Up to Me

by M. Leighton

  “What is it?” I answer.

  “They took Olivia.” Gavin’s words and the steel in his voice make my chest feel tight.

  Holy shit, they’ve got her! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!

  It’s arguably my worst fear to date. And it’s happening. Right now.

  “Where?” I ask, mindful of the enforcer standing not too far from me.

  “I followed them to a small brick house in Macon. Looks like a hide out.”

  “Are you…prepared?”

  “Mate, I’m always prepared.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  My thoughts are racing through ways to get us out of this. Giving them another bargaining chip—the ultimate bargaining chip, as far as I’m concerned—was never part of the plan.

  Outwardly casual, I smile at the big guy, turning just enough so that I can keep the smaller guy, Duffy, in my peripheral vision.

  “Change of plans. I’ll give you the books for the girl, but I’m holding on to the video as insurance.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t believe you have video.”

  He takes a slow step toward me, one meant to be intimidating. And it is. I won’t lie.

  I take one step back.

  “You’ll get a preview of the video when you get the books, but the new deal is that you let us go and we can arrange another meeting for the video trade.”

  “Another trade? For what?”

  “I know you took her.” Even saying the words makes me furious—at them, at myself, at my father. My pulse pounds in my ears and my hands shake with the desire to tear into this guy.

  His upper lip twitches.

  “Give me books and video or she’s dead.”

  “No deal. It’s my way or you’ll never get what you want.”

  “No, it’s my way or she dies.” He takes another step toward me, only this one isn’t slow. It’s aggressive. I’ve made him angry. “And, just for the aggravation, I’ll make it slow. I might even let some of these boys have fun with her before I kill her.”

  A blinding combination of fear and rage drops down over me. I can’t think past the vision his words conjures and the fury and panic it inspires.

  Before I can give the wisdom of it a second thought, my fist is flying through the air toward the big Bratva. It connects with his steely jaw and I hear a crunch. Whether his jaw or my hand, I can’t be sure. I’m numb to any pain that I might otherwise be feeling.

  He’s so taken off guard by someone willing to actually touch him, he stumbles back two steps, giving me a momentary advantage. And I jump on it.

  I come across with my left elbow, smashing it into his face as hard as I can. I push my position and keep pounding away at him—left, right, left, right, fist, fist, elbow, fist.

  I barely hear the sound of the motorcycle approaching and I barely feel the arm that wraps around my neck from behind and starts to squeeze. It’s only when my air is cut off that I pause in my assault on the Russian. Duffy has me in a pretty tight choke hold.

  Before I can throw him off, the big Russian plants one fist in my stomach, doubling me over. His knee meets my cheekbone next, knocking me to one side as light explodes behind my eye.

  Blood is buzzing in my ears as I struggle to catch my breath. I’m gasping, staring at the ground, and I see the Russian’s wing tips retreat one step. My head is getting fuzzy from lack of oxygen and the only thing I can think of is that no one wears wing tips with a track suit.

  My vision starts to blur when I hear the sound of a gun slide being drawn back to jack a round into the chamber. It’s an ominous sound, but Nash’s voice is even more so.

  “Let him go or I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

  I know both of these guys have guns. My attack on the big one and the subsequent involvement of the little one served as the perfect distraction for Nash to move in and get the upper hand.

  The grip around my neck eases enough that I can catch my breath. I inhale and straighten, expanding my lungs and gulping in air. After two deep breaths, my vision clears and I see the Russian glaring at me. His eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re furious. And deadly.

  “You boys, you make big mistake,” the big one says, wiping blood from his dripping nose and mouth with the back of his hand. Then, never taking his eyes off mine, he spits at my feet. “We don’t bargain.”

  “That’s funny because I was under the impression you brought me here today to bargain.”

  “I brought you here today to kill you,” he says, deadpan.

  “Not much of a negotiator, are you?”

  “With one phone call, she’ll be dead. Also, if I don’t call with instructions within the hour, she’ll be dead. No matter what you do, she’ll be dead.” My heart freezes inside my chest at the prospect. “Unless you give me what I want.”

  “You just said you don’t bargain.”

  The Russian’s sneer is nothing short of evil. “No matter. If you leave here today, I’ll find you tomorrow. And her. And him,” he says, tipping his head at Nash behind me. “You can’t run far enough.”

  “I’d run that by your boss before you make any rash decisions. There’s more than one copy of the video. Something happens to anyone I know and it goes straight to the police, along with some really helpful tips about the trigger man. And his associates.”

  A muscle in the Russian’s jaw ticks as he listens to me. I can hear the heavy breathing of the little one, Duffy at my back. Nash is behind us somewhere. The Russian’s eyes have flickered over to him a time or two. I wonder if he knows who he is, if he recognizes my supposedly dead brother behind the facial hair.

  “I still don’t believe you. I think I kill you all and take my chances.”

  Suddenly, Duffy releases me and moves to the Russian’s side. Turning to face us, he draws a gun from the waistband of his pants and trains it on me. I know I should be afraid, but it all seems so surreal, I’m just…not. My emotions haven’t caught up with my brain yet. My adrenaline is still kicking the shit out of everything except for the fear that Olivia might get hurt. That’s my primary concern right now.

  I take a step back to align myself with Nash. I do a double take when I glance over at him. He’s as pale as a girl under his tan, staring at Duffy like he’s seen a ghost.

  “What?”

  “That’s him,” he says quietly, almost too quietly, like he’s in shock or something. I just don’t know why.

  “That’s who?”

  “That’s the bastard that killed Mom. He’s the one on the video.” There’s about ten seconds of absolute silence while everyone digests what Nash said. He’s the first to recover, of course. Taking us all by surprise, Nash lets out an animalistic growl and lunges forward. “You mother fu—”

  With my reflexes still under the influence of an ass ton of adrenaline, I’m able to reach out and stop him before he can get to Duffy. “Nash no! They’ve got Olivia.” I feel the muscles of his shoulder flex as he strains against me. When he looks at me, his eyes are blank. It’s like he’s so furious he doesn’t quite understand what I’m saying. That or he just doesn’t care. I give him a shake to snap him out of it. “They’ve got Olivia, man. Be smart.”

  His look assures me that “smart” to me is much different than what “smart” is to him. He’s got no stake in this, only his hunger for revenge. That’s all he wants. And I’m standing in the way of that. But I’ll be damned if I risk Olivia just to satisfy his needs. There will be time for that later, when we can think and plot and be prepared. Today is not that day. Today is only about making sure Olivia is safe. Nothing else. Nothing else matters as much. Not by a long shot.

  I look to the Russian. “Still think we don’t have a video?” If there was no video, Nash wouldn’t have recognized the trigger man.

  I can tell by the return of the tick in big Russian’s jaw that he doesn’t like something. And I know exactly what it is. He’s stuck. He knows there’s no way he’s leaving here with everything and he knows he can
’t kill us and take it. So he has to bargain. Even though he says he doesn’t bargain.

  “You’re not leaving here until I get the books. The real books.”

  I hate to give up the books, but the only reason Nash is here is so that I could give up the books without being up shit creek. And if this is the bone I have to throw these dogs to get them off my back so I can get to Olivia, so be it.

  “Fine. Take the books. A good faith offering.” I turn and nod to Nash. His lips thin and I can tell he doesn’t want to give them a damn thing but a bullet between the eyes. I can almost hear Nash’s teeth grinding. He looks livid. But he doesn’t argue. Thank God. At least he didn’t come back a total bastard. At least he can be considerate of the lives at stake here.

  Never taking his eyes off the other two men, Nash reaches into the compartment behind the seat on the bike and pulls out the real ledgers. With an eff-you flip of the wrist, he flings the books onto the ground about a foot in front of the big Russian.

  Still oozing blood from his nose and mouth, the Russian says one short, clipped foreign word to Duffy, who immediately moves to get the ledgers. He hands them over and the big guy flips through them, verifying they’re actually full of writing.

  He opens each book and checks the front page, I assume for dates. When he gets to the third one, he turns to the middle of the book then forward a few pages, scanning the rows of numbers for something. My guess is it’s how he’s authenticating that they’re the books, not just any books or clever reproductions. This is exactly why I knew better than to try to deceive them. Mafia doesn’t get to the level of criminal activity it gets to without having some brains.

  When he seems satisfied, he looks up at me and sneers. “Take the girl in the car, but know that you’ve made enemies, enemies you don’t want to make. This is not over.”

  With that, he nods to Duffy and the two turn and walk away, not the least bit concerned with turning their backs on us. I’m sure they know that we know that it would be suicide to do anything to them at this point, although I doubt Nash sees it that way.

  When they’re back in the van, I turn to Nash. “Take Marissa. I’m going to get Olivia.”

  “Bullshit! You’re not leaving me with—”

  “I don’t have time for this right now. Get off my bike before I throw you off.” One eyebrow shoots up like he might consider pushing me just for the hell of it, but then he sighs and gets off the bike. “Keep your phone on. Marissa will tell you where to take her.” I sling gravel all over the place as I peel out and gun it. Once I get to a more populated street, I pull over and call Gavin.

  “Where the hell are you?” he asks without preamble.

  “I’m on my way. Give me directions.” Gavin gives me the route he took to get to the house and describes which one it is. “Do you know how many people there are inside?”

  “From what I can tell, just the two who took her. One young guy, one old. Now that you’re on your way, I’ll sneak out and see if I can get close enough to have a look around. When you come, stop at the north end of the street and walk in. There are some trees that can keep you from sticking out like the giant bloke you are.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful. Somebody’s gonna have to get her the hell out of there while I clean up the mess.”

  That tells me all I need to know about Gavin’s intentions.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- Olivia

  It wasn’t a dream. I realize this with a fuzzy sense of panic as my hearing comes back on line like a flickering fluorescent bulb. I recognize the voices I’m hearing. They’re the same two I heard earlier. How much earlier, I don’t know. Time has slipped away from me altogether.

  “She’s waking up again,” I hear one say. “Give her some more.”

  I try to shake my head and tell them not to, but the slightest movement sends a sharp pain lancing through my skull and saliva gushing into my mouth. I hear a moaning sound and realize it’s me. That must be what the “no” that’s in my head sounds like out in the open air.

  “Hurry before that bitch starts screaming again.”

  I try again to dissuade them, but I only hear a garbled gurgling noise.

  My head spins and dips, even though my eyes are closed. The slow squish of blood through my veins sounds like a tired river inside my skull. I try again to speak. “Nooooo morrrrrrre.” The words are drawn out around a protracted moan.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “Pour some more on the cloth and hold it longer. Maybe you’re not giving her enough.”

  I whimper. I can’t help it. I know instinctively that they shouldn’t give me more. I feel like I’m barely hanging on as it is.

  “Too much,” I slur.

  One lowers his voice, but I can still hear him. “Is she supposed to sound like that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t think that elbow to the head did something to her, do you?”

  Elbow to the head?

  Fear brings just enough adrenaline with it to clear my head of the fog that muddles it. At least a little.

  I think back to the parking lot at school. I remember rolling down my window. I remember the cloth over my face. But then there’s a blank until I was being carried. Disjointed images from the underside of a bridge flash through my mind and I remember waking up as the two guys were transferring me into another vehicle. I remember kicking and screaming, clawing and biting until the one holding my upper body dropped me. I screamed and kicked harder with my feet until something dense and heavy hit me upside the head. And then there’s nothing again until I woke up tied to a bed in an otherwise empty room. I raised my head and started to look around just as the same young guy lunged at me with a rag in his hand. He smothered my face with it until blackness swallowed me again.

  That’s the last thing I remember until now.

  “We’re not supposed to kill her yet. Maybe just give her a little bit more, in case we need to wake her up and let someone talk to her or whatever.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  I feel tears running down my cheeks, but it’s an oddly detached sensation, like I’m feeling the warm streaks through a layer of fabric stretched over my skin. I try to open my eyes to see what’s going on, but they won’t cooperate. It’s a struggle just to draw one breath after another. My chest feels so heavy, the urge to sleep so very strong.

  The strength to fight eludes me when I feel the rag come across my face. I try to turn my head away, but the hand is persistent and I’m too weak. Vaguely, like smoke drifting through a room, it occurs to me that they might be giving me enough of whatever they’re using to cause permanent brain damage. I think of Dad and how heartbroken he’ll be. I think of Mom and how smug she’ll be. But most of all, I think of Cash. Of what his lips feel like, what his smile looks like. Of all the things I didn’t say, of all the things I’ll never get the chance to say now. Of how cowardly I was about telling him I love him. More tears course down my cheeks, fading, fading, fading until I feel them no more.

  And then all thought is gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR- Cash

  I know that, on top of the twenty or so traffic laws I’ve broken, I’ve also just been plain dumb. I don’t think I’ve ever made it across Atlanta faster, and during a busy time of the day, too. Weaving in and out of the flow, taking to the shoulder and emergency lane dozens of times to get around clogged spots, squeezing between cars to get through a slow place—none of it has been advisable. Getting myself killed trying to get to Olivia won’t do anybody any good. But still… that doesn’t seem to matter. All I can think of is what they might to do her, what they might’ve already done to her.

  I grit my teeth against the rage that floods my blood stream. If they’ve laid a hand on her… If they’ve harmed so much as one hair on her beautiful head… God forbid, if they’ve done things to her…

  Just the thought of the twisted things men like this do to women makes me feel both
sick and furious. I comfort myself with the thought that they haven’t had her very long. By the time I get there, it should be a couple of hours at the most. But to Olivia, the captive, that could feel like a lifetime.

  And it’s all your fault for dragging her into your mess to begin with.

  I twist the handlebar and throttle up even more, as though it’s possible to outrun my mistakes if I drive fast enough. It’s not, of course. There’s nothing I can do to reverse the damage. My only hope now is to fix it for the future. To make it so that she’s never in danger again. Even if it means becoming a criminal to do it.

  It goes against everything I am now, everything I believe in to turn in that direction. But I can say that I have a better understanding of my father’s motives now. Everything he did, he did for us. Even if it was incredibly stupid. I guess it’s just a matter of finding something or someone worth going to such extremes for.

  Like Olivia.

  Again, like a nightmare you can’t forget even after your eyes are open, I picture her screaming as faceless men torture her, tear at her clothes, touch her with their grimy hands. That’s when all my convictions go straight out the window. I would have no problem whatsoever taking the life of someone who would hurt her. None. I might live to regret it, but if it meant keeping her safe, my regret would only extend so far.

  The pit of my stomach churns with anger. My teeth grind with rage. My jaw aches from being clenched so tightly. Fury, like an uncontrollable animal, claws at the inside of my chest, desperate to get out and take its revenge.

  Cranking the throttle even higher, I speed toward Olivia.

  The rest of the short drive goes by in a blur of violent thoughts and horrific imaginations. By the time I drive past the street Gavin specified, I feel like I might explode if I don’t get my hands on someone, someone to pound my fists into until they’re lifeless beneath me.

  Parking my bike behind a red minivan, I walk casually down the street until I get back to the intersection just beyond where they’re holding Olivia. I stop at the stop sign and look both ways, taking in as much detail as I can without seeming suspicious.