Whiskey Flight

by Violet Howe

  I shut my eyes and swallowed down the nausea that overcame me. The confirmation that I hadn’t been crazy about all these little things gave me no comfort. Instead, I felt violated. Exposed. Threatened.

  “You’re nuts,” Burly Man told him. “You were supposed to be discreet. Unseen. You’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

  “I had to do something to pass the time in that boring ass town. I felt like I’d been banished to the ends of the earth with this assignment. Luckily, Danielle was beautiful and easy to watch.”

  Opening my eyes, I glared at him, wishing my hatred and anger could somehow set him ablaze. Instead, he chuckled and reached to adjust the rearview mirror to make it easier for him to look me in the eye.

  “I enjoyed my view immensely. Tell me, though. How long did you search for that silky red nightie you were sure you’d tossed across the chair in your bedroom? It smelled so damned lovely I had to take it home with me.”

  Burly Man clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Better not let anyone else hear you say that. You only thought you’d been banished before. They find out you were screwing around and playing games or getting some kind of personal pleasure out of this, you’re done for.”

  “No harm was done, was it, Danielle?” He winked at me in the mirror, and I looked away again. “I even bought her a round at the bar to make up for the whiskey I drank. I always pay my debts. And then tonight, karma rewarded me, and you fell into my arms. Would you believe I worked at that shithole of a store when I was a teenager? They still don’t lock the back door. Makes it easier for the night cashier to sneak out back and meet a friend for a smoke.”

  He slowed the car and turned right into a gated neighborhood. My hopes rose when I saw a guarded entrance, but then Metro Man took to the far-right lane and a gate opened without him needing to get clearance, squashing any opportunity for me to scream for help.

  As we wound around through the neighborhood, each house grew larger and more grandiose than the last. Any one of them could be considered an estate on its own with large sloping yards and winding driveways. The deeper in we went, the more mature the trees were and the farther off the road the houses were set, and soon, the homes weren’t even visible in the darkness, their presence only indicated by the occasional driveway gate and the distant flickering of lights behind the trees.

  The road seemed to stretch forever ahead of us, and I marveled at the massive size of the neighborhood. For the most part, there had been few walls or fences marking the property lines, but after rounding a wide curve, we came upon a stone wall at least ten feet high that ran alongside the right edge of the road. Once we’d reached its driveway, the wall curved back from the road leading to massive wrought iron gates set between two stone pillars that looked like castle bastions. Metro Man pulled into the drive and then stopped the car as two men dressed in black and carrying huge black guns stepped forward in front of the gate.

  The men separated and walked down each side of the car, their guns pointed at us, and I held my breath, fearful the sound of bullets might pierce the air as Metro Man opened his window and leaned out with a little wave.

  “We’ve got a package for delivery. We’re expected.”

  The men outside the car nodded to each other and then one of them did some sort of signal with his arm, and the gate began to swing open.

  As we moved through the enormous gates, any hope left in my heart dissipated. Tristan had probably stormed the hotel by now and found Seth. Seth would have been able to bring him up to speed, and they would have set out looking for me with a description of Victor and his men, hitting all the area’s airstrips first since Seth knew Victor intended to fly.

  But even if they found Victor and stopped him from fleeing the country, they wouldn’t find me. I pictured Seth’s frustration and agony when he discovered I was no longer with Victor, and for the first time since Metro Man had taken me as his captive, I imagined what Victor’s reaction might be to losing me after going to such lengths to get me back.

  Would Victor know who these people were? Would he come for me in some ill-fated rescue attempt? Or after everything that had transpired, would he cut his losses and leave without me, choosing freedom over his misguided notion of love?

  The driveway meandered through the woods, the pitch-black darkness dotted with low lights on either side of the road every hundred feet or so. With every twist and turn of the drive, my heart sank further and my hopes for escape diminished. Even if I found a way out of wherever they were taking me and managed to make my way back to the road without being caught, how the hell would I scale that wall?

  Eventually, we came into a clearing, at the back of which sat the largest house I’d ever seen, and that was based only on what was illuminated by spotlights since the rest disappeared into the night. It was literally a castle, with stone turrets and a large wooden bridge suspended by chains over a narrow moat of water. If I had been able to hold onto a shred of hope before, it would have been extinguished by this formidable fortress. I wondered if it had been built to keep its inhabitants safe or to keep them from escaping.

  Metro Man drove us over the wooden bridge and beneath the tall archway that led to a graveled central courtyard. The building surrounded us on all sides, and two men stood sentry on either side of the double doors at the center of the wall facing us.

  They moved forward as Metro Man put the car in park, and then the larger of the two opened my door. I shrank back from him, recoiling when my back hit Burly Man’s shoulder, and then, to my surprise, the towering hulk of a man who’d opened my door smiled at me and extended his hand as though I was a princess arriving for afternoon tea.

  He frowned as he took in my restraints, and then he leaned forward to glare at Burly Man.

  “Why is she tied up?”

  Burly Man pointed toward Metro Man, who had already gotten out of the car and was talking with the other sentry.

  “Ask him. I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the giant reached into his pocket and grabbed a knife, severing the zip ties and freeing my hands and feet as he mumbled something I couldn’t make out.

  He took my hands and examined my raw and red wrists, and then he pulled me gently from the car. His kindness caught me off-guard, and though a voice in the back of my head screamed at me to run or to at least put up a fight once I was out of the car, I did neither.

  Maybe it was exhaustion from lack of sleep, lack of food, too much whiskey and too much fear, or perhaps it was common sense and the knowledge that I wouldn’t get far—likely not even past the giant—but my feet followed the giant inside to find a huge foyer with two-story ceilings and a garish crystal chandelier hanging between two curving stairwells.

  He called out for someone named Bea, and a short, elderly lady wearing a gray maid’s uniform came through a doorway at the back of the entry hall.

  “Here you are,” she said, smiling wide as though she was greeting an expected guest she’d longed to see. “Let me show you to your room.”

  The surrealness of the environment led me to wonder if I’d been knocked unconscious and was having some sort of bizarre dream, which seemed infinitely more plausible than the Mafia being this hospitable to their kidnapping victims.

  “The idiot tied her wrists,” the giant said. “Can you clean them up?”

  “Of course.”

  She held my hands to examine my wrists, her white hair close enough to my nostrils for me to smell the green apple scent of her hairspray.

  “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll get some salve and bandages on these.”

  Giving my hands a tender squeeze, she released them and turned to go, and with a glance over my shoulder at the giant, I followed her.

  The amount of shock I’d sustained in the past few hours had begun to overwhelm my senses, and a numbness seeped through me as I walked behind Bea up the wide wooden staircase. I knew I needed to figure out where I was, who had abducted me and why, and most imp
ortantly, how to get free, but for the moment, I was content to catch my breath. My fear hadn’t lessened, but without the imminent threat of being beaten or tortured, my heart slowed its frantic pace and my thoughts became calmer and more analytical.

  Physical escape seemed pretty much off the table as an option, so I would need to determine who had the potential to be an ally, and this maid with the kind smile and the green apple hair seemed like as good a place as any to start.

  Twelve

  Bea turned left at the top of the stairs and led me down a wide hallway lined with doors. The third door on the right was ajar, and she stepped inside, swinging the door open wide as she turned and swept her arm toward the room to invite me in.

  “Here we are,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Your favorite whiskey has been placed there on the sideboard with a bucket of ice. I’m told that’s how you like it. Shall I pour you some?”

  What the hell? Did they treat all their kidnapping victims this well before they murdered them? “Um, no, thanks.”

  “Would you like a different cold beverage? Or perhaps a hot one?”

  Even though I was thirsty and would have loved either the whiskey or some water, I shook my head. Given the circumstances, I didn’t trust anything I might be given.

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” Bea said with a smile. “Now, I’ll go and get some first aid supplies for your wrists and leave you to settle in.”

  Settle in? Her welcoming speech was more appropriate for a bed and breakfast hostess than a servant of the Mafia. Had I stepped into an alternate universe? Who were these people? Why had they taken me and what plans did they have for me? Did they mean to kill me with kindness?

  Bea didn’t wait for any reply on my part, which was great since I was too stunned to give her one.

  As soon as she’d left the room and closed the door, I headed straight to the window and pulled back the heavy moss-colored silk drapes and the thick blind. Nothing but pitch blackness greeted me, so devoid of any light or shadow that I suspected the window had been blacked out or covered with a film.

  After checking the other window and finding the same, I turned and went to the door, opening it slowly and pausing as it creaked. I peeked my head out into the hallway and looked first to the right and then to the left, and then I made my way toward the stairs, frowning when I saw the giant standing sentry by the front door.

  He gave a nod of acknowledgment, and I lifted my hand in an awkward wave and then retreated back into the room and closed the door.

  Despite their warm welcome, it appeared I was still a prisoner under guard. The calming numbness that had overtaken me when I’d arrived began to evaporate, and my heart resumed its frantic pace as I searched the room for a phone or anything to identify my captors. The search proved fruitless. My luxurious prison cell had every comfort one might need for a short stay but lacked any communication devices or ties to the world outside its walls.

  Defeated and back to feeling hopeless, I flopped down on the chaise lounge in the corner and stared at my surroundings. The opulent room with its soft moss-greens and creamy peaches and taupes was a far cry from the motel I’d left behind. The king-sized four-poster bed had a plush tapestry duvet and eight thick, fluffy pillows stacked neatly against the headboard, and I yearned to crawl beneath the covers and shut my eyes, blocking out reality and all that came with it.

  “May I come in?” Bea knocked as she said it but entered without waiting for a response. “Come and sit here on the bed, and I’ll get you cleaned up.”

  Once again, her nonchalant and easygoing demeanor threw me off. My mind kept telling me to stay on high alert and look for any advantage or route of escape, but in Bea’s comforting presence, the risk of danger seemed far removed.

  Following her instruction, I moved to sit on the side the bed as she adjusted the lamp on the nightstand so its beam would shine on my wrists. She hummed as she worked, her touch gentle, and despite the obvious implications, I couldn’t make my mind accept that this seemingly sweet-natured and caring person worked for the Mafia and assisted them in holding people against their will.

  Yet, she must have some inkling of what was happening. After all, she hadn’t shown any surprise or curiosity at a stranger being dropped off at the front door in the middle of the night, and she hadn’t seemed the least bit shocked or alarmed to learn that my wrists had been secured with a zip tie. Based on her reaction when I’d arrived, she’d been expecting me. A room had been chosen and the lights turned on ahead of time with my favorite drink on hand.

  What did she think was the reason for my being there? Did she know I had been kidnapped? Did it matter? Seemingly oblivious to my fear and my plight, she went about applying a thick salve to the raw spots on my wrists and then wrapping them in a thin gauze bandaging.

  “Bea?” I asked when she was nearly done.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I need your help,” I whispered, wary of what I was doing but determined to move forward.

  She looked up at me for the first time since she’d began seeing to my wrists, her blue eyes clear and framed by deep laugh lines. Surely, this lady wasn’t associated with killers. She couldn’t be. She was someone’s grandma; I was sure of it.

  I cleared my throat and blurted out the words before I lost my courage. “I’ve been brought here against my will.”

  She bent her head and went back to work on my wrists as though I’d not spoken at all.

  Unwilling to give up just yet, I leaned in closer. “I need you to call someone for me.”

  With a tender pat on my arm, she had finished securing my bandage, and she stood upright and put her hands on her hips, surveying her handiwork. “That should do it. That salve is like a miracle cure, I tell you. You’ll be surprised how much better your wrists look if you leave those bandages on for a few hours. All the redness will be gone.”

  As she tidied up and gathered her supplies, she began to hum again with no acknowledgment of anything I’d said.

  Desperate for her help and fearing who might come once she’d left, I tried again. “Bea, please. If you could just call this number—” I reached into my pocket for Tristan’s number, but the piece of paper wasn’t there. Had I dropped it at the store? Had someone taken it during the brief time I was unconscious? My panic level rose, and I began to cry. “Please help me.”

  Wordlessly, she walked toward the door, but then she stopped and looked back at me, her hand on the knob and her eyes still just as kind as ever.

  “Pull yourself together, dear, and muster some strength. They prey on weakness, and they thrive on fear. Don’t let them see your backbone bend.”

  “Who is they?”

  One eyebrow arched, and the corner of her mouth rose in a smirk. “The family, dear. You know, the one you married into. Who did you think? I suggest you get some rest. It’s my understanding you won’t be here long.”

  When she’d gone, she took with her any comfort her presence had given, and my mind raced anew with terror at the confirmation of what I suppose I’d already known. The family. The Mafia. The people Victor had betrayed. He said he’d done it for me, and now, it seemed I would be required to pay the price for my choices and his.

  Thirteen

  Lying back across the lush duvet, I covered my eyes with my arm and fought against the tears. Bea was right. I had to pull myself together. Falling apart would do me no good, and I needed to keep my wits about me. I focused on taking deep, slow breaths, and in my exhausted state, it must have worked a little too well.

  I didn’t know I was dreaming at first. I opened my eyes to my bedroom back in Chicago, in the house I’d loved and painstakingly restored. It was all there—everything I’d had to pack up or give away or leave behind. The tapestry I’d found at a street market hung on the wall above my antique bed. The tall, thin paper lantern sculpture from the little art gallery two blocks over sat in the corner, and the multi-colored glass chimes hanging in front of the window scattered the
sun’s rays across the room in rainbow prism splashes of color.

  The smell of frying bacon wafted through the air, and I arched my back and stretched my arms above my head, yawning. I stood and wandered down the hall, wrapping my robe around me and tying it at the waist as I went. In my dream state, I was blissfully unaware of anything that had gone awry in the past two years, and I smiled at the thought of the day ahead with my husband.

  As I neared the kitchen, I recognized the tune Victor was whistling. It was from an old black and white movie we’d watched the night before. We hadn’t made it to the end. As often happened with us, we’d gotten preoccupied with passion, preferring our own love story to any other we watched.

  I opened my mouth to tell him good morning as I entered the kitchen, but I stopped, my mouth and eyes both opened wide at the sight of Seth sitting at the kitchen table.

  My heart leapt with joy, and I ran over and threw my arms around him. He stood, laughing as he held me tightly and spun me in a circle, and then he set me back down.

  “I finally made it,” he said with the smile I adored, his chocolate-brown eyes dancing with obvious delight. “It took me a while, but I’m here!”

  “What do you mean?” My brow furrowed, and I cocked my head to the side, hoping it meant what I thought it did. “You’re here, like you moved here? You came to Chicago for me?”

  “Of course,” Seth said. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

  “Oh my gosh!” I hugged him so tightly that he grunted and reached to loosen my grip around his ribs.

  “I can’t breathe, D,” he said, laughing. “Let’s go see the city. I want you to show me everything. All your favorite spots. Share it all with me.”

  He bent his head to kiss me, and I stretched onto my tiptoes, eager to welcome him.

  “Danielle?” Victor called from behind me, and I whirled at the sound of his voice.