Ridge Creek Reunited (Ridge Creek Duology)

by C L Green

  Assessing my surroundings I begrudgingly admit that I’m sitting in what most would consider a very nice car. I suppose I should be thankful that this time I’m traveling in style. Being kidnapped and traveling in style is much nicer than being thrown against your will into the back of a filthy truck.

  After a few more beats I also realize that this whole scenario doesn’t add up. Not only does the car not fit the profile of my supposed abductors, I doubt its good kidnapping practice to place a woman unrestrained in the back of a luxury car with her dog. Especially if you are ferrying her to her execution point.

  Which leads me to wonder what is going on here. Why am I not dead already? Couldn’t they have just shot me while I was knocked out and dropped me in one of those mine shafts Tony was planning on using the first time? Although I’m glad they didn’t because right now I’m thinking it’s not over till the Fat Lady sings.

  I’m still alive.

  And if I’m still alive, I can hold hope that Jake is alive and that Emma is already doing some computer magic to find me again. I can still hope that if I stay alive long enough, someone will find me.

  With more questions than answers running through my head I slowly realize that although the two men in the front seat have been talking animatedly in stilted and muted voices, they are in fact arguing.

  I instinctively move a hand to run my fingers across Pierre’s soft coat as he sleeps calmly in my lap. Luckily, he is oblivious to the turmoil swirling in my head and the fear now icing its way through my veins. Deep in puppy sleep, he merely sighs and continues to snore.

  Glancing out the window into the darkness, I note we’re nearing the outskirts of a large country town or small city. Already formulating ideas for escape, I start looking for signposts to gain an indication of our whereabouts. It’s only a few short seconds later that my interest piques at the topic of conversation in the front seat and I soon forget all about signposts.

  “We get her to a neurologist first and confirm you didn’t do any damage with your Tibetan Ninja crap. Then we find a veterinary clinic. Then and only then will I let you deal with my injury,” the man in the passenger seat announces in a rich, authoritative voice that surprises me. He sounds well-spoken, well-educated and sort of cool.

  My interest sparks further as I focus my attention on the back of his head and realize that this is the older man with the graying hair who pointed his gun at me earlier. The man I shot.

  “Surgeon first, she and the dog are fine,” the bald man in the driver’s seat responds quickly as he continues to focus on driving. “I’ve already told you sir, I knew what I was doing when I tapped her. You can keep fiddling and Googling on your phone all you like. You’re only going to find shit that says not to whack anyone on the head because it’s dangerous. Which is a good thing. Just think, if they advertised the real truth about how easy it is to put someone down with a precisely placed soft blow, every kid in Australia would be trying it. They’d try it on their enemies, they’d try it on their friends. They’d even try it on their families if they thought it was gunna save them doing homework. That’s when people would get hurt and end up with brain damage. I knew what I was doing. I just put her to sleep. She’s fine.”

  “Ritchie, I don’t think you have been listening to me at all,” the older man continues. “I said neurologist first, vet second, surgeon third. She clipped my side, we’ve stemmed the flow. I want them both checked and I want them checked first.”

  What the fuck?

  He wants a vet to look at Pierre before he gets his bullet wound attended to?

  I hear the man in the driver’s seat sigh. “Sir, a dog does not take priority over a bullet wound to your own person.”

  “Her dog does,” the older man snaps back instantly.

  I find myself blinking rapidly as I try to understand what the hell is going on.

  “The dog looks fine to me sir. He fell, he squeaked, he got up and ran to her.”

  “Exactly. He squeaked,” the older man fires back. “It hurt, he could be hurt. He needs to see a vet. You know I know dogs. Dogs mask pain. They do it involuntarily. Your job is to follow orders Ritchie. Now follow orders.”

  The man in the driver’s seat sighs. Leaning across to the center console of the car, he hits a button on a mobile phone sitting in a hands free cradle. Within seconds he starts talking. “Gina, we need a plastic surgeon, a general practitioner and a veterinary surgeon back at the house when we get there. Our ETA is sixteen minutes.”

  A woman’s voice responds, confused. “You’re not heading direct to the Health Service according to previous advice? Why do you need a veterinarian?”

  “On the first, he’s being an ass. On the second, she has a dog,” the driver informs the woman.

  “Okay, I’m on it,” the woman replies and the call finishes.

  “A General Practitioner is not a neurologist,” the man in the passenger seat barks half a second later. The driver appears to ignore him and keeps driving without another word.

  O-kaaay.

  Unless I’m seriously mistaken, these two do not sound like they plan to kill me.

  Why don’t they want to kill me?

  Then it dawns on me. I’m about to become a prisoner. Probably a well looked after prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless. Vincent Altieri must want me back to put his website back together. Which, begrudgingly I have to admit is a far smarter business idea than the one my idiot ex-boyfriend had. His idea to kill me and drop me in a mineshaft was not good business.

  Tony really was an idiot. A stupid idiot. Tony’s idea guaranteed that business came to a standstill. Vincent’s idea to keep me alive and no doubt chained to a computer means business resumes and continues to run.

  Oh dear.

  Sadly, this new twist of fate in my life could be even worse than death. Who wants to be held prisoner for the rest of their life? Right now most of the world thinks I’m dead and the only person I’m positive would be looking for me is Emma. I hope Jake is too, but I’m not even sure he’s alive.

  Shit oh dear.

  The worst part of all this?

  I was beginning to like Ridge Creek.

  A lot.

  Well not just like. Love.

  I love that it is not a bustling suburbia with people everywhere. I love that my new friends give it to me straight and don’t try to leave me in the dark. I love that from what I can see, people care about each other and are willing to literally kill for one another. And the final cherry on top of all that. The part I’ve known deep down for days now; I love Jake.

  Real love.

  Not just the weird attachment feeling I felt with Tony. Jake listens to me. Even when I’m flying off the handle and acting erratic. He calms me, makes me feel safe. Although if I get a chance to see him again, we are having a conversation about his new security system. It sucks and was clearly a fail.

  Therefore, to have aforesaid conversation, I need to know if he’s alive.

  If he is, then I have something to look forward to. Something worth fighting for. A reason to get out of whatever pickle I am in right now and get back to Ridge Creek.

  Deciding it’s high time I got some answers and figuring I have nothing to lose, I lean slightly forward and ask the question I so desperately need to know the answer to. “Did you kill my boyfriend?”

  Both men startle. Badly. Clearly neither was keeping a close eye on me or they would have at least known I was awake.

  “Pen… Arianna,” the older man says softly as he turns his head. “You’re finally awake.”

  “See sir,” the driver cuts in quickly. “I told you she would be fine. Admittedly she slept a bit longer than I’d expected but hey, it was the middle of the night, maybe she was just tired?”

  “Ritchie, shut the fuck up,” the older man growls as he swings his eyes to pin them on me. I’m once again struck by the colour of his eyes. An unusual blue for a man. Cornflower blue. Almost the same cornflower blue that I used to see when I looked i
n the mirror.

  “Arianna, how do you feel?” He asks, his eyes concerned.

  Annoyed that he is looking concerned, I repeat my question more abruptly. “Did you kill my boyfriend?”

  A look of confusion fleets across his face and he appears to struggle to find a response. “No,” he replies slowly. Relief washes over me and I slump back into my seat.

  Thank God.

  “The biker man did. Jake Holder. His brother Zane Holder, assisted.” He adds watching me carefully.

  What?

  I instantly stiffen again.

  He thinks I’m talking about Tony?

  “I didn’t mean asshole Tony,” I snap without thinking, “I meant Jake.”

  With fascination, I watch as my words hit home. Flaring his eyes wildly, he looks astounded.

  “You’re with the biker?” He asks hoarsely, emotion shredding his voice to pieces.

  “Of course I’m with the biker. Do you think I’d be calling that asshole Tony my boyfriend after what he did to me?” I snap, fury overtaking my body as it responds to subliminal messages of horror from my brain.

  Sensing the tension building beneath him, Pierre wakes up. Within a beat of opening his eyes, they lock on me and he jumps up, elated to see me. With his tongue slashing madly, he welcomes me as if I’ve been twelve months at sea. I feel my heart melt instantly and my anger mellows. “Hey baby boy,” I murmur to him as I start to rub his body all over while I continue to glare at the blue eyes still locked on mine.

  Those blue eyes already look different again. They look worried.

  “Did. You. Kill. My. Boyfriend?” I stilt out again.

  Maybe he’s deaf?

  “What did Tony Giotti do to you?” The older man continues ignoring my question.

  Not deaf, that’s a start.

  A wave of annoyance swamps me as frustrated, I realize I am getting nowhere with this conversation. Deciding the look on this man’s face means he’s missing some part of the big picture puzzle, I decide to give it to him. Putting both hands either side of Pierre’s head to hold him back from my face I announce slowly and clearly, “Tony Giotti beat the living shit of me. He dislocated my shoulder, broke some ribs and smashed my face within an inch of recognizability. He then raped me with a gun before shoving me in the back of a truck with an endgame of shooting me in the head and dropping me in a mineshaft. Luckily for me, I escaped before we made our mineshaft destination. The biker took me in, healed my body and gave me a home. He then set about righting whatever he could in my fucked up world. Now I need to know. Did. You. Fucking. Kill. Him?”

  My last sentence complete, a couple of things happen at once. First, the car swerves and falters a little before resuming its course. Almost like it is running out of petrol at the same time as trying not to run something over. The second, a look of absolute horror washes across the older man’s face. Blinking rapidly at me, his eyes blank out. He then turns slowly and slumps back into his seat, staring out the passenger side window. He doesn’t say another word.

  Frustrated at his lack of reply, I sigh angrily and I too slump back hard against my seat and begin to pay Pierre attention again. It would appear the conversation is over.

  We continue to drive in silence for a short while before the driver finally cuts in. “Sir,” he asks sounding concerned and reaching his arm out to place it on the older man’s shoulder. “Are you okay Sir? Have you lost too much blood?”

  The older man, still silent, does not respond. The driver once again asks, “Sir?”

  “Heads are going to fucking roll. You hear me? Every person associated with this whole fucking thing will regret every second that I lost. This is no longer a game. If I find out that bitch’s game playing caused this, she goes down. You hear me?” The older man states in a deadly tone.

  “I hear you Sir,” the driver says, “but I need to know if you are okay.”

  “No I am not okay,” the older man snaps. “You just heard what she said didn’t you. What the fuck did you hear in that conversation that would make you assume anything was okay?”

  “Sir, I hear you. I need to know about your body. Not your head. Your head I can’t do anything about right now. Your body I can.”

  “My body is fine…” The older man seems to lose track of the conversation and falls silent again.

  “The biker…” the old man mumbles almost to himself.

  “Our ETA is five minutes sir. From what I just heard I think I need to get a briefing from Alex and Joe so we can decide how we handle this. I’ll do it as soon as we get there.”

  Sighing, the older man agrees with the driver. “Agreed.”

  Scared, confused and pissed off all at the same time, I drop my head to Pierre’s face and breathe in the addictive smell of puppy. “Thank God you’re here,” I mumble to him. “If you weren’t I think I might have just thrown myself out of yet another moving vehicle for no reason. I don’t think these men are here to kill me.”

  *****

  We arrive a few short minutes later at what appears to be our destination. I figure this out by the sheer number of people who encircle the car on our arrival. Within milliseconds, the car becomes the center of a hive of activity. Our arrival gels more with my MC Hammer theory than the arrival of two villains with their captive (and her dog).

  Weird.

  The house we’re parked in front of looks stunning. Having turned off into a side street on the outskirts of the small city, I was surprised when a short time later we again slowed and pulled through two enormous wrought iron gates. The gates were flanked by high, cream colored concrete walls that were fitted out with chic lighting that shone down on small shrubs planted along the base of the wall.

  Very classy.

  The gates closed automatically behind us leaving us in a small, well lit courtyard with a small army descending on the car. A modern, cream rendered, double story house rises before us.

  Glancing around at all the people approaching the car, I instantly decide that all plans to escape are for the immediate future thwarted. There’s no way I can make a run for it now, there’s just too many people. I decide my best play is to keep quiet, stay calm and gather information on where I am and whom I’m with. I focus my attention on relaxing as best I can by concentrating on Pierre. I feel my heart rate start to slow.

  That is until doors on the car start opening and all hell breaks loose.

  The first door to open is the passenger side front. This is done by a tall guy in a black suit who instantly grabs the older man by the elbow and lifts him from the car. The older man shrugs the tall guys hand off and turns towards the back of the car to lock his eyes on me.

  Next, my door is yanked open by an Amazonian looking woman who looks about seven feet tall. She is wearing a grey suit with a white, button down shirt and her dark brown hair is dragged high on her head in a bun. She stoops down to the car as she opens the door. “Ms. Lovett,” she announces as she leans forward and holds her hand out for me to shake.

  I stare dumbly at her hand for a few beats and then slide my eyes to hers. They are dark brown too, almost as dark as her hair. She stares at me, her eyes intelligent as they assess me for a brief moment before she continues. “Right, you don’t know what’s going on then. In that case, give me your dog and follow me. Let me assure you, you are now safe. Let us have the doctor look you over, we’ll have your dog checked out and then we can arrange for you to spend some time catching up with Mr Bradford.”

  What the?

  I cast my eyes back to where the older man is still staring at me looking stiff and concerned. I can now see the shine of blood on his black shirt near his hip. He’s holding his bunched up jacket pressed against his side. It too is shiny with the blood it’s been soaking up as we drove along.

  Confused and slightly fascinated at this whole turn of events I decide to nod and hand Pierre to the woman. The older man looks slightly relieved as I make my own way and alight from the car. “My name is Gina,” the woman an
nounces quickly as she turns and strides towards the house. “Follow me.”

  Casting another glance towards the man, I notice he is again studying me silently, his face emotionless. I stare boldly at him for a few beats before I look away and follow Gina.

  *****

  My next half hour is a whirlwind. Chaperoned inside the house, I’m taken to a large bedroom on the first floor where Gina informs me a Doctor and Veterinarian already await my arrival. Gina ushers me inside the room where she hands Pierre to one of the men and leaves.

  Realizing I’m now unsupervised, I do the obvious. I quickly announce to the two men in the room that I’ve been kidnapped and they need to help me escape. They both look at each other for a few moments and then the man not holding Pierre, a medium height man with mousy brown hair and gray eyes approaches me. “Indeed. Let’s take a look at you first.”

  Unsure what to think of that response, I comply. Letting him usher me to the bed, I take a seat while he goes about his business checking my blood pressure, asking me questions, flashing lights in my eyes and tapping my knees with a reflex hammer.

  While he does this, the other man examines Pierre - to the best of his abilities. I say to the best of his abilities because Pierre sure gives him a run for his money. Pierre, fully rejuvenated after a nap in the car, is incapable of standing still. I’m also suspicious he needs to go to the toilet, badly. Wiggling and flopping about on the bed, I watch as he gets even more excited about all the attention from the vet and starts panting loudly, slobber pouring from his mouth drowning both the bed and the man examining him.

  Both men finish their examinations quickly. Placing Pierre on the floor, the vet announces that Pierre is in excellent health. The Doctor advises me of the same and they both leave.

  Leave without another word.

  What the?

  Do they not care that I’ve been kidnapped? They must be on Vincent’s payroll too.