The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  She listened for their footsteps, but they moved too quietly. Even the reverberating thuds muted so she didn’t feel the vibrations through the floor.

  Was this a ploy? A trick to flush her out of hiding? Or were they really going downstairs to search floor by floor?

  They’d find her eventually. The building was big, but when it came to hiding spaces, there were relatively few as far as she’d seen. Sam had only managed to find this cubby hole on accident. She’d tripped, falling practically on her face. If it wasn’t for having her ear pressed to the ground, she might have never heard the muffled shout. If they found flashlights or were able to flip the breakers for this floor, they’d see her between the slats.

  A foot scraped not far away.

  Oh God…

  They hadn’t left.

  She pinched her nose to keep from gasping.

  They were still there. Just out of sight.

  What did she do? Where did she go? How was she going to get out of this?

  The panic threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to crawl under something and just die, rather than have them find her. But if she did that…there would be no more family dinners. No more game nights when Rashae visited. She wouldn’t sip expensive champagne from Solo cups with Kaily. And she sure as hell would never make love to Oliver after making up from that stupid, ridiculous fight over Lily.

  Sam had to get a hold of herself.

  It was fine to be scared. Normal. But she couldn’t let it control her.

  She swallowed and drew in a slow, deep breath.

  “She must have gone to a different floor,” Silence muttered.

  “I told you.” Death’s footsteps were heavier now.

  They moved quietly, but every so often she caught the sound of a voice, the scrape of a foot or movement.

  What should she do? Stay where she was and hope for rescue? Or try to get away? What was the right choice?

  This wasn’t a movie. It was her life, and she needed to be smart about what she did.

  Chances were, someone was only just now discovering she was gone. Oliver was angry with her. Her father wasn’t speaking to her. And both her mother and Lily had tried to check in with her before work. None of them would attempt to rattle her out of her cage until they were on their way home. And even then, they might just give her space.

  She had to operate under the assumption that no one was looking for her. That help was not on its way. And she was alone. If they killed her, her body would be cold before someone even knew where to start looking.

  Which meant she had to save herself.

  What did she know?

  There were two men, probably armed, out there looking for her. They meant to keep her for however long they needed to, then kill her, if she was lucky. If she wasn’t, she’d probably wish she was dead. There were things worth than death in this world and she didn’t begin to assume they couldn’t happen to her.

  She needed a weapon. Something to defend herself with. And a way out.

  After freeing herself from the break-room-apartment, she’d gone up one floor in the hopes that her kidnappers would go downstairs after her. Instead, they’d split up and boxed her in. Which meant she’d either left some sort of sign of her passing, or there were cameras. If she ran for it again, she’d have to be conscious of what areas had electricity, cameras and the like.

  Sam sucked down another deep breath, then began peering around between the cracks, looking for some sign of a camera or lights. Nothing stuck out to her. They hadn’t come close to where she was, so maybe—if there were cameras—they were outside the break room downstairs.

  They were in some sort of…warehouse or office space. The break room had looked out on a large storage area three floors down. It was big enough for eighteen wheelers to pull straight through for loading and unloading. The floor she’d retreated to was mostly open, with a cluster of rooms on one side and debris scattered around.

  She scooted out of her hiding spot, still sticking close to the wall her crate-hiding spot had been braced again. She spied what appeared to be the broken leg of a chair. One end was smooth and tapered, while the other end sported a few screws and splintered wood. They weren’t nails or barbed wire like Lucille, the terrifying baseball bat carried by Negan in The Walking Dead, but it would do.

  Somewhat armed, she pushed to her feet. Samantha didn’t head toward the staircase she’d come up. They’d followed not far behind her when she’d gone that way.

  There appeared to be another stair at the far end of the building. But would that mean an exposed descent?

  She edged closer to the dirty windows and peered out. This wasn’t the DC metro area, that was for sure. Maybe a suburb? There were houses in the distance, lots of trees, and what looked like a pasture. Nearby, there were a few other dilapidated buildings. But no people. No signs of life.

  They weren’t kidding when they said there was no one around to hear her scream.

  She was on her own.

  Samantha picked up a piece of metal rebar on her way to the other side of the building. It wasn’t much, but she had a ghost of a prayer defending herself if it came to that. There wasn’t a world where her, one-forty soaking wet, could go hand to hand with a man close to two hundred pounds and almost a foot taller than her.

  The stairs on this end were in bad need of repair. Unlike the metal grate stairs she’d come up, these were wooden and rotting out in places. Still, it was her best chance at getting out of here.

  She put her makeshift bat and metal rod in her right hand and gripped the rickety railing with her left. It stood to reason that the stairs would be stronger at the sides, where people might not have worn them down as much with their comings and goings. And she wanted to swing with her dominant arm if it came to that.

  It was slow going, picking her way down the creaky stairs, trying to be as quiet as a mouse while also listening for Death and Silence, as she’d dubbed them. She made it to the first landing, halfway between the floors, without incident. Both her arms and legs felt like jelly. She crouched on the landing and peered down below.

  At least she’d worn jeans and sneakers today. This whole thing would be a lot more difficult if she’d been dressed for the press or work.

  There wasn’t a sound or a bit of movement below.

  Did she dare?

  If she wanted out of here, she didn’t have a choice.

  She’d have to take a risk. Make a move. Run for it.

  She grasped the rail and slowly descended, wincing as one and then another plank groaned under her weight.

  At the end of the hall, on the same level she’d been held, a small, red light hung just below the ceiling on the other side.

  A camera.

  Fuck her luck.

  Sam ducked around the corner and down again. She had to stretch to skip a stair that seemed too precarious to chance. Her toe hit the sketchy-looking plank. A piece broke off, clattering onto the stairs below.

  “Hey!”

  “You hear that?”

  “Yeah, over there.”

  Samantha’s heart jumped up into her throat and she froze.

  They were coming for her.

  Oliver pulled his car into the parking lot of a… watermill? It looked like one of those places people could refill water jugs for fountains. The blue and white windmill looking thing was a waystation, and the last place he could find evidence of the secondary vehicle Sam had disappeared in.

  He killed the engine and got out.

  The sleepy little town was a good forty-five minute drive from the edge of DC. It’d taken him an hour and a half to get here from downtown. It’d easily taken as long—if not longer—for Sam’s captors to get here in traffic.

  He turned in a circle. This part of the town was dead. During the day it likely saw more activity, what with the warehouses and all, but right now, he was the only soul around. Even the street lights were dark.

  Where did he even begin? It wasn’t like he had anyone aro
und to ask if they’d seen an attractive, black woman recently.

  He could call the cops, but they would probably phone the DC Metro Police and then Oliver would be lucky if he had a job. He’d go door to door if it meant finding Sam, but these were businesses. Warehouses. Office spaces. No one was home to bug. To ask.

  Maybe he could check the forums again. See if anyone had another lead for him. One more sighting could help narrow down where—and what—he was looking for.

  He could—

  A single blast rocked the quiet, still night.

  For a moment Oliver froze.

  It’d been so long since he’d heard a gun fired he didn’t remember what it sounded like. Until now.

  And it’d come from the old, broken down warehouse on the hill.

  18.

  Sam took the stairs up two at a time. Death and Silence were behind her. They had to be.

  She leaped over the broken stair onto the landing and up to the second floor. Feet pounded behind her. She had to make a run for it. There wasn’t time to hide, to do anything but sprint for her life.

  The second floor was open to the warehouse on one side, and bordered with offices on the other. She couldn’t go carefully, either. She flew down the walkway, the men yelling behind her. She spared a glance, but couldn’t see anyone.

  Had they fallen prey to the rickety stairs?

  She could only hope.

  Though she’d never wished ill on another human being, she hoped they fell through the stairs and broke their legs.

  Her arms pumped at her sides, the makeshift bat and iron bar throwing her off balance, but she didn’t dare drop them. They were all she had left.

  She reached the front staircase before the first of the two men made it to the walkway.

  If she kept going, she could get out of here. She was almost free.

  Sam charged down the stairs. Unlike the treacherous rear stair, this one was poured concrete and clear of debris. She took them two and three at a time, careening down with all the speed she could muster.

  A few more stairs.

  Around the corner.

  Out the door.

  And she’d be free.

  Almost there!

  She focused on that last leap to the warehouse floor.

  A man stepped out of the shadows.

  Death.

  “No!”

  She couldn’t stop her momentum. One foot hit the ground and she nearly face-planted into Death’s chest. She lost her grip on the rebar and it clattered to the ground. She swung with the bat, but her strength wasn’t in it.

  The man grasped her by the shirt and hauled her sideways.

  If Death had his way, he’d put a bullet in her. If she wanted to live, if she wanted to get away, she had to fight.

  Sam swung with her right hand. It was just a chair leg, but it was all she had.

  The business end of her club thwacked Death upside the head. She felt the splatter of something wet.

  He cried out, let go of her, and pressed his hand to his head.

  It’d…worked.

  She swung again before he could grab her, before he could go for her gun. He was still between her and the door. She had to get out of here before Silence came back. Before he got to them.

  The end of her bat connected with Death’s jaw. He reeled backward and the gun clattered to the floor.

  She scrambled for the firearm. She’d never shot one in her life, she didn’t know how to use it, what made it fire—but they didn’t know that.

  Sam hit the ground, feeling for the firearm.

  There!

  She wrapped her hands around the handle, trading her club for the gun. If she could bluff her way out of here…

  Death straightened, his glare firmly on her.

  “Give that to me,” he said.

  “No. I just want to leave. That’s it. I won’t say anything.”

  Lie. Lie Lie.

  She’d scream it to high heaven.

  “You aren’t going anywhere.” Death stalked two steps toward her, not a single glance at the gun in her hands. It was as if he knew she was incapable of pulling that trigger.

  Oh, God…

  She backed up, stepping on something that shifted under her. She yelped and squeezed the gun.

  Bam!

  “No!” She screamed and braced herself for the pain, the feel of Death’s blow.

  Her arms jumped.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  And nothing happened.

  Sam blinked, but Death was gone. Where’d he go?

  “Uuhhh…”

  She jumped at the gurgled groan.

  Death lay on the concrete floor of the entry, one leg drawn up, arms spread wide, what little light there was reflecting off his eyes. A large stain spread across his pale shirt.

  She dropped the gun and covered her mouth.

  Had she…?

  Oh, God…

  She hadn’t meant to!

  “Josh? Josh!”

  Silence lurched out of the shadows past her and went to his knees next to his fallen friend.

  What had she done?

  She’d killed a man… Oh, God, she’d killed him.

  Oliver charged up the hill, cutting across the green way and the gravel parking log. His heart pounded so hard it was hard to hear anything over the rush of blood.

  Was that yelling?

  That was yelling.

  Was it Samantha?

  Had she been shot?

  Or was it someone else?

  “Sir? Sir, I need you to stay on the line.” The nine-one-one operator wouldn’t stop asking questions and he couldn’t answer them all.

  He barely knew where he was, much less if anyone was hurt.

  Oliver jabbed the mute button and shoved the phone in his pocket. The full moon provided enough light to see by outside, but the inside of the five story brick building was a mystery. He jogged the length of the structure to what appeared to have once been the main entrance.

  There was the SUV. The same one that’d been in all the pictures. And lying just under the front fender, wrapped around the tire, was Sam’s jacket.

  “No!” a female voice screamed.

  He knew that voice.

  It was the one that spoke to his heart.

  That was Sam.

  His Sam.

  And she was in trouble.

  Oliver bolted around the corner. The front of the building was boarded up, but part of the wood was pulled away to create a door-flap.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  Someone—at least one person—was definitely armed with a gun, and he thought he’d just run in there with nothing to defend himself? Nothing to protect Sam with? He couldn’t stand here, though, while God only knew what happened to her.

  He grabbed a fist sized rock in either hand from up against the building and peered into the dark depths of the building.

  Oliver couldn’t risk calling out. If all he had was the element of surprise he needed to keep that on his side.

  But…Sam…

  “Up against the wall, bitch!”

  The voice came from his left.

  Oliver squeezed through the space. He didn’t dare touch anything, for fear of making nose. Of alerting whoever was holding her that he was there. He might only get once shot at rescuing her.

  The entry was narrower, the width of an eighteen-wheeler, plus a good ten feet or so to allow for clearance. Once this place would have been a bustling industry, fed by the river and trade, but no longer. It was a hollowed out shell. A death trap.

  Inside, there was no light. Just thick swaths of darkness. He pushed forward, feeling his way along the wall while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  He stepped in something wet. Water? What was that?

  Oliver glanced down.

  A bit of moonlight reflected off a pool of liquid. The lumpy form next to it wasn’t building materials or cast off furniture.

  It was a man.

&nbs
p; A man who, until very recently, had been part of the kidnapping plot.

  Oliver’s stomach churned. The death was wrong, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to pity the man, whoever he was. He’d taken Sam from Oliver. He knew what happened in situations like these. Sam was in danger. She could have been the one to die.

  “No, please, no. I didn’t mean to!”

  Sam!

  Oliver stepped over the fallen figure and into the main warehouse. He peered to his left. Two dozen feet or so away, was the worst sight of his life.

  Sam up against a wall, a man’s hand around her throat, and a gun pressed to her skull.

  This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it.

  Oliver’s vision narrowed to the man. And Sam.

  He picked his way forward, the rocks heavy in his hands.

  “I am going to end you, understand?” The man holding her had no issue with being heard or keeping his voice down.

  “I didn’t mean to. It just went off. I’m sorry, oh God, I’m sorry.” Sam sobbed, both hands wrapped around the gunman’s wrist. If she opened her eyes, she’d see him.

  Oliver prayed she kept those beautiful eyes shut.

  Twelve feet…

  “You shot him. You. Shot. Him. How the… You shot him! That is my brother, man. My brother!”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I don’t care what the bitch says, you die.”

  “No, please, no.”

  Six feet…

  “This? This is for my brother.” The gunman pulled the firearm back and grasped the slide.

  Now. Oliver had to act now, before there was a bullet in the chamber.

  He lunged forward, his only thought to get Sam free. The roar of rage rolled up from deep inside him. The gunman started. Oliver brought the full weight of both stones down to bear on the man. One hit the gunman’s head, the other glanced off and hit his shoulder. Oliver lost his grip on the second, but not the first.

  The gunman staggered back.

  “Oliver! No!” Sam shrieked.

  He grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt as he raised the gun up. Oliver threw his full weight behind the blow, ramming the rock into the guy’s face. Again. And again. He got in three punches before the gunman regrouped and clocked Oliver in the temple with the butt of the weapon. His vision faded, going dark for a moment.