by Bella Jewel
Why do us women keep so much shit in our handbags?
I fiddle until I finally hear them jingle. I move my hands a little more and eventually grasp them. I lower my hand and go to step to the driver’s door when I feel a sudden sharp jab in my neck. My hand shoots up and I gasp, but whatever hit me is moving like fire in my system. I’m swaying on my feet in seconds. Everything in my vision begins getting blurrier and blurrier, and I begin to panic. I try to see where the sting came from, but I’m too unsteady to even move. Out of the blue, a hard hand goes over my mouth and another around my waist and I’m being hauled back.
Michael? Is it Michael?
My mind goes fuzzy and I numbly try to kick my legs, but that’s quickly taken from me when my world goes black.
~*~*~*~
I’m cold.
The stone pressed against my back and the harsh concrete against my bottom are stark reminders that I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. I’m surrounded by darkness, but it isn’t silent. I can hear another ragged breath beside me. I’m too afraid to speak, to ask him or her why we’re here, because that might mean facing the situation.
I’ve been taken.
I don’t know by who, but someone drugged me and took me from my work parking lot. It happened so fast, almost unrealistically so, and I don’t remember a single thing after my world went blank. All I know is that I’m here, and I’m scared, and I have no idea how the hell I’m going to get out of this. I don’t even understand why I was taken.
“Are you awake?” a quiet, young voice rasps.
I blink. A girl. There is a girl in here with me. That makes my brain go into overdrive as I wonder why the hell there is another girl in here, and what the hell whoever took us wants. I’ve never heard her voice before, I’m sure of it, so there’s no way our kidnapping could be related, right?
“Y-y-yes,” I whisper. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” she cries. “I don’t understand. I was just waiting for a cab and . . .”
Before she can finish and I can ask her who she is, what her name is, and if she knows why we’re here, the door swings open and a blinding light hits my eyes. I gasp and try to move my hands, but they’re shackled. I squirm and blink, desperate to see what has entered the small, terrifying space. The girl beside me starts to cry and plead.
I’ll never plead.
I was raised with bikers, my dad being president of the biggest club in the state.
No, I won’t plead. I will analyze; I will fight; I will figure this out.
They’ll know I’m missing—they’ll try and call and they’ll know. They will find me.
Right?
“Ah, you’re both awake I see.”
I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s husky and scary. My vision slowly clears and I see a massive man standing at the door, two others squished in beside him. He’s huge, with black eyes and scars on his face. He isn’t that old, definitely younger than my dad, but he’s got a coldness in his eyes that makes my blood run cold. I’ve seen many men, seen many monsters, but never one like this. Never one so empty.
“Let me go,” the girl beside me sobs.
I turn and glance at her. She’s small, blond, possibly my age. I’ve never seen her, that’s for certain. My stomach lurches. Why have they kidnapped two girls—two pretty, young girls? Are they going to sell us? Are they part of a sex trade? Or perhaps they want us for themselves.
Keep calm.
Keep. Calm.
I take a shaky breath, fight down the bile and unrestricted fear rising up in my throat, and glance back at the man who is looking at me. I shiver when his eyes connect with mine. It’s as if he can read my mind, see into my very soul. It’s unnerving, and I look away quickly.
“You’re just like him, aren’t you, Ava?”
He knows my name.
That’s not good.
“Like who?” I croak, my throat a dry, scratchy mess.
“Like Jackson.”
My dad?
God.
This isn’t about a sex ring, or a sick need to capture pretty young girls, it’s about my dad and, obviously, the club. It’s why he’s wanted extra security lately. It’s why he’s been calling me more than usual. It’s why my mom has had that look in her eyes, that worry. Something is going down and that something has just caught up with me.
That doesn’t explain girl beside me. It doesn’t explain why there are two of us.
“What do you want from me?” I whisper.
“I want to send a message.”
I shiver.
“What about me?” the blond girl beside me cries, shaking. “I’ve done nothing. I don’t even know who you are!”
He turns angry eyes to her, and she instantly clamps her lips together, but her sobs still bubble up and explode from her mouth. “Shut up. I’ll speak to you when I need to fucking speak to you.”
She cries harder.
I swallow down the vomit.
“If you think I know something, I don’t,” I croak.
“Oh,” he says, stepping in, smirking. “I know you don’t know anything; that’s not why you’re here. Let me explain.”
I start to shake.
“You see, both your fathers”—he points to the girl, then to me—“have been conspiring against me. They want me gone. They want me dead. They don’t like what I’m bringing to the table. I don’t like what they’re planning, so I’m sending a message. What better”—he laughs—“than their little girls?”
I’m going to be sick.
I feel the fear right down to my bones.
“Please,” the other girl shrieks. “Please, let me go!”
I wish she’d stop crying. Crying won’t stop this kind of man. I have to think; I have to breathe. There has to be a way out. Dad will come. He will. He always does. He’s never let anyone touch me. Never.
The girl gives another wail and the man spins to her. “Shut up,” he roars, and then clicks his fingers and one of his men steps forward, shooting his foot out and hitting her in the jaw. Her head swings to the side and I gasp, tears burning under my eyelids as her head jerks back against the wall and her screams become muffled in her severe pain. Monster.
“Stop it,” I scream. “You monster. Leave her alone. Leave her! I’ll fucking kill you.”
He throws his head back and laughs before clicking his fingers once again. His assistant kicks out again, connecting with my cheekbone this time. Pain rips through face, and my skull pounds. I gasp and try desperately to breathe. So much pain. I’ve never felt anything so painful in my life. “I see you’ve got your father’s backbone.” He laughs.
“Just tell us what you want,” I whisper.
He smiles, and it terrifies me to my very core. “As I said, I need to make a statement. I’m not a nice man, Ava. Your life means nothing to me, and neither does hers.” He jerks one finger at the gasping girl. “So today, one of you will die, and one of you will live. And the great news is, for being so brave, you get to decide which one of you walks out of here to deliver my message.”
That’s when my world goes black once again.
~*~*~*~
Hours later
The cold gun presses against my temple and I’m screaming, I’m fighting, I’m doing everything I can to get out of the strong, hard grip of a man who has his hand curled into my ponytail and his gun shoved into the side of my head. I waited. I prayed. I begged. I made promises I couldn’t keep, but the cold, hard truth is that one of us is going to die now.
And there is nothing I can do about it.
My eyes meet hers. I still don’t know her name. She’s still screaming. Still begging. Still sobbing. She’s yelling that it should be me. That I should die. That she has more of a life. More of a chance. How do you choose whose life is worth more? How do you decide that you’re worth more, or she’s worth less? Everyone wants their own lives to be long and fulfilling, no one wants it to end, but how many of us are heroes?
How many
of us would lay down our chance to give someone else theirs?
She doesn’t deserve to die.
But neither do I.
So I’m fighting; it’s all I’ve got left. It’s pitiful and pointless. There is no escape. They are going to carry out their plan, because men like these don’t get found, we don’t get rescued, and there is no happy ending. I’ve been hit and beaten, but not by the man who captured us—no, he’s smart and has ordered other people to do his dirty work. He’s smart. Cunning. Leaving no trace of him behind.
Today, someone will die.
And I’m going to be the one who decides who that is.
I can’t do that. I can’t.
“Let me go!” I scream, angrily. “I’ll give whatever message you want, anything you want—just let her and I go.”
The man laughs, completely amused by my pathetic begging. “That’s not going to happen, Ava. Your fathers are messing with my plans, and I don’t like it. If I let you both go, what kind of message have I sent? None. So, you have five seconds to make a choice, or I pick one and make it slow and torturous. You don’t want that, do you? Because I can assure you, it’ll be ugly and I do like to make a mess.”
God no. I don’t want to die. I don’t want her to die either. I certainly don’t want to see anyone get tortured.
Her screaming gets louder.
“Please, I’ll do anything else,” I plead, my voice breaking. “Anything.”
His eyes harden and he grins. “I need him to see the fear, the pain, the way I’ve broken you. I need them to be shaken and terrified of what I’m going to do next. To do that, I need one of you alive to send back, but if you don’t make a choice, it’ll turn ugly, fast. You don’t want that, do you Ava?”
“No,” I cry, fighting back the tears. I don’t want to cry; I don’t want to show weakness, but I’m scared. I’m so scared. “I don’t want to die; I don’t want her to die either. There has to be another way. Another message.”
“I could cut your arms and legs off, send you back like that.” He laughs, and his assistant slams the gun into my temple. I yelp loudly, and I can’t fight the tears any longer. “But that would be no fun. I’d like to watch you suffer, watch you choose between your life and hers—watch Jackson’s little girl break.”
“Don’t you have children?” I screech. “What would you do if this was them?”
He leans in closer. “I’m not that stupid,” he hisses. “Now make a choice.”
She starts screaming.
I start crying harder.
“Make a choice,” he bellows into my ear.
“Please,” she screams. “Please. I’m just a girl. I have a life. A boyfriend. A family. Please. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
She didn’t do anything.
She has a boyfriend.
A life.
A family.
Just like me.
“Make a choice!” he bellows, and his assistant cocks the gun, letting me know he’ll pull the trigger. Somehow he’s managing to hold me and the gun, or maybe I’m just too weak to keep fighting.
Fear courses down my spine and I start to fight again, harder and harder, begging and pleading. I want to wake up from this nightmare. I want my dad to bust in and save me. I want this all to be a bad dream. I don’t want this. I never wanted this.
“Don’t kill me,” she screams, the nameless girl, the girl who is just like me. “Kill her. I’ll make the choice. Kill her. I don’t care. I don’t care. I want to live. Please. Let me live.”
“But the choice isn’t yours, is it?” the man roars. “Now make a fucking choice!”
“No,” I cry. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”
He clicks his fingers and his assistant moves the gun quickly and shoots it, hitting the girl in the leg, scaring me so badly I wet my pants. She drops down and starts screaming in agony. I start screaming now too, my knees buckling, fear making me vomit.
“He’ll shoot a bit of her every single time you hesitate.”
So much blood. Her terrified eyes. She’s clutching her leg, bellowing, so afraid.
“A choice,” he roars. “You or her.”
“Please,” I wail.
His assistant shoots again, hitting her other leg. More screaming. More terrified pants. I need to find another way. There has to be another way. I try once more to fight, claw, squirm, kick, anything to get out of his hold, but it’s no use. He’s massive and I’m just too broken.
“A choice!”
I shake my head frantically. “No, please. I’ll do anything else. Anything.”
“A choice!”
Her screaming. My screaming. The gun. The fear.
“A choice!” he roars so loudly, the gun is slammed into my temple once more. My world starts spinning, and fear is gripping me so tightly I vomit on myself and the man holding me.
He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill me.
I don’t want to die. Daddy. Please. No. I don’t want to go. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Please.
“One.”
“No,” I wail. “No.”
I see my dad, smiling. I see my sister and my mother. I see Danny and Skye, Mercy and Max. I see them laughing.
God, I haven’t even had someone make love to me. I haven’t lived. I haven’t had a boyfriend like the other girl. I’ve barely had the chance to venture out on my own. I’m not ready.
“Two.”
“Please, I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t.”
My dad’s face, his eyes firm. “Always be brave, Ava. No matter what life throws at you. Don’t be a hero. Just be brave. Fight. Do whatever you have to. Remember what I taught you.”
Daddy. No.
“Three! MAKE A FUCKING CHOICE OR I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT,” he roars loudly.
Fear destroys me. It takes over. And for a split second, I don’t think. I’m so afraid. There’s so much noise. Everything is clouding my senses, and all I can think about are the looks on my parents’ faces when they hear the news . . .
“Her!” I bellow. The second it leaves my lips, I start fighting, regretting my words instantly. “No! Me! Me! Please, not her . . . I didn’t mean . . . not . . .”
His assistant fires.
The bullet goes right between her eyes, splattering her in ways I’ll never forget.
“No,” I scream, crumpling to the ground as the man lets me go. “NO! I said me . . . I said . . .”
“Oh well,” he mutters, glancing at the girl’s body as he walks past, stepping over it. “I guess you weren’t quick enough to change your mind.”
“Me,” I croak.
I said me.
Darkness takes over.
CHAPTER 5
THEN – LUCAS
There is nothing in the world like the panic that crushes your chest when you can’t find your child. Sure, there are mornings you wake and they aren’t there, and slight panic hits before you find them doing something innocent like eating breakfast in front of the television.
It’s when you can’t find them that the real terror sets in. When you search in cupboards and under beds, praying it’s just a game, but every empty space you turn over that they aren’t in, reality hits. Something is wrong. Have they gone down the road? Did a stranger come to the door? How could something so small just disappear?
I woke that way this morning. I knew the second I opened my eyes that something was wrong. Shylie wasn’t in her bed and she’s always in her bed. She wakes me with a smile and a giggle. Not this morning. I know even before I start to search that something is off.
“Where is she?” I bark, rushing down the hall looking for my daughter.
Jennifer is rushing down the halls behind me, calling for Shylie, both of us feeling the gripping terror that’s holding our chests hostage. Maybe Jenn’s parents took her to breakfast and there will be a note on the table explaining all this away.
But something deep in my belly doesn’t feel right.
“What’s going on?
”
When Jenn’s mom steps out of her room, followed by her dad, the panic gets real.
“I can’t find Shylie!”
“Maybe she’s watching television downstairs?”
“She’s not,” Jennifer pants, “She’s not in the house; we’ve searched everywhere.”
“Calm down,” Dad says, tying his robe. “She may be playing outside.”
And just like that, with one word, I know exactly where my baby girl is. My daughter who loves to swim. My daughter who loves water. My daughter who would do anything to get into it.
I turn and run as hard and fast as I can, stumbling down the stairs, my heart lurching into my throat. I reach the back door and fumble to open it but it’s already open. I slide it across, my eyes going to the pool gate.
A chair lies on its side next to it, and it’s open.
My entire body feels like it’s been lit on fire. A raging, burning pain travels from my toes right to my head. I run towards the gate, praying, begging, pleading that nothing has happened to my baby girl. I slip on the water surrounding the pool, landing on my hands and knees, and I see her.
I see her there, floating, her tiny body floating.
An agonized bellow is ripped from my throat, and I launch myself into the pool, taking her blue, cold body in my arms. I swim frantically to the side, laying her down, and instantly beginning CPR.
“Oh god,” I hear Jennifer scream. “Call nine one one!”
I pump and breathe, pump and breathe, getting some life into my baby. Her cheeks pinken slightly, and I can feel a faint pulse. She’s still alive. God, she’s still alive. I pray as tears run down my cheeks, pray that she’ll make it, pray that the one thing she loved won’t be the thing that takes her from me.
God dammit, please.
~*~*~*~
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Black, we did everything we could, but I’m afraid Shylie has passed away.”
The words come at me, but they don’t penetrate. I stare at the grey, balding doctor in front of me who’s telling me he did the best he could. How do I know he did? How do I know he fought hard enough? Maybe he didn’t try long enough—maybe I didn’t try long enough. Jennifer’s screams fill the halls, but I’m just standing there, numb.