Escape, the Complete Trilogy

by David Antocci

Bryce smiled as Marie confirmed the name.

  “And she’s alone?”

  “I didn’t see anyone else come in with her. She just walked in and asked for you.”

  “Are there any cops with her, or out in the parking lot?”

  “No, she’s alone.” Marie walked to the large window next to the door, “I don’t see anyone in the parking lot either. Is everything OK? Why would there be police?”

  “Don’t worry about it Marie, but call me if any show up. I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  Looking back at Marie, Abby saw her on the phone, presumably with Bryce. This is a really nice place, Abby thought. She had a hard time believing Bryce was behind the day-to-day operation of something so nice.

  The walls were a mix of dark wood and a beige stucco-type treatment that had a very authentic Italian look. The sconces on the walls were dimmed to barely illuminate the space, as most of the lighting came from small oil lamps in the center of each table. The Italian arias playing overhead added to the relaxed and amorous atmosphere.

  Very romantic. Eric would have loved this place.

  And for a moment, her eyes welled up, making it difficult to continue her surveillance. Still, she managed to spy Marie looking out the large window while talking on her earpiece.

  He’s carved out a nice little life for himself. Why bother with me anymore? I’m dead, or at least that’s what he’s supposed to think, right? She knew why he wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, of course. It was his secret. If only he knew I already told Rosso that he killed the don’s beloved son.

  Bryce was a sociopath, and she doubted that would make a difference. Aside from her knowledge of his secret, she had both shamed and disobeyed him. Bryce would never accept such treatment from anyone, but a woman who promised to honor and obey him before God? That person had to die. One way or another, he wanted her dead, and she doubted Rosso’s demise would have any impact on that.

  Marie walked over to the table. “Hi, Miss... Abby. I just spoke with Hunter. He’ll be here soon.”

  Abby nodded without looking up. That title, “Miss Abby”, rang in her ears. She thought of little Ben back on their island. Probably not so little anymore. Her eyes got a little glassy as she thought, I wonder if I’ll see him again.

  * * *

  Bryce hung up the phone and let it sink in. Abby at the restaurant. Alone. No cops.

  They could be waiting down the street, though.

  He would like to have his guys sweep the area to figure out if it was a trap, but his guys were nowhere to be found. Whether dead or in jail didn’t matter—they were unable to help him now.

  Like Abby, he’d have to go it alone.

  As he drove to the restaurant, he planned how the scene would go down. He would do a sweep up and down the street himself, checking the neighboring parking lots for anything suspicious—namely cops waiting to move in. If everything were clear, he would park behind the restaurant and enter through the back door.

  Thinking more as he drove, he slowly convinced himself that it wasn’t a trap of any kind by the police. He was positive he figured out Abby’s plan.

  “Of course,” he muttered to himself.

  Why would she be at the restaurant? To get me away from the house. She lures me to the restaurant while some lackey of hers ransacks the house looking for Ava.

  Bryce chuckled a bit. He didn’t know who would be helping her. Maybe her sister. Maybe that investigator. But as far as the law was concerned, Hunter Bryson was an upstanding and honorable citizen. A pillar of the community. He also lived in a nice home with a top-of-the-line alarm system. Whoever tried to break in looking for Ava would set off the alarm and have the cops there within five minutes. With nothing to find or substantiate whatever crazy claims the burglar might make, the cops would have no reason to look at Bryce as anything but a victim.

  I just have to take care of Abby quietly. That would be simple enough. He would have Marie show her to his office where he would be waiting. He didn’t intend to fool around with anything fancy. Just a bullet between her eyes from a silenced pistol the second she walked through the door.

  He planned to bag her and stash her down in the basement with Ava. He’d tell Marie that everything was all set, and Abby left out the back door. He assumed he would then get a call from the police that his home had been broken into. He certainly couldn’t arrive home with a body in the trunk, so he’d go home first to deal with the police and come back in the middle of the night to retrieve Abby’s body, and Ava’s, as well, disposing of them at the bottom of the lake.

  Part of him felt a little badly that he was going to kill his daughter. She really didn’t have to die. She didn’t know anything damaging per se. It was a shit deal, but he reasoned that she kind of had a shit deal since the day she was born.

  Man, it’s gonna be a busy night.

  * * *

  Ava gave up trying to scream at least a day ago. The duct tape over her mouth turned any sound she tried to make into muffled noise. She couldn’t hear much outside the dark room she was in, but there was enough movement and noises from overhead that she could tell there were lots of people here. This pained her even more, but what could she do?

  Her wrists were raw and her shoulders ached from trying to wriggle out of the plastic zip ties that bound her hands behind her back. With her hands secured to the seatback as well as each other, her shoulders had been stretched in the same backward position for two days now. They had been fine at first, but they had ached ever since she fell asleep with her head slumped forward for a few hours overnight.

  Her young eyes were more than well adjusted to the darkened room, so she was at least familiar with her surroundings. There were two half windows high up, which told her she was in a basement. They were both boarded up to keep the light out, or she figured more likely to keep anyone from peering in. Through the cracks, however, some light seeped through in the afternoon when it seemed the sun shone on them directly.

  She figured there must also be some type of outdoor lighting, as artificial light dimly illuminated the cracks after the sun had gone down.

  There was a small, spiral staircase in the far corner, which appeared to be the only way in or out of this place. There was a small desk, a file cabinet, and piles of boxes that bore no labels but swelled at the seams.

  The lone light bulb overhead never came on, but she recognized her captor’s voice. She was also smart enough to know why her father had kidnaped her. He was trying to get to her mom, and what better way than to use me as bait?

  Ava had given up crying yesterday, as well. It certainly didn’t seem to get her anywhere. Her father was as cold and cruel as her mother had said. She was exhausted, dehydrated, bound by her hands and feet to an old metal chair, with the stale smell of her own urine soaking her from the waist down hanging in the air.

  She missed her Aunt Sarah. She had grown so close to her over the past couple years. She missed their home and the smell of the blankets on the couch. She wished she were there now.

  She was sure her father’s plan would work. Her mom would come for her, but then what? Her hopelessness was so overwhelming that Ava wanted to cry but had no more tears left.

  The duct tape around her mouth had really started irritating her skin a few hours ago, and she had rubbed her face on her shoulder off and on for the past couple hours in hopes of relieving the itch. She did so again, then stopped and stared into the darkness at the realization of what she had just felt. There was just the slightest tug as she had pulled her face away from her shoulder. The smallest bit of tape on the corner had ever so briefly stuck to the cotton nightshirt that she was still wearing from when they snatched her out of bed.

  Ava stretched her neck to rub her face on her shoulder again, and felt the same tug.

  She did this again, but this time when she felt the tug, she pressed her cheek as hard as she could to her shoulder and worked her face back and forth. She took a breath, and with a renewed sense of ho
pe, tried to rub the duct tape off her face while stuck in this awkward position.

  * * *

  Unaware that her daughter was struggling to free herself just a few feet below, Abby anxiously sat at the small table flexing her hands open and closed into fists. The delicate light flickering from the small oil lamp in the center of the table reminded her of the many candlelit nights she had spent with Eric in their villa.

  Of course, this only caused the knot in her stomach to tighten.

  She glanced at her phone, eagerly awaiting a message from Donny in the parking lot. He would give her a heads up when Bryce pull in.

  She was wound up like a tension-driven machine, but all she could do was wait and pray that the tautness she felt from head to toe didn’t cause her to collapse in on herself. She needed her wits about her if she was going to go up against a killer like Bryce Haydenson or whatever he called himself today.

  20

  ABBY JUMPED in her seat when the throwaway phone in her pocket vibrated. Her hand had a slight tremor as she read the message from Donny:

  HE’S HERE. DROVE AROUND THE BACK. I’LL WATCH THE FRONT A FEW MINUTES. MAKE SURE THERE’S NO ONE ELSE. I’LL BE IN AFTER THAT.

  Abby watched the small hallway behind the hostess that led back to the kitchen. She tried to act cool but was a ball of rage inside. Knowing that he was in the building, it took every fiber in her being not to run back there and snap his neck. She forced herself to wait at least a few minutes to see what his next move was.

  The hostess touched a finger to her earpiece, presumably to answer a call. She spoke in a hushed tone, looked at Abby, and then signaled her to come over.

  “Yes?” Abby asked as she walked up.

  “Mr. Bryson is here. He’ll meet you in his office. It’s just down the hall, behind the kitchen.” Marie indicated an area just behind her.

  Abby smiled, but she wasn’t about to meet Bryce on his terms. Who knew what he had waiting for her back there? No, she would meet him in public first. “Is he still on the line?”

  Marie nodded.

  Abby briefly opened, then closed, the front of her thigh-length leather jacket. It wasn’t open more than half a second, but that’s all the time Marie needed to see the large gun holstered to Abby’s side and the seven inches of steel strapped to her leg.

  She indicated for Marie to lean close as she quietly said, “Now you tell that piece of shit to get out here, or I’m going to start killing his employees. He’s got thirty seconds. And Marie, you seem like a nice girl, but you have no idea what you’re standing in the middle of. I swear, if you call the police, I’ll slice your throat before you finish dialing 9-1-1.”

  The hostess tried to gulp but coughed instead. Her lip quivered as she whispered, “Mr. Bryson, did you hear that? I think she’s serious.”

  Abby smiled sweetly and indicated an older man making cocktails behind the bar, “Marie, I’m going to start with him. Thirty seconds. The clock is ticking.”

  She walked away and stood toward the end of the bar, watching Marie speak frantically into the earpiece. Abby didn’t intend to kill what seemed like a lovely gentleman, but she was banking on the emotional young hostess to get her boss out here.

  Abby pretended to look at a watch and mouthed a countdown to Marie. “10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5...” She reached into her coat.

  A look of horror came over the hostess’s face as she spoke harshly into the phone. “Hunter, get out here right now!”

  “4... 3... 2...” Abby slowly started opening her coat.

  “No! Stop! He’s coming!”

  The patrons in the dining room and the bar looked up, startled by the yelling. The restaurant fell silent but for a soprano in the overhead speakers singing a beautiful aria, and the rapid footsteps of a man’s dress shoes clicking on the tile floor in the small hallway behind the hostess station.

  All eyes were on Bryce as he entered the room. He looked around, smiling for a moment, trying to find Abby.

  Cloaked in black, combined with the dim lighting on the bar side, he didn’t see her until Marie pointed in her direction. Meanwhile, several patrons greeted him, which he returned with smiles and handshakes, before turning toward Abby’s direction and waving her over, never losing his smile.

  Apparently, he intended to play it cool. This was his restaurant, after all. The last thing he wanted was a public scene. The murmur of conversation nearly returned to normal, until Abby’s voice rose above the others and broke the din.

  Her voice came out as more of a scream than she intended, the pent-up rage finding its way through her throat. “WHERE THE FUCK IS OUR DAUGHTER?”

  Silence again, save for the soprano overhead powering through her aria.

  Bryce scanned the room, offering a comforting smile to his patrons, “Please, go back to your dinners. I’m so sorry.” To Abby, his eyes turned cold, even if his outward demeanor remained as relaxed as ever. “Can we talk in back?”

  She took a step in his direction. Despite her small stature, her determination was obvious, her eyes bright with rage. “Last time I’m going to ask nice. Where is Ava?”

  His face was trying to be kind, but she could see the vitriol in his eyes. He lowered his voice. “Can we please talk in the back?”

  Abby’s eyes quickly flitted around the room. She saw several phones out, with one particularly ballsy young man pointing his in her direction from across the bar, likely taking video of the exchange.

  Might as well give them a show.

  With startlingly fast hands, Abby snatched the oil candle off the table in front of her, spun, and hurled it across the room at Bryce with every ounce of strength she had. It missed him and smashed into the wall just behind him, exploding in a shower of glass and flames as she screamed across the room, “Tell me where she is!”

  Suddenly the restaurant was a burst of activity as diners screamed and jumped from their tables.

  Abby grabbed candle after candle from the tables, pitching them at Bryce, feeding the growing flames with each smashed lamp as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  By this time, all the diners had leapt from their seats and charged toward the door as the flames quickly climbed the walls, spreading across the ceiling and scorching the floors in spots where the oil had pooled.

  Abby saw Bryce among those trying to escape. Jumping onto a table, she launched herself into the crowd, wrapping her arms around his head and using her momentum to fling him to the ground.

  None of the patrons seemed concerned for the fallen restaurateur as they continued to pour out the door.

  * * *

  Ava was having a hard time processing what was happening in the restaurant above. She could hear the chaos but could not understand the cause. She had worked off at least an inch of the duct tape, but there was at least that much to go, and she was disoriented from exhaustion and dehydration. So disoriented, in fact, that she swore she heard her mother’s voice yelling overhead. There was so much noise it was hard to tell. A moment ago it was relatively quiet, but now it sounded as though there was a stampede happening.

  There it is again... Mommy?

  The young girl thrashed about in the chair. It wasn’t a question any longer—she was sure she heard her mother yelling overhead. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rocked back and forth, trying to figure out a way to stand with her arms and legs tied down.

  Suddenly, the chair tipped, and unable to right herself, both Ava and the chair toppled and crashed to the floor. At this angle, she could no longer maneuver her cheek toward her shoulder. Her face simply rested on the floor. For a split second, she felt defeat, until she tried to pick up her head and felt the tacky side of the tape sticking to the floor ever so slightly.

  With renewed hope, she feverishly went to work dragging her face against the smooth concrete floor, slowly but surely peeling the tape back.

  * * *

  Abby used her momentum and leverage to flip Bryce like a ragdoll, sending him crashing to the floor
on his back less than three feet from the bar. He lay motionless for a second with the wind knocked from his lungs. Abby seized the moment and drove her boot into his ribs, feeling at least one crack upon impact.

  Bryce gasped and grabbed his side.

  Abby produced her .22 from the small of her back and pointed it at his head, “Where is she Bryce? Tell me, and I’ll make this quick.”

  He looked up, confused, until a smile spread across his face. “Fuck you, Abby.”

  Abby studied his features in the glowing light of the blaze. She had almost been oblivious to the room around her becoming engulfed in flames, the roar of the fire growing in her ears. Flames trickled down the wall from the ceiling behind the bar, like water. It was almost beautiful.

  She cocked the gun and took aim a little lower. “I can shoot a flea off a cat’s tail from a hundred yards, Bryce, and it’s pointed right at your dick. Last chance.”

  In a shockingly fast move, Bryce leaped from the floor and smacked the gun from Abby’s hand before she could get off a shot. She countered without hesitation, landing two hard jabs to his rib cage where she had just cracked a rib moments ago. The man collapsed to his knees under the pain.

  While he was helpless on his knees, Abby grabbed the back of his head and drove her knee into his face, sending him reeling onto his back. She jumped on top of him, again driving her knee into his rib cage.

  She could hear JJ’s voice in her head: Find your enemy’s weakness and exploit it.

  He screamed as he bucked her off of him and grabbed a brass pole on the side of the bar to help him stand up. Seizing the opportunity Abby kneed him in the ribs again, and as he fell to his knees once more, she grabbed a damp, thin towel that had been sitting on the bar and secured it around his wrists, tying him to the brass pole.

  Smoke continued to fill the room as the crackling fire consumed the wooden bar. Her lungs began to burn as she pressed into his broken rib, “Tell me where she is Bryce!”

  He managed to stop groaning long enough to shout, “Stop it! Stop!”