I had to let them think I was playing defense, saving my own skin, when really I was on the offense. I had to lead them away from Bianca without getting myself killed.
I wanted to laugh. Super fucking easy, right? Yeah, piece of cake. I was a regular ol’ James Bond here. I wasn’t going to get out of here by overpowering these fuckers physically, not with Not-Brock out there armed with bullets and eighty-thousand volts.
Where could I lead them where Bianca wouldn’t be? And how could I get away from there without them killing me?”
“I’m going to ask one more time,” Stalker raised his fist again. “Where is she?”
I hated this fucker. If I wasn’t tied to a sink I would have been able to take him, easy. He probably had fifteen years on me, and weighed as much as my left nut. His fist was also tiny, but I wasn’t going to make small hand jokes in my current position.
The idea hit me like a swift kick to the rib. I blinked as a plan came into focus. I might fuck it up, but I had to get out of this bathroom. I licked my lips, tasting blood. “Yeah, you’re right. She’s just a girl. No way am I fucking up my future for her. I’ll tell you where she is.”
Not-Brock loomed in the doorway. “Where?”
“An old farmhouse at the edge of campus behind the health center.” Stalker’s eyes gleamed. “You’ll have to take me though, or you’ll never find it. Plus, she’ll come out easily if I call to her.”
“And she’s there now?” Stalker asked.
I nodded. “She was waiting for me. I was going to head there after the party.”
After that, my hands were cut from the pipe, and another set of zip ties placed around my wrists, locking them together. After a punch to my stomach, Not-Brock made me tell him the directions to the house. They dragged me outside, and I had a chance to glance at the motel sign, lit up in the dark, before I was shoved into the trunk of a car. The lid shut, and I was plunged into darkness.
My heart was pounding so hard, I feared I’d have a fucking stroke or heart attack, all alone in the fucking blackness of a car trunk. I swallowed and worked on my breathing again. I had to do something before they reached the farmhouse. I knew which motel we were at, some seedy one that rented by the hour near the truck stop at the Parksburg interstate exit. If I had to guess, I had about ten minutes before we reached the farmhouse. Not much time.
I had to get these damn zip ties off my hands, or I wasn’t going to be worth shit. I remembered a video I’d watched with Shane on how to use shoelaces to cut through zip ties. Now I just had to retrieve my shoelaces in the darkness of the trunk and saw at the zip ties until they broke. Cool. No problem. Except the car was some old tiny piece of shit and I had inches to spare between the lid and my face.
The car started and began to move, which only added to my problem because my body kept sliding all around. “Motherfucker!” I hollered, just because it felt good and eased the crushing anxiety in my chest. “Focus, Lavin,” I whispered to myself. “Fucking focus.”
Thank fuck for Dad making me do yoga, because I had the flexibility to spread my legs until my knees were at my ears. I groped blindly for my shoelaces, feeling like fucking Beatrix Kiddo in that buried coffin. When my fingers tangled in the cord-like laces of my dress shoes, I breathed out a sigh of relief, until whoever was driving took a turn, sending my shoulder crashing into the side of the trunk. I grunted out a curse before reaching again for my laces. It took fucking-for-ever, but I managed to untie my shoes. The laces were short so I pulled them out of the first couple of holes on each foot. “Thank you, Clark Kent, for wearing shoes,” I muttered.
By the time I was finished, my hands were slimy with cold sweat, and I was heaving with the effort. My legs ached from the awkward position.
I fumbled, needing to get a lace through the small gap in the zip ties between my wrists, before I tied a lace from each shoe together. Then I’d pump my legs like I was riding a bicycle until the friction broke the tie.
Just my life, before I could do it, the car stopped, and doors opened and shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted, dropping my legs flat just as the lid of the trunk popped open and Not-Brock glared at me.
He didn’t say a word just hauled me out of the trunk like I weighed nothing. I’d really only traded one darkness for another, because the sun hadn’t risen yet. I had no idea what time it was. How long had I been passed out on that bathroom floor? It had to be morning soon, right? Unless… fuck I hoped I hadn’t been out longer than that.
I took in my surroundings as I tried to swallow around the dry lump of cotton in my throat. The farmhouse stood in front of us, silent, dark, and creepy as always. The field in front of the house was a mix of weeds, rocks and gravel. Not-Brock stood slightly in front of me to my right, and Stalker stood beside him. They hadn’t noticed my laces were untied…yet.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Not-Brock snarled as he stared up at the house.
I bit my lip, wondering how far I could get if I took off now, but the gun at Not-Brock’s back made me pause. Before I could even contemplate my next step, Stalker changed the whole damn game. In a fluid movement I didn’t think he was capable of, Stalker reached into Not-Brock’s waistband, pulled out the gun with a long silencer attached, and shot Not-Brock in the back of the head.
The man’s skull caved in, and he crashed to the ground like a fucking redwood in a forest. I didn’t scream. I didn’t yell. I didn’t do a damn thing except stare in horror at the dead man at our feet. This was what shock felt like, I thought, as I stared at the carnage.
And that was when I knew that Stalker was going to kill me. Hands down, I wasn’t getting out of here alive. He would shoot me like he shot his former partner in crime. I began to shake, my mind finally letting me process that I might never see my dads again. Or my friends. Or… Bianca.
Fuck, I was going to lose it. My breath was coming fast, hot pants of white steam in front of my face. I felt a tug on my arm as Stalker wasted no time and hauled me toward the house, that fucking gun in his hand. We stepped over the body of Not-Brock, and I stumbled because of my unlaced shoes. As I landed on top of the dead man, my hands brushed a familiar metal rectangle.
“Get. Up.” Stalker barked at me at me, and I wrapped my fingers around the stun gun, pulling it from Not-Brock’s belt clip and covering it with my fist as I was hauled back to my feet and dragged toward the house.
“He thought we were taking Bianca as ransom for money from her supposedly rich parents.” His lip curled. “But I was just using him for muscle to get what I want. I’m not giving Bianca up for any amount of money.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Bianca’s future,” he snapped at me.
I almost said, over my dead body, but I thought better of it because I was sure getting Bianca over my dead body was exactly what he had planned.
“I was nice,” he hissed, bony fingers digging into my arm as we drew closer to the house. “I sent flowers and love notes. There was no reason for her to ignore me. No reason!” He turned wild eyes on me. “She owes me. For every flower. Every penny. She’ll pay me back.”
Bianca’s words about nice guys floated back to me as if in a dream. Fuck, she’d been right. Every damn word. Nice guys could fuck right off.
I gripped the stun gun tighter, unsure if I was going to need it, but the heavy feel of it in my hands made the panic ease somewhat in my chest. He hauled me through the front door, keeping his hand on my arm the whole time. We stopped right inside, and I blinked so my eyes would adjust to the darkness. The grimy windows didn’t let much moonlight through.
Stalker repositioned his grip on my arm, holding even tighter. Fuck, I’d been hoping I could direct him to the hole in the floorboards, but with his death grip on my arm, he’d bring me down with him. Along with the gun, which was sure to be aimed right at my head by then. I didn’t want my damn head blown off by poor Not-Brock. The guy was a prick, kidnapper, and ransomer, but I didn’t think he deserved to d
ie.
“Where is she?” His voice shook, and I wondered if it was from excitement from getting close to Bianca or from fear. This house was right out of a scary movie, and he didn’t even see the bathroom yet, which looked like the scene of a slaughter with stains all over the walls and tub enamel.
I swallowed, knowing this was my only chance of getting out of here. If I didn’t play this right, I was fucked. I nodded toward the back of the darkened house. “She’s upstairs, back staircase.”
“Call to her.”
Shit, I needed him to walk farther into the house.
“Uh, okay, but she might not hear me. She sleeps with headphones on.”
The gun pressed against my side, digging into my ribs. I sucked in a breath as a bead of sweat dripped down my neck. “Call. To. Her.”
“Bianca!” My voice was hoarse as shit. If Bianca actually was here, she’d know something was up. “I’m back. Wanna come down?”
We waited. Of course imaginary Bianca didn’t call back. Or trot down the stairs. Because she wasn’t fucking here.
Stalker shook me so hard that my teeth rattled. “I don’t like this. If you’re lying to me, what I did to Stan is going to look like a love tap.”
Awesome. Cool. Great.
“We can go get her,” I said. “Just walk straight back to the staircase.”
The gun prodded me. “You first.”
I exhaled. Good, I needed to lead the way or we’d never get where we needed to go. I began to walk slowly, counting my steps as we drew further into the center of the room. My gaze darted around, taking in the old braided rug and couch along the far wall. Just a few more paces and we’d be exactly where we needed to be.
Just then, he wrenched my arm back. I stumbled, but regained my footing as his hot breath whispered in my ear. “I don’t believe you. I don’t think she’s here. There’s no electricity. You’re telling me she’s sleeping up there in the cold?”
My heart pounded against my ribcage, and white noise roared through my ears. It was now or never. I wasn’t where I wanted to be, but this would have to fucking do or he was going to shoot a hole between my eyes. My fingers felt around the stun gun, sending a silent thank you to Pop for teaching me how these things worked. My finger ran over the switch.
This was it. It either worked or it didn’t, but I had no choice. I was dead if I did nothing. I inhaled and with a jerk, twisted my body so the muzzle was no longer pressed against my ribs. I swung my hand around, pressed the stun gun to the soft skin of Stalker’s waist, and flicked the switch of the stun gun.
Stalker cried out. The gun went off, firing a shot into the floor close enough to my feet that an inch closer and I would have lost a toe. Stalker’s body seized before he crashed to the floor. I wasn’t sure how long this crazy fucker would stay down, so I kicked the gun out of his hand, listening as it crashed through a window and landed somewhere in the backyard. With as much strength as I could muster, I raised my leg and sent my foot crashing into the floorboard near his head.
The rotting wood crumbled beneath my foot, caving in along with the surrounding floorboards, like ice cracking in the middle of the lake. Stalker’s body went sliding into the hole I’d created. I leaped back, landing on my back with a crash. With my hands still tied at my front, I used my legs to shuffle out of the way of the sinkhole of flooring so I didn’t fall into the basement pit with the crazy asshole.
He landed in the dirt below with a thud and a screech. I didn’t waste time or try to be the fucking hero. I had to get the fuck out there, and I had to do it before he regained full use of his body. I sat down, tied the shoelaces together with trembling hands, and sawed the laces together until the zip-ties snapped. I leaped to my feet, kicking off my untied shoes because they’d only slow me down. When I glanced down into the hole, there was a bit of movement along with some garbled yells as the effects of the stun gun began to wear off.
That was all I needed to know. I took off out of the house like a bat out of hell. I tore across the field and onto the road, my gravel ripping through my socks and digging into my feet. I didn’t stop, even though each breath felt like I was inhaling fire. I had to get help, I had to warn Bianca, and then I needed to make sure my brain wasn’t a pile of mush in my head from getting knocked around.
I took a turn wide, my feet killing me, just as an SUV squealed around the corner going probably double the speed limit. I waved my hands just as it screeched to a halt in front of me, the headlights temporarily blinding me. I was sure I looked a pretty picture, my wrists bleeding, no fucking shoes. I couldn’t imagine what was going on with my face, but I knew it was bloody.
I made eye contact with the driver, hoping they didn’t take one look at me and drive away. My gaze landed on a pair of familiar brown eyes and my knees buckled. “Pop,” I croaked out.
The passenger door flew open and a body flew at me, all black hair and long limbs. Lavin!” Bianca’s call was a soul-deep cry. She sounded like a wounded bird.
Arms wrapped around my middle, hauling me to my feet, as her hands gripped my head gently. “Oh my God,” she cried, her whole body shaking as tears fell from her eyes like a damn waterfall. “Oh my God. Oh my God!”
Pop’s voice was in my ear. “Got you now, son. You’re all right.” He dragged me toward the car with an arm around my waist just as a police car sped around the corner, sirens and lights on, which did nothing to ease the aching in my head.
“The house,” I said. “Farmhouse. One guy dead outside the other is in the basement. Not sure how long he’ll be there. They wanted Bianca. Damn, my head hurts.”
Ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. My body was jostled. I was laid down on something soft and white. My hand was squeezed, and Pop’s deep voice murmured some words to someone else.
Bianca’s face swam into my vision and that was the last thing I saw before something pricked my arm and I closed my eyes.
Eighteen
Is That a Dog on a Segway?
When I woke, I was in a hospital bed, an IV in my left hand, and Bianca on a chair beside the bed, her head bent as she wrote on the back of my right hand with a black Sharpie. I winced, my head feeling fuzzy, thankful that the lights in room were dimmed and the curtain was drawn shut over the big window.
I flexed my fingers, and Bianca’s head shot up, her eyes wide. She clasped her hands over her mouth, and then face-planted onto my stomach, her arms wrapping around my waist. “Oh my God,” she mumbled into sheet wrapped around me. “Oh my God.”
I patted the top of her head. “Hey you.”
Her head came up, her eyes brimming with tears. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged, and that pulled on the strained muscles of my shoulders. Fucking trunk. “I’m sore. Head hurts a bit.”
“Your dads are here,” she said. “They left to go get something to eat.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Don’t worry about me.” She pressed a button beside the bed. “I need to let the nurse know you’re awake.” She pulled back and gave my hand a squeeze. “When I saw you in the headlights of your dad’s car…” She shook her head, a shudder wracking her body. “I couldn’t breathe.”
“What happened? After I passed out?”
“The police went to the house. They found one guy dead on the front lawn and another stumbling out of the basement. They arrested him, and that’s all I know for now. How did they get to you? At the party, I waited ten minutes after you went outside before I knew something was wrong. I called your dad and the police right away.” Her hand fluttered over her stomach. “I just had this sick feeling. I knew. I knew.”
“Well, you were right.” I gave her an abridged version of what happened, trying to spare her from the worst of it, but there wasn’t a way to avoid telling her I watched a big man get his head blown off.
By the time I was finished, her shoulders were trembling as she held my hand in a death grip. “I can’t believe you did what you did.” Her mood switched on
a dime, and she smacked me on the arm, her expression quickly tightening. “You could have gotten killed.”
“They were going to kill me anyway.”
“But leading them to that house? What were you thinking?”
“I don’t really know what I was thinking. But they got ’em, B. The guy in the basement? He was your stalker. Creepy as fuck.”
Her lips pressed together. “I knew I was being selfish.” Shit, the tears were spilling over now, falling down her cheeks. She furiously wiped at her chin as the tears dripped onto the bed. “And look what happened! All because of me.” She sucked in a breath and looked down at the floor. “So fucking selfish, B,” she muttered to herself.
“Hey,” I touched her cheek. “It’s over now, all right? All over. Now you need to nurse me back to health.” I went for a grin, but she didn’t look at all appeased. A sliver of dread snaked its way into my heart. Would she go back to modeling now that the threat was over? Coach’s words bounced around in my head. She’s meant for better things. “Will you—?”
“Lavin!” Dad’s voice cut me off as he hurried to the side of my bed. Pop strode in after him, then the nurse, and before I could finish my question to Bianca, she’d slipped from the room, mumbling something about coffee.
The next few moments were a blur. Pop explained that he found where I was because while Not-Brock had taken my watch from me, he’d kept it in his pocket, so Pop tracked it until they found me in the middle of the street looking like road kill. It was what I suspected—these guys weren’t seasoned criminals. It was one obsessed weirdo and his muscled up sidekick.
From Dad, there was a lot of fawning and fussing and sniffing. After an MRI, which revealed no issues, I was brought back to the room. The doctors wanted to keep me one night just to be sure I had no other side effects from getting knocked around a bit.
After police questioning and a quick talk with Bianca’s private investigator, I was fucking exhausted. My dads left, instructing me to rest, and I did for a while until a noise brought me awake.
FALSE 9: Red Card Series Page 21