Kidnapped: A Criminal Deeds Novel

by Kyle Autumn

  When I go to put my headphones in, I get a text from Jane that says I should be safe and careful and let her know when I get back. I tell her that I will, and then I get one back that says Enjoy with a wink smiley face. I love my best friend, and I don’t know where I’d be without her.

  No, I shouldn’t use headphones. I should stay aware of my surroundings, but I’ve trained myself well to be hypersensitive to what’s going on around me. With and without music or a meditation playing in my ears. If nothing else, all of this mess has forced me to be comfortable with change. To adapt when necessary. To protect myself when needed. This is one of those things I’ve trained myself to do. So I hit play on some pace-setting beat I have on this phone—the one I’ll have to replace tomorrow—and hit the pavement.

  At first, my cadence is slow. I don’t feel the need to take off at a record-breaking pace. But the nightmares and horrible thoughts start to creep in and my legs force me to go faster and faster. Soon, I have no clue where my legs have taken me, which is so outside my character that it has me rattled.

  I catch movement from the corner of my right eye and swing my whole body that way. On high alert, I rip my headphones out of my ear and let them dangle toward the ground. If I hold on to them or put them around my neck, someone could come from behind and choke me with them. So they hang in front of me while I wait for more movement to tell me what’s going on.

  My heart is in my throat. My nerve endings tingle with awareness. As my stomach churns and my hair whips around my face in the chilly wind, I flex my fingers to stay on the ready. But a few wild heartbeats later, a cat scurries out from beneath a car and runs around the side of a house.

  It was only a cat, and I release the breath I was holding as adrenaline drains from my system, leaving me a little dizzy. Then I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head to keep my ears warm.

  When I find a street sign that tells me what intersection I’m at, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve long since memorized the map of my neighborhood and can point out all five exit and entry points. That’s also something I’ve trained myself to do and know. I should always know how to get out of a situation. And in this neighborhood, I do. So I know that, right now, I can take a left, walk two blocks, and then turn right to get home. Back to base.

  I do just that. Once I’m close to my house again, I put my headphones back in, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than before. A few more minutes of this meditation music will help me be calmer and ready for sleep again. But when I swing around the corner to go to my front door, a noise catches my attention.

  My neighbor’s gate sounds like it isn’t closed all the way. It’s flapping a little in the wind and making a banging sound, metal slapping against metal. No matter what kind of calm state I’ve cultivated, I won’t be able to get to sleep with that loud noise right next to my bedroom window. I have no idea if my neighbor is home, and I’m partially worried that, if I ring his doorbell to let him know about the gate, I might fling myself at him.

  Images of how sexy he is dance before my eyes and remind me how much I need to stay away. A body that sinfully delectable would get me into all kinds of trouble, and I can’t have that. So I focus on going straight for the gate to close it and fix the situation myself.

  The gate is really tall—taller than I am at five foot eight. And the latch for the locking part is on the inside, so I have to reach my hand over the top to get at it. However, the mechanism won’t budge. No matter how hard I try, it won’t close.

  The gate isn’t swinging open. In fact, it’s almost like it’s locked in place by something else. It can only go so far when the wind blows. That helps as I keep trying to push the locking mechanism into place, but each time I press, nothing happens.

  I’m a few seconds away from ringing his doorbell out of sheer frustration to scream at him about greasing the metal parts on this thing, but I don’t get the chance. The frustration leaves my body just the same though. Because, without any warning, without any awareness of what is happening behind me the second the latch finally clicks into place, something hits me in the back of the head.

  Bright light explodes in my vision.

  Then everything goes black.

  4

  Keaton

  Whoever was trying to break into my yard goes down like a sack of potatoes, which is almost disappointing. This dude made a huge mistake by trying to mess with me and my stuff. But a fist to the back of their skull managed to take care of that. Now, in the darkness, he’s in a pool at my feet, facedown and out cold.

  Who the fuck was messing with my gate? Tall, black clothes, a hood over his head…

  I try to turn him over to see his face, but it’s so dark out that nothing about him is recognizable. So I dig around in his pockets to find something to ID him with. When my fingers land on smooth plastic, I figure I’ve found just what I need.

  But I’m still practically blind in the darkness. I think I can make his name out: Alex Jarron. When I do a mental check, though, I don’t come up with anyone on my enemies list named Alex. What I do come up with is the fact that I have someone who might have information I need.

  Who is this person and what does he want? Is he a hired gun looking to unearth what I’m trying to protect? And now that he’s knocked out cold, what the hell am I supposed to do with him? Fuck. What a fucking mess this is now.

  All I wanted to do was shower and go to sleep tonight, just like last night—complete with the fist-fucking because I caught my neighbor getting undressed for bed tonight and couldn’t get the sexy-as-hell image of her naked back out of my head. Instead, my alarm went off, alerting me to someone trying to break into my backyard. Now, I have to clean the mess up.

  Why can’t I just be left alone? Why do I have to be plagued with this shit? Why did I ever think it was a good idea to get involved in this nonsense?

  Oh yeah. That stupid, ridiculous thing called love. Won’t make that dumbass mistake again.

  Instead of having the uneventful night I was looking forward to, I heft this piece of shit over my shoulder so I can privately deal with him when he finally comes to.

  There isn’t much light in this room, but I do what I can with as much as I can see. The rope in the corner comes in handy once I’ve dumped this asshole into the chair. I double knot it around his ankles before locating zip ties and binding his wrists to the arms of the chair. As soon as I feel like he’s sufficiently secured, I dare to pull his hood down. Even though it’s not quite as dark in here, I’m still having trouble making out his face.

  And then it hits me. That’s because he’s not a he.

  He is a she.

  And she is the sexy-as-fuck woman who lives next door.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Why in the ever-loving hell was she snooping around my yard, trying to get through my gate? And doing a horrible job at it? Is this really the kind of person they’d hire to come steal my secrets? She’s unassuming—I’ll give her that. I didn’t for a second think she was actually some kind of spying criminal. And she didn’t even try to build up a rapport with me first. She went straight for the goods. Tricky.

  This is a mind fuck if there ever was one. I just can’t picture this gorgeous woman being a hardened thief. But maybe that’s the logic behind it, so I can’t tell which way this goes. Which means I need to dig for more clues while she’s still unconscious.

  In her pockets, I only find her phone, which has a set of headphones plugged in. I pluck those from her ears, but I don’t hear anything. When I check her phone to see what was playing, I find what looks like some kind of meditation playlist. That doesn’t fit the bill of someone trying to steal something, but again, that could be the logic behind it. Staying unassuming keeps you off the radar. Maybe that was goal. If she got caught, which she clearly did, she wouldn’t look outright like she was trying to break in.

  Except these black clothes and the hood over her head. She didn’t want to be seen in the dark, and only criminals need to go that
unnoticed. So I just can’t fucking tell which way this goes. And until I can, I’ll have to try her like she’s hostile. Like she’s the enemy. Because as long as she’s not a friend, that’s absolutely what she is: the enemy.

  The fucking gorgeous enemy. The kind of enemy that could bring me to my knees. The kind that could have me begging for mercy if she weren’t so dangerous. The kind that could kill me. Or get me killed.

  God, she’s sexy now that the hint of her figure has made an appearance. In the dim light, now that my eyes have adjusted and my blood pressure isn’t through the roof, I can make out the soft curves of her breasts. I couldn’t see those when she was facedown on the pavement, but I certainly can now that she’s facing me.

  With the hood down, I can see the graceful line of her neck too. It’s a neck I want to suck on. Bite, Lick. Kiss. That neck alone could have me worshipping at her altar—if I were that kind of man. But I’m not.

  Doesn’t mean I can’t pretend I am. Doesn’t mean I can’t torture myself with those ridiculous what-if thoughts.

  What if I’d never met Melinda?

  What if I could be the kind of man who has meaningful relationships?

  What if this woman were conscious and we fucked?

  What if this woman weren’t conscious and we—

  No. That last one is fucked up beyond words. Born out of desperation and the longest dry spell I’ve ever had in my life. No amount of fist-fucking can make up for the real thing, and I obviously need the real thing before I jump off the deep end.

  Actually, what I need right now is for this woman to wake the fuck up. Come back to life so we can get this show on the road. Do the song and dance we need to so we can move the hell on and I can continue to guard my secrets.

  For now, I’ll treat her like the criminal I have to assume her to be. But I’ll also wonder if I made a huge mistake by reacting first and fucking her life up in the process.

  5

  Ali

  Holy mother of god, my head feels ready to explode. No matter how many times I try to open my eyes, they remain glued shut. I can see some light behind them, but that makes it even harder to pry them open. The little light there is in my room feels like a giant spotlight to my brain.

  When I try to roll over on my bed, nothing happens. Not because I don’t have control of my body. That’s not why my heart starts racing, my eyelids finally fly apart, and adrenaline pumps through my veins. No, I’m freaking the fuck out because I realize I’m not even in my bedroom. I’m in some strange place, and I’m fucking tied to a chair.

  He found me.

  That’s all I can think as I try to make my brain figure out how to get out of here. I shake the chair as I wiggle around as hard as I can to find some give in the rope at my feet. But the zip ties are tight and unbreakable, and the knots in the rope keep my feet firmly in place. There’s no way to get out of this.

  There’s nothing else in this dark, dingy room. It’s just me, this chair, and my swirling, spiraling thoughts of despair and disaster. What do I remember happening last? If my brain can think of that, I can piece together what happened. But all I remember is trying to fix my neighbor’s stupid gate. And I fully regret not simply ringing his damn doorbell, worries of jumping him be damned. That would have been a much more satisfying ending, even if I would have been turned down.

  Instead, I’m royally fucked now that my past has caught up with me, and those nightmares I had last night were clearly premonitions I should have heeded. Trouble was, in fact, brewing on the horizon, and it’s a kind of trouble I can’t fix.

  “Fuck!” I scream in frustration, shaking the chair as much as I can one last time for good measure. But nothing happens. Not to me, anyway. And not to the chair.

  But to the ceiling.

  I hear a scraping noise. Then footsteps before my own blood rushing through my ears. I practice my meditation breathing to calm myself down so I can think clearly and rationally, but everything amplifies and my stomach flies into my throat when a creaking doorknob turns.

  Behind me. Where I can’t see. Because this sick bastard who has me strapped to a chair has me facing away from him. Double fucking fuck!

  As I try to slow my breathing and not focus on the huge mistake I made of letting my captor know I’m awake, more footsteps sound. They turn into more creaking noises as the man who took me expertly descends the stairs to this dark, cold room. Until he’s right behind me and I freeze. Everything goes completely still—except the hairs on the back of my neck, which stand on end.

  While he stands behind me, silent and unmoving, a happy thought flashes through my brain. I did tell Jane that I was going out for a run. She won’t hesitate to call the cops if I don’t text her back within two hours of my first text. That’s our deal. We always made sure we had a plan. When we weren’t talking about sex, that is.

  Wait! What if this is Jane’s plan? I just told her about my kidnap fantasy the night before. Even though it’s ridiculous, for a moment, hope blasts through me. Maybe this is some kind of fulfilment of my fantasy all arranged by my best friend. Maybe I have nothing to worry about after all.

  If only my life were simple enough that I could operate based on that assumption. Unfortunately for me, it’s not. And things get even more anti-simple when my captor finally and so fucking slowly comes around me and reveals himself.

  As my super-sexy neighbor.

  What in the actual fuck is going on, and what the hell did I get myself into?

  None of that is made clear when his voice booms across the small, enclosed space.

  “What do you think you were doing?” he asks menacingly, his eyes narrowed and zoned in on mine. His crossed arms bulge where the muscle can’t be tamed.

  When I don’t answer fast enough, he straightens his arms to his sides and forms fists with his hands.

  “I asked you a question!” he shouts, though I can barely see his mouth beneath his beard.

  “Okay, you can cut the act now,” I tell him, relaxed as I can make myself. I might kill Jane for setting this up, but maybe after we’re past this tough-guy act, we can get to the fun stuff and I’ll thank her later. “I know she put you up to this, but I never said I wanted to be knocked out, tied up, or yelled at. All I said was—”

  “Answer me!”

  As I flinch back, part of my brain starts to freak out. This no longer feels like Jane set this fake kidnapping up. This is starting to feel all too real, and the only thing I can think of is to keep him shouting at me in the hopes that someone can hear him. Maybe they’ll pound the door down and find me—hopefully before it’s too late. Until then, one of us needs to be shouting. I guess that someone is me right now.

  “Look, I was just trying to fix your gate,” I try to explain as loudly as I can without it catching his attention too much. “It was broken, and I—”

  “There’s no way in hell that gate was broken,” he spits out over me, shaking his head. “So stop fucking lying to me and tell me why you wanted to get into my backyard. Now!”

  “I didn’t want to get into your backyard!” I shout back at him. “I just wanted to close the latch!” Tears spring into my eyes, and I hate myself because of it. I should be stronger than this, but fear is closing in on me and panic grips me by my throat.

  He shakes his head again and scoffs. “I would never leave it unlocked,” he insists. “Never. So why were you at my gate?”

  It’s my turn to shake my head. “You’re not listening to me. I didn’t say it was unlocked.” I try to wipe my eye with my shoulder, but I don’t have the flexibility or space to make it happen. “Something was clearly keeping it in place. But the normal latch wasn’t attached, so it was banging in the wind when I came back from my run.”

  Something in his body language changes. It’s a small ripple that starts in his shoulders. They relax before that spreads to his arms, and it finishes with his face. His expression goes from determined and pissed off to a little confused. Something doesn’t make sense fo
r him anymore, either.

  And, now, I’m wondering what the hell we’re both going to do about this.

  6

  Keaton

  “Why the fuck were you out running in the middle of the night wearing all black?” I ask her. Because honestly, that makes no fucking sense. Who would do such a thing? Someone with a death wish. Or someone who’s lying to me.

  In a small voice, she replies, “I haven’t gotten the right running gear for this weather yet.”

  I know she just moved next door to me, but it’s clear that she moved from somewhere far away. Unless she isn’t telling the truth. No proper clothes for the weather? Or proper clothes for the job at hand and a good excuse to make it sound otherwise?

  I release a deep breath out of my nose and cross my arms over my chest again. “I want to believe you, but I don’t. There’s no way this was an accident or by chance. I’m not buying it.”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to tell you.” She strains her muscles, flexing against the rope and the zip ties. “I’m telling you the truth. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t banging all night. I wanted to go to sleep.”

  Nothing about what she said sounds inherently untrue. The story she’s telling me, for all intents and purposes, should hold water. But it was my backyard, where my secrets are. So I don’t believe this.

  When I go to turn around and give her more time to get her story in order, she shouts to stop me.

  “Wait! Don’t leave me down here! This shouldn’t be part of the plan!”

  Her last word has me freezing in my tracks.

  Then I spin back around toward her. “Part of the plan? What plan?”

  She blinks at me a few times. Her nose flares as she starts to answer. “You know.” Then she raises one eyebrow with plain-as-day attitude. “The plan.”