6. Costas Markopoulos

The car screeched to a stop near the trailer. Layla didn’t bother switching it off as she rushed out of it. Several vehicles were blocking their trailer and the neighbour’s trailers, and several mean-looking assholes stood around. 

Two of them blocked her way when she tried to run up their short driveway.

“Nothing to see here, kid. Get back in your car,” one of them sneered.

She assumed the man she had seen that morning was their boss. Why were there so many of them, and why had he returned so soon? Maybe she should have just taken a chance and called the police, but she hadn’t wanted to hang up on Brit in case she could hear what was happening in the background.

She was still gripping her phone tightly, but the silence on the other end ripped her apart. 

“What are you doing? This is my home,” she shouted.

“Oh, there’s two of you,” the man said with a grin. “Then, by all means, please go in.”

She didn’t stop to think about what he meant as she pushed past them and wrenched the trailer door open.

The mess from the broken table was still all over the small living space, and her sister knelt beside her father right in the middle of it. Two men stood behind them. She could see guns peeking out of their holsters. Guns! How did her father get involved with such people in the first place? Brit sobbed quietly, and her clothes were dishevelled, showing someone had roughly manhandled her.

Anger mixed in with her fear.

“Brit!” she cried, rushing forward.

The large man from the morning blocked her path, and when she tried to go around him, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her. A scream wrenched up her throat as the pain shot up her shoulder. Getting caught in the hold was a rookie mistake, but she could think straight when she could see how scared Brit was.

“Layla, it’s so good of you to join us. Please let her through,” the greasy man from the morning said. 

The big man let her go and stood aside. She immediately joined her sister, pulling her protectively into her arms and glaring at the men who had invaded their home. 

“It occurred to me after I left this morning that I didn’t introduce myself to you,” the greasy man said as he stood from the sofa and walked to her. “Costas Markopoulos. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

“Please, just take Layla,” her father said. “She’s a hard worker; she’ll do anything you ask.”

The cold seeped into her body as she looked at the man who had fathered her. Brit’s sobbing got louder as she tightened her arms around her. How could he? He was supposed to value his children’s lives above his own, but he had just given her away. For what, twenty grand?

“Oh, believe me, Gerald, I’m taking her, too,” Costas laughed. “Your girls are trash from the other side of the tracks; they won’t earn me much. But maybe I’ll have a chance of recovering my money quicker with both of them working for me.”

“Don’t touch my sister,” she warned him. 

“I’ll touch her, Layla. I’ll touch her a lot,” Costas grinned before returning to the sofa.

Her body trembled with fury. All these years trying to ensure that Brit didn’t suffer from her broken home life, and this man had come and ruined it all in a day. If he thought she would let Brit become his whore...

“And you will do everything I say, Layla, or I’ll kill your sister before I kill you,” Costas continued. 

“She’s only seventeen. Please let her go,” she whispered.

She didn’t like begging, but these vile men had surrounded them, and they were outnumbered. She had to think smart. For a long time, she had been Brit’s provider and protector, but this had never been a scenario she could have prepared for. Being betrayed by their blood. Being abandoned by both parents. 

“No. But I’ll let you pack a few things, so hurry and do that while I speak to your father.”

As of that day, Gerald Carlisle was dead to them. He was not their father. She glared at him as she helped Brit to her feet, and the coward didn’t even have the guts to look her in the eye. But she knew her father had always favoured Brit, even though he’d never been much of a father. To some extent, his distress over losing Brit was genuine.

But Brit wasn’t going anywhere. She would make sure of that.

She pulled her sister to their bedroom but one of the men followed. 

“Start packing,” she said.

“But Layla—”

“Pack a bag, Brit,” she said, using her firm tone to show Brit she wasn’t playing before pulling two bags from their small wardrobe. 

Brit watched her for a moment before hesitantly starting to do as she had been told. Her sister followed her lead as usual, and she hoped Brit had picked up that she had a plan as they packed only the essentials and all their important paperwork. There wasn’t much that had sentimental value in the trailer, but she packed her photo albums and the folder full of all the special drawings and artwork Brit had given her over the years.

When she put her bag next to Brit, she gave her a look before she turned to the man standing in the doorway.

“I need to get toiletries in the bathroom,” she told him.

The man rolled his eyes and stood aside to allow her past him. Their bathroom was so small that he didn’t even question her when she closed the door to reach the cabinet behind it. 

She got the toiletry bag out because they would need it. And then she pulled a panel off the back of the tub. It was dark and dusty under it, but she carefully felt around until she found what she was looking for. It made a slight scraping sound as she pulled it towards her.

“What are you doing in there?” the man outside shouted.

She held her breath, waiting to see if he would just barge in. When the door remained closed, she hid her weapon in the waist of her jeans behind her and then pulled the door open. And then she realised why the man hadn’t followed her into the bathroom. He was busy ogling her little sister!

With her anger building again, she looked down the short hallway to see the other men working over her father, too distracted to notice her. 

The man in front of her didn’t see her coming, either, as she pulled the gun out from behind her and brought it down hard over his head. He fell to his knees in the bedroom, disoriented, and she whacked him again. She couldn’t afford to waste bullets when they were so outnumbered.

It had been eleven years since she had assumed the role of protector. She had taken that seriously. No one was taking her sister anywhere. 

She pulled the unconscious man further into the room and closed the door before she took his weapon and handed it to her sister. 

“What are we going to do?” Brit whispered.

“If we can take out the men in the lounge, we can go through the kitchen window. I don’t think anyone is guarding the back. Stay here.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but they would have to think on their feet. She hugged Britney quickly before walking back to the door and easing it open, cringing every time it creaked. She had almost got it open all the way when an enormous fist swung in her direction. And then there was nothing but darkness.