. I can’t lose this job. My old lady will have my ass if I get fired again.” If you can’t beat the filth, join them I guess.

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “I totally get the boss and the bitch riding a man’s back. She’s in 4F.”

  I hang up without saying thank you, and I don’t even feel sorry about it.

  I walk around the complex and see Aviana’s car parked in the parking lot. With hopeful steps, I make my way to the inner courtyard where the stairs are. A huge concrete square in the center leads me to believe that there was a pool there at one point, but it has been filled in and covered over. I’d actually be amazed if a shitty place like this had a pool, so seeing this comes as no surprise. Pools, even in Tampa, are expensive as hell to maintain, and by the looks of this place, maintenance is the last thing going on.

  I feel like I’m risking my life as I climb the iron and concrete stairs to the fourth floor. There are bolts missing and welds coming apart every few steps, and I have no idea how this place ever could’ve passed a safety inspection. She lives on the top floor. If there was ever a fire in this place, she’d be a sitting duck. I know a lot of college students live in shitty places; Tampa is an expensive place to live, but knowing Aviana is forced to come home to a shit hole like this every day has me wanting to insist she move in with me, if anything as a roommate just to get her out of this place.

  The thought strikes a chord with me. I’ve always been an advocate of women. It’s the least I can do. I can find beauty in every woman I’ve ever encountered if their personalities don’t interfere too much. Some women ruin it with the way they act. Aviana is more than beauty to me. She’s gorgeous don’t get me wrong, but I feel very protective of her. This isn’t brotherly intention. This isn’t a simple man being protective of a woman. Fuck, her kiss ruined me.

  A creepy, uneasy feeling washes over me as I approach her door. Her apartment isn’t actually labeled, but it is situated between the apartments labeled 4E and 4G. The door is slightly askew which has my hackles up.

  Aviana may not be able to help where she lives, but even the small amount of time I spent with her lets me know she’s not dumb. She’d never be home, in this neighborhood, with her door not only unlocked but slightly open.

  My hand immediately finds the Sig 1911s at my hip. Expecting to find her apartment ransacked, I slowly push the door open with my foot. The apartment has been rummaged through, and it is absolutely filthy. The smell coming from the inside reminds me of hot garbage before the trash trucks make their way through town in the summer.

  I do my best to keep my free hand away from my mouth and nose. I’m not a stranger to stinky shit. Years in the Army and tours in the Middle East introduced me to some of the most disgusting sights and smells one could even imagine, but it’s been almost ten years since I was flown out of there. Somehow my senses have readjusted to disallow the disgusting smells.

  I inch slowly through the apartment and stop short when I see some homeless man laid out on the couch. I instantly wonder if he’s dead and if that’s what is causing the rancid stench in the house, but I see his chest rising a fraction. I cut my eyes to the table and see the burned out spoon and hypodermic needle that’s clearly been used a dozen too many times. The only thing missing is the tourniquet for this junkie. Looking back at the man on the couch, I see the thin rubber tubing tied loosely around his arm.

  I leave him because without interruption, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. I creep through the apartment, clearing the bathroom, and what I presume is her bedroom if the turquoise sheets and comforter are any indication. Clearly this man has been squatting here, and the condition of her apartment is not of her doing. Someone who buys matching sheets and curtains wouldn’t live in these conditions.

  I check the bathtub, closets, and I even crouched down and looked under the bed, relieved at not finding a body. Consequently, there isn’t any blood that I can see either. The entire apartment has been completely pillaged and there’s no chance of really finding any real evidence that would lead anywhere in this mess.

  I head back out into the living room and kick the guy with my boot.

  “Wake the fuck up!” I say still training my weapon on him. “Now!” I ye
ll and kick him again.

  He stirs, but I have to shove him with my foot repeatedly before he finally sits up on the couch.

  “What are you doing here?” I watch as he scrubs his dirty beard with his hands. Just watching him makes my own face itch.

  “I live here,” he mumbles.

  “Like fuck you do!” I don’t know what concerns me most, him lying to me or his lack of concern that I have a weapon pointed at his head.

  He doesn’t respond again, and I know I didn’t ask a question, but this asshole better get to speaking. I’m twitchy and even with my training, twitchy is never good.

  “Where’s the girl?” His eyes dart up to mine and for the first time, there’s an honest reaction out of him. I narrow my own eyes and try to determine if its guilt over doing something wrong or relief that someone else is here to help.

  “They took her,” he sobs. “They stole my baby girl, and it’s all my fault!”

  Chapter 8

  Aviana

  As hard as it is to keep track of time while inside a building every second of every day, I know I have been here for four or five days. I haven’t seen Vito since his first visit, which is a blessing and a curse. I don’t know why I’m holding out hope that my father will somehow manage to get his hands on the money that is owed.

  At this point, I’m hoping his dumb ass successfully robs a bank, but I know having that much money in his hands would be a temptation he wouldn’t be able to fight, even when his daughter’s life is on the line.

  What the hell did I ever do to deserve such shitty parents? Who decides who gets who? I want to talk to their manager because I think a refund is in order.

  Even though I’m not confined to my room, I’ve stayed in here as much as possible. I didn’t leave for the longest time until the growling in my stomach was louder than the raging thoughts in my head.

  It was apparent very quickly that the rooms have been roughly converted from a wing of a hotel. There is a thick steel door that I’ve never seen opened that appears to be the only exit out of here. There is a living room type of space situated around that door that seems to have been created by the walls of several of the hotel rooms being knocked out. One straight, long hallway leads to other rooms. These are inhabited by the other women who stay here. They have their private areas just as I have mine.

  Walking out of my room that first time wasn’t as traumatizing as I had anticipated it being. The other women milling around, although not overly friendly, didn’t seem to be bitter for being here. I stopped and asked one girl close to my age when we would get to eat. She pointed down the hall without another word.

  I slowly covered the length of the hallway with small steps, praying a door doesn’t swing open. I’m terrified someone is going to grab me and do the things to me that my mind has created. Close to the end of the hall, I found a large room without a door. I wish I could tell you that the entryway was nice and transitioned gracefully from the hall into the room but it wasn’t. The door had literally been pulled off of the hinges indicating, I suppose, that this was considered a public area for all the women to utilize.

  Cautiously, I look around the room looking for a sign or rules to follow about how to utilize the kitchen or if things are off limits. I’m hungry, but I don’t want to piss anyone off or earn some sort of punishment for actions I should know are banned. I find nothing posted and that actually fills me with more trepidation than ease. I hate the unknown.

  My stomach growls, forcing me into action and not giving a shit if there will be consequences. I pull open the cabinets and find them stuffed with food. The pantry to the left of the refrigerator reveals the same thing. Granted, the majority of the food is organic and considered healthy, not exactly what you want to eat when you’re throwing yourself a pity party. I’m not bitching about food being available, but I was hoping more for Doritos or chocolate, not rice cakes and protein bars.

  Digging around a little more, I decide on a Nutella and jelly sandwich and a ranch flavored rice cake. I know I was bitching before, but it is damn near a gourmet meal when the flavor hits my tongue. I’m sitting at one of the tables adjacent to the kitchen area. Once again, I don’t know if eating in the rooms are allowed, but I don’t want to get into trouble. The tables are clearly here to be eaten on, so I figure they’re safe.

  I’m scarfing down my food, not only because I feel like I’m starving but also because I want to get out of here before anyone else comes in. My face falls when another girl walks in and grabs a disgustingly green Naked juice from the fridge. I cringe when she saunters across the room and takes a seat across from me. Of all the other spots to pick, she sits right near me.

  I’m torn in this situation. I want to find out information and do my best to figure out a way to get out of this place, but I also have no clue who I can trust. She looks nice enough, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. She also doesn’t look like she’s being forced to be here, and that can’t be a good sign.

  She’s taller than I am and quite a bit curvier. Her large breasts are hugged generously by her thin tank top. She’s not wearing a bra and by the looks of things she either has the best set of natural boobs I’ve ever seen or she has implants.

  “I’m Darby,” she says softly after giving me enough time to take her in.

  “Aviana,” I tell her and immediately wonder if I should’ve given her a fake name. No sense in that I guess since Vito knows exactly who I am.

  “How long is your contract?” I give her a blank stare. What in the world is she talking about?

  “Contract?” I say with a confused shake of my head.

  “Yeah, the contract.”

  “I didn’t sign a contract.” She snaps her head up from where she was focusing on peeling the label of her juice bottle. Now she’s the one confused.

  “Really?”

  I’m surprised they have no clue that I’m being held here against my will. “That Vito guy,” I begin before she interrupts me.

  “Mmm,” she fake moans softly. “Vito’s my favorite. He’s a good tipper too.”

  Good tipper? What. The. Fuck?

  I feel like I’ve somehow woken up in the damn Twilight Zone.

  “Vito had me abducted because my dad owes him money. I don’t even know where I am,” I explain.

  I watch as her face falls slightly. “Yeah, we get girls like you every once in a while.” She takes a small sip of her drink, and I can tell she’s contemplating on whether or not to tell me more. “You’re in Las Vegas.”

  “Vegas?” My dad owes money to people in Vegas? No wonder the amount was so high. You wouldn’t find someone dumb enough to give that type of money to him in Tampa.

  “What kind of place is this?” I ask hoping she’ll keep talking. I still haven’t decided if she can be trusted, so the less I say and the more she shares is best.

  She gets a look in her eye like she’s trying to make it sound better than it actually is, which makes me suddenly even more uncomfortable.

  “It’s sort of like a brothel.” I gasp, and she has the wherewithal to scrunch her nose up because that sounds pretty damn bad.

  “A whore house?” I ask completely appalled. Why the hell would Vito bring me to a whore house? There’s no way I’m going to whore myself out.

  “I mean if you want it to sound really bad, then I guess you could label it a whore house.” She uses finger quotes on whore house, and it makes me grin.

  “Fuck,” I say in a rush. “I mean, I’m not judging you but, really?”

  She shrugs her shoulders as if she’s used to my response. “Honestly, sucking dick is better than being homeless.”

  I nod in agreement, but inside I’m wondering if that’s true. I live in a shitty apartment, but the roof doesn’t leak, and it’s warm inside when it’s cold out. I have no idea what it would be like when you’re homeless so I can’t really judge her for her choices.

  “You’re here by choice then?” She nods. “What happens if you don’t wan
t to… you know…?”

  “Suck ‘em and fuck ‘em?” She grins. “Some women don’t last long here, and they take them away.”

  “So they force you to have sex with them?” I push my unfinished plate of food away. Even as hungry as I know I am, I couldn’t stomach another bite after the information she’s just put at my feet.

  “They don’t force us, Aviana. Besides,” she says as she stands from the table. “The guys treat us well, most of them are incredibly handsome, and a couple of them are even good in bed.”

  She begins to walk back out of the room, and I hope I haven’t offended her by my reaction. I hope she knows that although she’s here by choice, I’m not. This isn’t something I’ve chosen for myself.

  “Darby?” She turns back to me. “Who are they and why does this place even exist?”

  She lowers her head slightly before she speaks. “They’re the SINdicate, and most of them work so much they don’t have time to date. We’re here so they can blow off steam quickly and then get back to work.”

  She gives me a quick smile and waggles her fingers in a quick wave, and she leaves me in the room alone. Now the racing thoughts from earlier are much worse now that some facts have been added. I needed a plan to get out of here more, now than ever.

  Chapter 9

  BT

  I watch as the broken man in front of me sobs for his daughter. I give him a few minutes to compose himself, but when it becomes clear that he won’t be able to without intervention, I clear my throat.

  He pops his head up and looks in my direction as if he’s just remembered that I’m standing here.

  “Who took her?” I ask and follow his hands as he begins to scratch at existing sores on his arm, his nails causing new ones as well.

  He shakes his head as if he’s going to refuse to give the information. I raise my gun slightly higher. It’s a scare tactic that I hope works because I know I’d never be able to shoot the man. Even if he is a disgusting tweaker whom I’m certain is somehow the cause of Aviana’s disappearance, I won't shoot her dad. Unless he tries to attack me, then I’d shoot him. Adrenaline rushes quickly in my blood, and the faintest plea in the back of my head begs for a quick second for him to make a move.