Rule of Law: A Chimera Novel Read online

  RULE OF LAW

  ISBN: 978-0-9963843-0-8

  Copyright © 2019 Karin Tabke LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Editor: Hilary Sares

  Cover Design: Croco Designs

  Content Advisor: Christina Trevaskis

  * * *

  This book is an original publication of Karin Tabke LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Law

  Alana

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Stay tuned

  Newsletter

  About the Author

  To my husband, Gary, without your love, protection and support, there would be no #Tabkestrong

  * * *

  To my sister from another mister, Sylvia, you are the wind beneath my wings. #Beachesbaby

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for taking time out of your day and money from your pocket to read RULE OF LAW. Alana and Law have been with me through the best of times and the worst of times. Without them to fall back on, there were days I wasn’t sure I could get out of bed much less write. But I did, because they called to me, needing me to help them help each other through their darkest hours. In return, they helped me through mine. We’re here, battered, bruised and still afraid but knowing life has more in store for us. We need each other. We need you.

  Thank you for being here for us.

  ~Karin

  “When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.”

  —Nelson Mandela

  Law

  12:46 a.m.

  He feared nothing.

  He feared no one.

  Not anymore.

  Because he had lost everything.

  High atop his seven-story compound, impervious to the wicked whip of the wind or the cold bite of rain that soaked through his clothes to his skin, Law cast his gaze toward the dark unsettled bay. Its churning calmed him in a way that placid water could not. Perhaps it was because there was so much unsettled within him.

  His gaze moved to the lights that dotted the docks, glittering in the rain like terrestrial stars, outshone by the brilliant glow of the new eastern span of the Bay Bridge to the north.

  Against the night sky, the bridge radiated energy, its majestic reflection rippling on the bay, a beacon to guests and locals alike. The constant stream of headlights and taillights flowing in both directions never ceased. Its rebuilding after the last big earthquake was an engineering marvel worth the extraordinary cost, connecting two very different cities.

  San Francisco. The shimmering jewel of the west coast. A melting pot of citizens, crime and culture. Oversensitive and oversold, in his opinion.

  He preferred the city that he had helped resuscitate. The one that pulsed angrily behind him. Oakland. Just as diverse. Just as cultured, and just as criminally sophisticated. The forgotten city. He’d taken advantage of that fact. It served him well these past years. It would serve him better in the years to come.

  Tonight would mark his first preemptive strike to right a terrible wrong. Every thought, every move, every choice he had made since he was five years old served one purpose: vengeance.

  Lightening struck the weather pole less than ten feet from where he stood. Sparks spewed from the violent impact, showering him in hot stabs of heat. Impervious to the pain, Law stood stalwart gazing at the bridge.

  The wheels of revenge had been set in motion.

  Like a shark swimming the dark waters in search of prey, he would strike.

  His lips tightened when his cell phone vibrated in his hand.

  The text from Unknown read: Package located.

  Fifteen minutes later, his phone vibrated again. Package secured.

  He smiled and tossed the burner cell into the bay. Stealing was so much more entertaining than going to the trouble of paying.

  So was payback.

  An eye for an eye. In his world there was no other way…

  Alana

  1:04 a.m.

  She was cold.

  She was naked.

  But not afraid.

  Nothing scared her.

  Because she didn’t care.

  Not anymore.

  She was in motion. Awareness slowly infused Lana’s senses.

  She was cold. The stench of body odor, urine and cigarettes clogged her nostrils. She opened her eyes to darkness. The hard metal she lay on gave no comfort to her twitching body. The rhythmic back and forth staccato of windshield wipers pounded in cadence to the dull throb of her temples.

  The vehicle came to an abrupt halt, jerking Lana further from the warm safe place only a heroin fix could give her.

  She was curled in a ball, hooded, gagged and bound, her kneecaps pressed into her forearms, her elbows digging into her thighs.

  Where was she? What happened? Was this part of rehab? Some ploy to make her so miserable she’d do anything for a fix? She wouldn’t do it! Not again. So many times she had tried and failed. Damn Anton for getting her started. Damn her for not caring enough to stop.

  Memories poured into her brain.

  “Fuuuck,” she breathed against the wet gag.

  The pole.

  The smell of expensive cigars, the deep thrum of male voices as they commanded her and the other girls to bend, grind, thrust, and prance for them. Hands sliding along her legs, squeezing her tits, checking her teeth as if she were a mare at auction. She’d allowed it. Welcomed it. Needed it. Along with the fix she so desperately didn’t want to crave. Anton had shot her up after the man on the phone paid a ridiculous amount of money for her.

  The euphoria that replaced the horror of being sold to the highest bidder had been instant.

  And she lived for that shit. Would do anything for it. Anton made sure of it.

  She, Alana Elizabeth Conti, the wild child of a conservative senator, was a groveling, utterly degraded, relapsed heroin addict. And now, the property of a complete
stranger.

  What had she done?

  Lifting her head, she listened. The shrillness of an approaching siren abruptly silenced.

  Hope injected her sluggish brain. Had daddy finally come to his senses and realized she was worth saving? Hope bloomed. “Daddy!” she cried against the soggy gag. “I’m here!” But no one heard her.

  “Motherfuckers,” the driver cursed. Cold air whooshed into the vehicle when the driver rolled down his window and shouted, “Do you know who you’re fucking with?”

  A sudden hard staccato startled her. Metal hitting metal. Ping. Ping. Lana realized suddenly that the sound was bullets piercing the roof of what she was sure was a van. Tightening into the fetal position, Lana prayed. For survival. For death. Whichever would free her.

  The van jerked into reverse, swerving then hydroplaning across the road. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lana braced herself as best she could before they hit something. Her body slammed hard into the sidewall of the van.

  The driver cursed wildly, grinding the gears, jamming down on the gas, trying to blast out and away.

  The van shot forward, slamming into something solid. Whiplashing her neck. Sheet metal banged and crumpled, deafening her as the back doors swung open. Cold air whooshed in, curling around her body, chilling her to the bone.

  Strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her from the vehicle. Somebody held her close, surrounding her with instant warmth. Still stunned, she couldn’t lift her head. Couldn’t see him.

  “You can’t take her!” the driver screamed.

  “Looks like we already did, amigo,” a male voice with a distinct Latino accent answered. “Now shut the fuck up, and hand over the paperwork, Carson.”

  Not a name Lana had heard before.

  “Paperwork?” Carson asked dumbly.

  A suppressed gunshot erupted so close to Lana’s head, her ears rang. Carson shrieked in enraged pain.

  “Dude!” He was hysterical now. “You fucking shot me!”

  “Had to, slowpoke. Now give me that.”

  Carson kept stalling. “Do you know who she belongs to? You’re dead if you—” Another gunshot immediately followed by another shriek of pain. “Here! Take the fucking contract!” Carson screamed.

  “Grab it,” her new captor calmly said to someone close by.

  Lana was rearranged so that she was being held close to the warmth of the hard body striding away from the van.

  “Got it, bromista,” a new strange voice answered.

  The man holding her pulled her tighter against him and called to Carson, “Tell Dragovich we’ll be in touch.” The van doors slammed shut.

  “Who are you?” Carson screamed from the van.

  The man holding her laughed. “Figure it out, pendejo.”

  “Is she alive?” another strange male voice asked.

  “Yeah,” her new captor said, moving quickly with her in his arms. “Did you get hit?” The man holding her demanded, shaking her slightly.

  Shivering in fear, all Lana could manage was a weak shake of her head.

  Metal doors opened. From his movement the man holding her stepped up, maybe into a truck? She was carefully deposited onto a hard surface. Instinctively Lana tightened into a ball. Her legs were pulled straight and strapped down, same with her arms. Terrified they might hurt her if she rebelled, Lana lay unmoving. Seconds later the familiar slide of a needle pricked her left arm and then a warm blanket was placed over her.

  They were taking care of her in a weird way. Lana’s mind began to drift. The black hood settled over her face.

  “Daddy,” she sobbed. “Is that you?”

  “No, baby doll, I’m not your daddy,” her new captor said, softly from beside her. “There’s nothing he can do for you now.”

  Doors slammed shut. The shocks registered the weight of the driver as he settled in. In seconds they sped off into the night.

  Chapter One

  The opiate glow that had cradled her had worn off. Cold seeped into Lana’s bones.

  The world was still and silent when she opened her eyes to blackness. Her senses, no longer blurred, were painfully heightened. With clarity came the fear she’d thought she was no longer capable of feeling.

  Whimpering, she struggled to sit up but the restraints prevented her.

  “Still with us?” her captor asked.

  Lana nodded, realizing they were no longer in motion. “Please untie me,” she managed, her voice muffled against the wet gag, thinking miserably that she sounded like a lost little girl.

  The driver behind her head exited the vehicle.

  The door at her feet was opened, making her tremble as cold air swirled beneath the blanket, around her ankles to her calves then between her legs. Hard shivers wracked her small frame. From outside, the mingled smells of exhaust and salt water rushed her senses. “C-c-cold,” she muttered.

  The straps were loosened then removed along with the blanket.

  “Close your eyes,” her captor said.

  Immediately she obeyed.

  “Don’t open them until I say you can.”

  Lana nodded. Expertly, he untied the hood and lifted it from her head. The cold air that swirled around her sweaty head felt good. As quickly as the fabric was lifted from her head, he tied it around her eyes.

  “Open.”

  The improvised blindfold was snug. She kept her eyes closed.

  “Sit up,” he commanded again.

  As she struggled to rise, he pulled her by her bound hands to a sitting position, adjusted her torn dress before a body-warmed jacket was placed around her shoulders, its deep hood drooping over most of her face. Scuffling feet and the sounds of other people moving about told her she wasn’t alone with her captor.

  The sharp snap of metal being cut relieved the tension between her ankles. Strong arms carefully lifted her from where she had lain, and then from the vehicle.

  “Try to stand,” he commanded, setting her bare feet down on cold concrete. Wobbly, she grabbed at his arms to steady herself. She was still blindfolded, gagged, her hands bound and wearing what was left of the little blue dress she’d donned after the auction. She wished she could simply disappear in the heavy jacket that encompassed her.

  The feeling of being utterly helpless and at the mercy of this unknown man terrified her.

  A heavy rolling door lowered behind her, cutting off the hard chill of air. Still she shivered. Not unusual. Despite Anton’s attempts to plump her up for the auction, her body fat was minimal. The byproduct of a heroin addiction.

  “Walk,” he said.

  Lana took a slow careful step, her knees buckled, and her ankle went out on her. The circulation had been cut off. She could barely feel her toes.

  She was hoisted up like a baby into strong arms.

  “Check the equipment in with Lennon before you come up,” the deep voice of the one holding her said. It was, she realized, the same voice she’d heard earlier. As the fog cleared from her brain she realized though it was the same voice, it was minus the accent.

  “Someone get the cage door,” he ordered.

  A dull buzz preceded the slide of retracting metal bolts somewhere nearby. The sounds were synchronized, as if they were remotely unlocked by a mechanism, not by a human hand.

  “He wants her in the asylum,” a new voice said. Male, just as authoritative. Where was she and who was he?

  Whoever was holding her reached forward and pulled. A heavy door slid along metal. They stepped up and stepped forward.

  Whispers floated around her. The vibration of distant music pounded through her temples. Shards of psychedelic pain exploded in her eyes. Wincing, she tightened in her captor’s arms, wishing she could wake up from this nightmare.

  Machinery below them engaged with a rumbling noise, then suddenly they were catapulted upward. An elevator?

  Several heartbeats later the lift eased to a stop. This time the sliding door was opened from the opposite side to the pulse of music and the sudden hush of voices
. She caught a mixed whiff of booze, cigars, vape mist, musky perfume. Party time in hell. And she was practically naked except for the shredded dress that barley hung on to her small frame and jacket. Barefoot. Bare-assed.

  The man holding her proceeded into the room. She felt a different energy as if it were a living, breathing thing: wickedness. It pulsed around her. Who were these people? What did they want with her?

  As she tried to rearrange herself, his arms tightened. She felt suffocated by the damp blindfold. Trapped by the heaviness of the jacket. The soggy, filthy gag nearly choked her. Her breath caught in her throat and panic surged. Bowing her back, she dug her heels into a rock hard thigh and spun to free herself.

  Her body struck the hard surface of the floor, pain shooting through her joints. As she rolled, the jacket slid from her body, the shreds of her dress twisted around her waist. Lana pulled her knees to her chest and looped her cuffed hands around them, burying her head between her elbows. It was the best defense against whatever was to come.

  Huddled in a tight ball, her nakedness exposed, all she could think of was how she could get her next fix. How it would take her to the warm place she loved most. The place that didn’t judge. The place that embraced her with no condemnation. A place of safety.