“She’s here,” Rusty says, his voice deep. “We’ve got her nice and comfortable.” He aims the camera at the bed.
“Oh, my God. Kara! Is she okay? Who… who the hell are you? Let her go! Do you know who I am?”
“I know exactly who you are, Judge. If you want to see your daughter alive again, you’ll do exactly as I say. No police, no FBI, nothing. If you notify any division of law enforcement, she dies. Understand?”
“Yes, yes. I understand. Whatever you say, just don’t hurt my baby.”
“That’s all up to you.”
“I’ll cooperate. I swear.”
“You tell no one about this. You go about your day and pretend everything is fine.”
“What do you want? Money?”
Rusty chuckles. “Guess again.”
“A case? Is this about a case before my bench? Is that it?”
“Bingo.”
“Oh, Christ. That biker, is that what this is about?”
“He does no jail time. You make sure his sentencing goes the way we want.”
“He’s up for thirty years and you want me to give him a slap on the wrist?”
Rusty leans over the bed, keeping the camera on Kara as he buries his free hand in her hair and yanks her head back. “She’s pretty. Real pretty. You want her to stay that way, you’ll do exactly what we say.”
“Don’t hurt her. Please.”
“I even smell a cop, she’s dead, and I’ll make her suffer.”
“Okay. All right. I won’t say a word to anyone. Just don’t you touch her! I’ll do what you want. I swear it.”
“Don’t piss me off, or I’ll make you sorry you did. What happens to her now all depends on you.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“No prison time, understand?”
“I’ll do what you want.”
Rusty disconnects, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. We exchange a look.
“He can have that phone traced to its last cell phone tower ping,” I say.
Rusty nods. “We got to move her.”
“Where?”
“Let me check on the RV.”
He makes the call while I toss a blanket over Kara. I don’t like Rusty’s eyes on her anymore than is necessary. He follows me with his gaze; his face hard, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering if my time with her is going to become a liability—if I won’t have the stomach to finish this shit. After all the dirty jobs I’ve done for this club, it has to be disconcerting for him to think I might draw the line on this one.
He listens to someone on his cell, murmurs something quietly into it, and then disconnects. The whole time his eyes never leave mine.
“She’s the key, brother.”
I turn to the window, peering between the crack in the drapes. I don’t need a reminder of that fact. But right now I’d choose to let Growler fucking rot in prison if I got to make the decisions about her. Unfortunately, I don’t get a say, so I stay silent.
The long sigh Rusty emits behind me tells me he knows all that without me saying a fucking word.
“They got it fixed. Should be here soon.”
I move from the window to stand by Kara. She’s still unconscious. “How long she gonna be under?”
“I gave her all of it, so she should be out for another hour, maybe two. We should be gone from here by then.”
I move to scoop up her pants and redress her, but the sound of the diesel engine stops me. I turn to Rusty, her jeans in my hand. He moves to the window and peers out.
“It’s them.”
“Shit. How many people just looked out the window and saw the RV?”
“Half the people in this dump are already drunk, and the other half are too tired from working construction all day to give a damn. Besides, what’s to see? An old RV? That’s nothing worth remembering.”
“Unless they’re questioned.”
“He said he’d cooperate. For your little butterfly’s sake”—He lifts his chin to the tattoo on Kara’s hip, one I hadn’t noticed in the supply closet—“you better hope he does.”
There’s a tap on the door, and Rusty opens it a crack, not letting Coolie see Kara. I block her from view as well.
“She’s a testy old bitch, but she’s runnin’,” he mutters, dropping the keys in Rusty’s palm.
“You do what I asked?”
“Yeah, switched the plates out for one’s from a used car lot down the street. My brother slipped under the chain. Only took him a minute to steal it off a Mustang.”
“Thanks, man. Owe you one.”
“You owe me more than one. Haulin’ my ass all the way down here.”
“You’re right, and the club will take care of you.”
“Don’t know how long you plan on driving that thing, but just sayin’, the generator’s on its last leg.”
“Thanks for the heads up. We’ll be fine. Not goin’ far.”
“See ya ‘round.”
Rusty closes the door and watches from the window until Coolie climbs in the car with his brother and drives off.
A moaning from the bed has both our head swiveling. Kara’s eyes flutter open. She blinks a few times, and her gaze moves around the room like she’s trying to focus. She tries to sit up and pulls on her arms. Her head swivels to look at what’s restraining her. When she sees the zip tie tight on her wrist, she begins to thrash.
Her eyes are wide and stricken when they swing to me.
I’m sure adrenaline is pumping in her veins, clearing much of the remains of the drug.
“Dante?” She back-peddles her feet on the mattress, scooting up the pillows and headboard until she’s sitting. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Her eyes swing down to take in her state of undress and full panic sets in. She tugs on her wrists, her gaze swinging between Rusty and me.
“L-let me go. Please. Please don’t hurt me.” She’s whispering, obviously too terrified of us to scream out for help. I step closer, afraid she might find her courage, and I’m prepared to slam my palm over her mouth. I’ve been hesitant to put a piece of duct tape across those lips, but if necessary, I’ll do just that.
“Sweetheart, we’re not going to hurt you,” I say, my voice soft and gentle with her.
“Let me go. Please let me go.” Her voice trembles, and it kills me to hear.
“I can’t do that, baby.”
She swallows, her eyes darting between us and around the room like she’s looking for our purpose. “I’m… I’m not into kinky shit if that’s what this is.”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. “Good to know.”
“Are you going to kill me?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, babe. No one’s going to hurt you, as long as you behave.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kara—
“Behave?” What the hell does that mean? I feel so tired and groggy, but my heart pounds in my chest. They must have drugged me. The last thing I remember is standing in the hallway with Dante. He kissed me.
I stare at him now, wondering if he’s a serial killer. Is this how I die? My eyes shift to the man standing behind him. He’s just as attractive as Dante, and just as dangerous looking. Who are these men, and what are they going to do to me?
I wonder if my father will ever find my body. Tears spring to my eyes, knowing how devastated he’s going to be by this. My murder will destroy him. He already has a bad heart. This could kill him.
Perhaps I’ll see him soon in heaven.
The thoughts tripping through my head are crazy; some part of me knows that as I think through all the repercussions of my death.
I’m almost resigning myself to my fate, hoping they won’t make me suffer too much before they kill me. I don’t want to die. I pull the zip ties on my wrist, but they’re so tight I know I have no hope of wiggling free. Tears spill over my cheeks.
Dante sits next to my hip and reaches toward my face. I twist, jerking away in a panic. Oh God, is he going
to strangle me? When I struggle, he grabs my jaw and holds me still. I’m panting, scared out of my mind, but he gently brushes the tears away with his thumb.
“Babe, be still. I’m not going to hurt you, understand?”
I nod because he seems to be expecting a response, and I just want him to stop touching me. I want him to move away again.
“You behave, do what you’re told, and this will all be over soon.”
“W-what will?”
He looks over his shoulder at his companion. Is the other man in charge?
Dante looks back at me. “If you’re father cooperates, we’ll let you go soon.”
“My father?” This is about my father? “You want money?”
He doesn’t say anything.
My head is spinning, and I can’t think straight. “Cooperates with what?”
Still he stays quiet.
“Why am I undressed?”
“Extra incentive to gain your father’s cooperation,” the man behind Dante replies.
“You’re scaring me.”
“Sorry, honey. I don’t want to scare you,” Dante says.
I stare in his face. His words are laughable. “I’m tied to the bed.”
He nods. “Can’t have you running off. Like I said, this’ll all be over soon.”
What could my father… and then it hits me. My father is a judge, hearing mostly criminal cases, often serious, violent crime. I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t want them to think I know too much. If I let on that I know more than they want, it won’t go well for me. Better if I play dumb.
I stare into Dante’s face. I can identify him. My eyes move to his friend. I can identify both of them, and I know they aren’t going to let me go. I feel like I’m going to be sick. My skin grows cold and clammy, and my lower lip starts to tremble.
“You be a good girl, and I won’t put duct tape over your mouth. First time you try to scream, I’ll wrap it around your head, understand?”
The thought of being gagged terrifies me even more. I nod my head vigorously. I’m like a bobble head. Maybe if I cooperate and be a “good girl” they’ll relax their guard. Maybe I can talk Dante into releasing me. I wonder if Dante is his real name. Probably not.
“Goin’ to get gas. You got this?” the man behind him asks.
“Yeah. Remember that beast takes diesel.”
The man grabs a set of keys off a table and leaves, opening the door just enough to slip his slim body out. I catch a glimpse of a gold RV parked outside.
Dante looks at me. “I’m sorry, babe.” He cups my cheek. I resist the urge to flinch this time.
Tears spill over my cheek again. His thumb brushes at them. I hear the engine of something big rumble to life in the parking lot. The RV? Are they taking me somewhere in that?
“Let me get a cold cloth and wipe your face,” he says, standing. He goes in the bathroom.
I could scream out, but I know he’d do what he threatened. Maybe worse. My gaze falls on the nightstand. There’s no phone. Then I see the cord has been disconnected and moved to the other side of the room. The only things on the nightstand are the lamp, a local pizza delivery flyer, and a pad of paper and a pen.
I hear the water running for a moment and then it stops. Dante comes back in the room. He sits and wipes my face.
When he finishes, I ask, “Can I have my pants on? Please?”
He nods and moves to get them. As he’s pulling them up one leg then the other, I’m tempted to kick him in the face, but I know that will only anger him. He jerks the pants up my hips, and I’m embarrassed that he sees my panties. I know he’s done more than see, but now it isn’t sexy. How did I ever let myself fall for him?
I lift my hips trying to help. He gets them up and fastens them. Then he makes a joke.
“Usually I’m undressing women, not the opposite.”
He’s not funny, but I return his half smile, hoping I can keep him happy. I don’t want him to be angry with me. I don’t know what he might do.
“Could you”—I pull on my wrist—“free one of my hands? Please? Just one.”
He stares at me, thinking about my request.
“Please, Dante.”
He stands to dig a folding pocketknife from his hip pocket. When the blade comes out, I second-guess my request. I wonder if he’ll kill me with that knife when my usefulness is over. I wonder how badly it will hurt sinking into my torso or neck. I wonder about all the ways I could die as he reaches across me to slice through the zip tie. My arm drops, circulation pouring through again like pins and needles, and I whimper.
He rubs my hand and wrist. I know he’s trying to help, but it only makes it worse. I don’t fight his touch, though. He folds the knife and slips it in his pocket, leaning back and extending his leg to get it in.
I keep my eyes on him, but I’m thinking about that pen and paper. “Could I have some water?”
He goes into the bathroom. I quickly reach for the pen and paper and begin scribbling, knowing I only have a moment.
I hear him pulling the plastic wrapping from a cup and then the water running. I’ve only got a second. I tuck both the pen and pad under the coverlet. Any luck, and a maid will find it when she changes the sheets.
He comes back from the bathroom, carrying the water as I yank my hand free and shift on the bed like I’m trying to sit up more.
He holds the cup out.
I take it and drink it down, my eyes on his, looking for any sign of suspicion. If he notices the pad and pen are missing, I’m screwed. I can only hope he’s like most men and won’t notice little things like that.
My mom always said my father couldn’t find the orange juice staring back at him from the top shelf of the refrigerator. Funny I should think of her now, here. Perhaps it’s her presence I feel, guiding me from heaven.
Please help me, Mama. I need you.
I pray her strength will see me through this.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kara—
When Dante’s friend returns, he carries a hat and coat. He moves to me and jams the knit hat down on my head, tucking my hair up inside it.
Dante slaps a piece of duct tape over my mouth. “Sorry, darlin’. It’s only ‘til we get you in the RV.”
That’s little comfort.
The other guy throws a big jacket over my shoulders. I realize if anyone sees me, they’ll think I’m a scrawny man who needs to be carried out by his buddies.
They’re taking away all my hope of rescue, covering their tracks perfectly. Dante’s even been wiping down the entire room while his buddy’s been gone. But they don’t know about my note. It may be my only hope.
“Give me a hand,” Dante says, looking over at his accomplice. They manhandle me while Dante cuts through the zip tie holding me to the bed. My freedom is short lived. He immediately lashes my wrists together behind my back. Then he does the same with my ankles so I have no hope of running.
I want to cry. They’re so devious.
“Got everything?” Dante asks the other man.
“Yup. Let’s go.”
In the dark of night, they carry me to the RV, like I’m a drunk.
The other guy jerks open the door, and Dante scoops me up and carries me inside. It’s dark, except for a small light over a sink in the kitchenette area.
Dante moves down a tight hallway to the back of the RV. He drops me on a bed and turns on a small light. I get my first look at the place. The bed feels like a queen, with just enough space on either side for a built-in nightstand and space to walk. There are some windows, but the shades are pulled down.
Dante lies down on the bed and holds me down while the door slams shut and the engine starts up. Then the RV is moving. It rolls for a while, and then stops. I can hear traffic whizzing past. After a minute, the big vehicle makes a wide right turn, and we’re moving down the highway. We’re going at a pretty good clip.
We stop at a few lights, but eventually we’re far enough out in the country that there a
re no more stops.
Dante pulls a chain from under the bed. He loops it through my restrained wrists and runs it under the bed, securing it somehow.
He stands over me. “Don’t get any stupid ideas about trying to get free. You can’t. I’m gonna pull the duct tape off now. It’ll hurt, but I can’t do anything about that.”
He pulls it slowly off, trying I suppose, to be as tender as he can, the big brute.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, words catching in my throat. My eyes sting, and I feel like I’m going to cry.
“We get where we’re goin’, I’ll cut your legs free, try to make you more comfortable, Kara. Sorry it has to be this way, but we’ll stop soon.”
I just stare up at him. I have nothing to say that seems to make a difference, so what’s the point? Maybe when we stop, I’ll find some way to escape.
Reno—
I sit next to Rusty in the passenger chair. He looks strange as hell, driving this monster. “How’s it handle?”
“Like a bus. Makin’ turns ain’t easy, and the brakes are spongy. I hope I’m not gonna have a problem parking it.”
We drive for another ten miles. We’re down a deserted road, headed toward the spot we’d scoped out yesterday. We pass signs warning of a bridge out ahead. I know there are two abandoned trailer homes out here from our reconnaissance trip yesterday, but it’s dark as fuck, and I can’t see anything beyond the circle illuminated by the headlights and what little the moonlight shows. There’s no traffic down this way, which makes it the perfect spot.
Rusty slows, and a dirt road leads off to the right. “This it?” he asks.
I roll my window down and lean out to get a better look by the light of the moon. It’s just enough to see the marker we put up—a yellow rag tied to a branch.
“Yeah, this is it.”
Rusty pulls in, and we drive into the woods.
At the end there’s a small meadow and a patch of gravel where some structure, perhaps an old pole-barn once was.
Rusty parks on it.
It may be off the beaten path, but we’re actually not that far from civilization. I pull out my phone and check. I’m down to one bar, but at least we have service. “You remember to pick up some supplies when you filled this beast up?” I ask him.
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