11

by Kylie Brant

  Mia had been on her knees, but they slipped out from beneath her now and she submerged under water. Her feet scrambled beneath her, tried to get purchase. She pushed against the bottom with her bound arms, attempting to arch her body out of the water. She broke the surface, sputtering and gasping. The tiny taste of oxygen was all she got before he repeated the action, the movement sending the water sloshing over her head.

  The container began to fill rapidly as he swung it back and forth on the cradle. She choked and gagged, water up her nose, down her throat, and burning a path to her lungs. Mia tried to get her feet set against the glass so she could rise to a half sitting position, but the constant motion made it impossible. Each time he swung the Plexiglas box she was knocked off balance and slipped under the liquid again.

  She was drowning. Panic surged. Water surrounded her, filling her sinuses. Trachea. Chest. Her lungs expanded, swelling with the need for oxygen. Then burst, as she coughed and inhaled more liquid, her body flailing as she gagged repeatedly, each time swallowing more water.

  Mia wasn’t sure how long it was before she was aware the container had stilled. She was resting on the bottom of it, stomach cramping as she retched violently. The last few inches of liquid seeped slowly down the drain. The sound of the trap closing again made her stomach lurch. “No,” she croaked, too weak to push herself up. “Not again.”

  “Yes again and often. Until you’ve learned complete submission.”

  The sound of his voice ignited a quick and steady flare of hate. Mia felt the mist starting. The trickle from the hose streamed down the wall and began to pool around her body. “I’ll be back soon to help you again. And afterwards you can join Thirteen in boot camp for a group lesson. I’ll show you just how much I missed you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, revulsion washing through her. And wondered just how long it would take her to forget what it had ever felt like to be free.

  * * * *

  A band of tension was squeezing him, making it impossible to remain still. Jude crawled up beside Hunter who looked unsurprised at his presence. “Still no sign of him.”

  Frustrated, Jude raised his binoculars. There’d been no point in watching guests mingling at the party. The man he was interested in was no longer present, and hadn’t been for the last twenty minutes.

  “What the hell is he doing in there?” The question scraped at Jude’s nerves. “He’s got a yard full of guests and according to the showroom saleslady I talked to, this is a pretty big deal for the business.” At first he’d thought the man had meant to get in a car and leave, but Hunter had reported differently. “I need a look inside that garage.”

  At that moment Davis exited a side door on the structure, carefully locking it behind him. He adjusted something on the doorjamb and then turned and strolled back toward the party, his stance jaunty. Rejoining his guests, Davis snatched a drink off a tray held by a waiter and turned to a group of people who were conversing.

  “Cocky little prick,” Hunter muttered. He and Jude were lying side by side on their bellies a hundred yards out in the tall prairie grass, which, after several hours was beginning to feel like lying on a bed of needles.

  Jude was studying the garage. “No windows. And no question that the doors are alarmed.” He looked at his operative. “So if we can’t get through the window or door, how do we get in?”

  They answered in unison. “Through the wall.”

  Twenty-five minutes later Jude was crouched behind the detached garage, with a cordless Sawzall, two twelve-inch blades and an extra battery. After fetching the purchases in town, Hunter had resumed his previous position. The vantage point would give him a view of Jude and anyone who might approach from either side of the structure. Behind Hunter were acres of tall grass riddled with wildflowers. As long as he stayed flat, he had some cover from anyone going by on the road out front. Jude would be more visible.

  Wearing the gloves Hunter had bought, Jude stuffed the packaging he’d removed from the products back into the bag. He fit the blade into the saw and turned it on. The product was labeled as low noise output, but it seemed ridiculously loud to him. He turned it off again. Called Hunter. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Relief filled Jude as he disconnected. If the operative couldn’t hear the sound of the saw, there was no chance that someone at the party could, especially with a band playing. Restarting the instrument, he cut through the exterior siding, put it aside. Then he set the saw to the drywall. Didn’t get far before striking something unforgiving. Thinking he’d hit a beam, Jude moved the blade to the left six inches and tried again with the same result.

  He stopped to look at the blade. It was already bent in one place. What the hell? This time he cut away just a piece of dry wall large enough that he could use the light on his cell to peer inside it. Cement.

  “I’m going to the east side.” Picking up the tools, but not the debris, Jude went to the corner of the structure and peered around it.

  “What?” Hunter’s voice on the cell was apprehensive. “Why? You’re in full view of the road from there.”

  “I hit concrete block. I’m going to try closer to the front.”

  “Not exactly stealthy, but I’ll shift over. Try to keep both sides in view.”

  Jude moved halfway down the east wall of the garage. Hunter was right. The house was set deeply back from the road, but the detached structure was far closer to it. Four hundred feet maybe. And he’d be clearly visible to any vehicle going by or to a late arriving guest. It was still light. He could only hope that anyone catching sight of him would think he was working for the owners.

  He had better luck with the Sawzall at the new location and it wasn’t long before he had cut away a big enough piece of drywall. He removed it. The wall studs were set sixteen inches apart, but that gave him ample room to wiggle inside.

  Turning, he reached out a hand and gripped the piece of drywall he’d cut away and pull it over the hole. The result likely wasn’t going to stand up to close scrutiny, but it was better than leaving the hole there for someone to see. Satisfied, Jude stood up and looked around.

  It was a roomy area, with easily enough space for four cars. The attached garage at the house was similar in size. But there was only one vehicle in this one. A functional workbench stood on one wall with a sink tucked into the adjacent corner. Next to the sink were four floor-to-ceiling shelving units. Assorted lawn equipment hung neatly on hooks across the garage.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  Jude gave a grim smile. It was always far worse being the guy on the outside. The not knowing was nerve-wracking. “Not much. Just a garage with a piece of shit vehicle in it.” He started toward the car. “Why would the Davises have a piece of shit car?”

  “For slumming? Is it locked?”

  Jude was in the process of discovering that for himself. “Nope.” He leaned in the passenger door he’d opened and checked the glove box. Found the registration. “Bruce Sullivan. See what you can find out about him.” He shut the glove box. Backed out of the vehicle and straightened to look around. There was a large garbage bag, the kind that lined big trash bins, lying on the floor about six feet from the car’s back bumper. Jude looked into it. Empty. He looked back at the car, swamped by a feeling of foreboding. “You got anything for me yet?”

  “He’s on some social media sites. Here. I’m going to send you a pic from his LinkedIn page.” The man broke off for a moment. “Jude, it lists him as working security at the Davison.”

  A moment later he was looking at the photo Hunter had sent him. He swore an oath. “This is one of the guys that jumped me the other day.” Adrenaline, mingled with a singular dread, was pumping through him. “He snatched her. And then he brought her directly to Davis.”

  “That’s enough then. Let’s get the cops in here.”

  “It’s enough for me. Maybe not for a warrant. The Davis family has a lot of influence.” And it wasn’t enough for Mia. Anxiou
sly he scanned the interior again. Where the hell had Davis taken her? “Give me more time.” Mia had said there were stairs where she’d been kept, he recalled and checked the walls carefully for any sign of a concealed passageway. That could be the answer. Perhaps she was even now being held below this structure with the other victims. But if that were the case, there would still need to be a staircase to access the basement.

  Jude looked around the interior with new interest. “What would you guess were the dimensions of this structure?”

  “Fifty by fifty, maybe.”

  Almost square. Jude walked the area, making a mental estimation. “I wouldn’t guess the inside as more than fifty by forty.” The cement he’d hit on the back wall. The connection finally hit him. “He’s got a hidden room.” One that ran the width of the building and perhaps housed a stairwell that would take him to Mia.

  He went to the back wall and began to examine it inch by inch. Then looked at the shelving. Reaching out a hand, he gave one of the shelves a tug. It held fast. Bolted to the wall. He started shoving items aside to better inspect the sheetrock. And finally found the switch cleverly concealed nearly behind the side of the metal shelf closest to the sink. When he pushed it the expanse of sheetrock and shelving swung open. “I’m going in,” he said to Hunter. “I’ll keep you posted.” He tucked the phone away in his jeans pocket and stepped inside the shadowy interior.

  Dim recessed lighting punctuated the ceiling. Jude had expected to find himself at the top of a staircase. Instead he walked through the passageway into an image from hell. “Mia!” She was lying still, so still in a large glass case that almost looked like a coffin. Water was dribbling into it. The liquid swirled beneath her, around her, high enough to reach her elegant cheekbones. When he rushed to her side she turned her face to look at him, eyes wide and frightened, and the tidal wave of relief was nearly debilitating. She was alive.

  “What the hell?”

  He ran his hands over the clear box she was in. Saw the latches attaching the top to the body of the vessel.

  “There are locks on the lid.”

  “I see them.” His fingers felt fat and clumsy as he undid each one, but he couldn’t remove it without dealing with the hose attaching to the lid. Rounding the case, he shut off the faucet mounted on the wall. Then went back to unscrew the hose from the top. The lid was surprisingly heavy. As he lifted it off, Mia lurched upward, water streaming from her hair. She half leaped into his arms as he reached for her. “Oh, God, baby.” He held her tight, the feel of her an exquisite pleasure he’d feared he’d never experience again. His shirt was saturated from holding her soaked body, but it didn’t account for the moisture in his eyes. “What the hell did he do to you?” He reared back, took her face in his hands, anxiety riding him. “What is that thing?”

  She shuddered against him and burrowed more closely in his arms. “A chamber he had made to teach me obedience. It fills up…” She swallowed hard. “It’s like drowning. I thought I was dying. Then he emptied it but he’s coming back to do it again. We have to get out of here…”

  Spying a towel in the corner he led her over to it, bent to snatch it up. He wrapped it around her and tried to beat back the rage that threatened to engulf him. Drowning. The strange box in the corner took on a newly sinister appearance. And if Jude had his way, Davis would be the next one to feel its effects.

  “Did you see a staircase in here anywhere?” When she looked confused, he added, “I thought maybe he might have the women kept under this place.”

  Doubtfully, she looked around. I don’t think so. When I escaped and ran up those stone steps I was outside. I think…” Her gaze fixed on the enclosure next to them with its padded walls. “I think that might be his boot camp. And I know someone is in there. Thirteen, he called her. He said…tonight. We’d all be together tonight.”

  Jude went to the door of the space. Instead of a doorknob it had a keyless entry. He drew a quick mental blueprint. The section of space they were standing in was L-shaped but small, the area taken up mostly by the cupboards, counter and the vessel he’d found Mia in. The way the next room jutted out it almost seemed as though it was barely an alcove. But there had to be an additional space inside it that was at least forty feet by ten.

  “Can you get her out?”

  “I don’t know.” He went over and scrutinized the padding on the wall. Slid his hand beneath it. “Concrete. The whole back wall is, so I imagine that these interior ones back here are, too.” He pulled out his phone to call Hunter. Noticed he’d missed a text a couple minutes ago. Likely when he was lifting Mia out of that sick bastard’s torture chamber. He read the message. Froze.

  He’s coming.

  Springing into action he hurried her out of the room with one arm clamped across her back. “Quick. He’s on his way.” He felt the sudden violent shudder that went through her as he rushed her across the garage floor to the gap he’d cut in the wall. Davis would pay. Dearly. But not until Jude was sure Mia was safe.

  They heard a slight noise. A shoe on gravel, just outside the side door. “Get down and crawl through there. Head north, left, and run like hell. Hunter’s in the tall grass beyond the yard. Hurry!”

  She crouched down to crawl through it. Hesitated. Turning, she rose to grab his arm, her voice insistent. “You’ll come right after me?”

  “I will. Go!”

  But she was barely through the hole when the side door pushed open. Jude had a split second to make a decision. And turned to face the man that was entering.

  Anthony Davis took several steps inside before he stopped. Caught sight of the opening to his hidden room and his jaw dropped. “No!” His voice was anguished. Enraged. He started toward it. Noticed Jude.

  “Yes.” He stepped away from the wall, saw Davis’ gaze go to the area he’d cut out of it. “You do have the damnedest time hanging on to her.”

  “What have you done with Eleven?” The anguish was gone, leaving pure fury in the man’s tone.

  “Mia.” Jude gritted the word as he stalked toward him. “Her name is Mia, you sick fuck. The only time you’ll see her again is when she’s testifying against you. But before things get that far, you answer to me.”

  “You think I’m afraid of you? You? With your chewed up face, scuttling around stealing other people’s possessions?” Davis took two quick steps to the workbench. Grabbed a crowbar that was hanging above it. “I’ll smash your skull and go back to my party. Tell everyone I walked in on you as you killed Sullivan after he kidnapped the girl for you, then turned on me.”

  Jude glanced at the car, realization blooming. “He’s in the trunk?”

  Davis smiled. Came closer, hefting the instrument threateningly. “Where you put him. The two of you planned to frame me. You broke in to allow him inside.”

  “Nice try.” He scanned the area for a weapon. Davis held the most lethal one. He went to the opposite wall and took down a spade. Cocked it like a bat and stepped toward the other man. “How do you expect to counter Mia’s version of events?” The rage drumming through him turned to ice. “The way you tried to drown her.” While Jude watched from afar wondering what the hell the man had been doing in the garage. A fist of guilt clenched in his chest.

  “No one will listen to Eleven.” He came near enough for a practice swing, dancing away when Jude stabbed at him with the shovel. “The didn’t believe her last time. She has no credibility.” Davis swung the crowbar and connected with the handle that Jude held horizontally to take the blow. The vibration from the connection thrummed through the wood. He switched positions to swing it at the other man and caught him in the shoulder with the metal blade. Smiled at his exclamation of pain. “You’ve got a heavier weapon, but shorter reach.” They circled, each looking for an opening. Parrying. “You’re going to have to get closer than that.”

  “Am I?” Davis swung again then backed up a few steps. “I like my odds.”

  Jude’s gaze went to the opening in the wall behind him. The
other man was positioning himself to make a run for it, he realized. “Maybe you’ve got another weapon inside there. In case you need to protect yourself from the women you’ve tortured for years.”

  “Taught.” The man punctuated the word with a swing that Jude warded off. “Perfected. They are thankful for being selected. There’s not one who will say otherwise.” Unexpectedly he launched the crowbar at Jude and he ducked. It missed his head and slammed into his shoulder. Shockwaves of pain eddied down his arm. He launched himself at Davis, still carrying the shovel. The man scrambled for something in a box on the shelf. Then turned, a gun aimed at Jude’s midsection.

  He skidded to a halt. Backed up.

  “I think you’ll agree the odds are in my favor.” Davis stalked toward him.

  Time slowed. Jude’s training in close combat situations clicked in. There were handgun disarm techniques, but the timing was crucial. The move dangerous. “The question is, do you know how to use it?” He inched closer as he said the words.

  “Want to find out? Get on your knees. Now. Now!”

  “Okay, take it easy.” Slowly he started to a kneeling position. Davis was following his movement closely. “Don’t sho—” Jude lunged forward, grabbing for the man’s wrist at the same time Davis pulled the trigger.

  * * * *

  The shot echoed across the grass. Some of the party guests turned. Others fled behind the house. Mia and Hunter had been running across the tall grass beyond the garage, away from the property. The sound halted her in her tracks. She jerked around. “Jude.”

  Hunter stopped, too. He was bare-chested, having given his shirt to Mia, and his jaw clenched as he looked behind him. Then after a fraction of a moment, he put his arm around her and propelled her forward. “He’s fine.” She heard the lie in his words. “My job is to get you out of here.”