“Yes, boss. Thank you, boss!”
* * * * *
Although Larissa found absolutely nothing amusing about the early arrival of Christmas, the fat thug’s pronouncement provoked a rift of nervous laughter from his companions.
The fat one wore his hair cornrowed straight back, three tattooed tears dripped from the corner of one eye, and the gold grill encasing his upper front teeth coordinated with the multitude of gold chains that hung from his neck.
None of them would have won any beauty contests, but this one especially was not the sort one would wish to meet in a secluded alley, especially while tied up and helpless. Worse, the knowledge that each tattooed tear was supposed to signify a person he’d killed made her wheezing suddenly accelerate. “Mmmph!” she grunted in frustration around the gag. “Mmmph!”
Gold Grill turned to the light-skinned one carrying the boom box. “Turn dat music down.” As the light-skinned one complied, the youngest-looking thug, who had a black doo-rag wrapped around his head and only one tattooed tear, leaned into the van and started to remove the gag.
“Naw, dog, don’ take that out,” said Gold Grill. “She gonna start screamin’.”
Larissa frantically shook her head in the negative.
The tallest of the motley group, with a long, narrow, homely face, had his hair drawn up into two pom-poms high up on his head. “Why she makin’ that noise?”
“She gots asthma,” Doo-rag answered.
Dime-sized stones that could only be cubic zirconias glinted in the ear lobes of the one with an overgrown, unkempt afro. “How da fuck you know?”
“My mom’s gots it, too.”
Were the morons going to stand here all day talking? Her kidnapper would be back soon. “Mmmph!” she tried again. “Mmmph!”
Gold Grill leaned into the van to leer at her. His eyes were utterly devoid of any humanity. Without even so much as a “May I”, he yanked up her tee shirt and sport bra, baring her breasts. The light-skinned one and Doo-rag appeared as shocked by the act as Larissa felt. When he squeezed her nipples, she grimaced and tried to shift away from him.
Doo-rag frowned. “What you doin’, dog?”
Gold Grill shoved one meaty hand between her thighs and squeezed, bruising the tender flesh there. “I’m gonna get me some dis.”
This ordeal just kept getting better and better. Traffic hummed a street over, and a car horn blared, but Larissa doubted many drivers ventured down this alley.
Doo-rag, his dark eyes disapproving, said, “Dog, we ain’t got time for that. Whoever b’longs to this truck gonna be comin’ back.”
Larissa nodded her head in frantic agreement. He was coming back, and they all needed to be gone before then. She’d worry later about what these men would do to her. Even though this particular man appeared set on raping her — and his companions might eventually decide they wanted their share as well — it seemed reasonable to assume that whatever they did to her wouldn’t be as bad as what Sparrow intended. If she calmly submitted, maybe they wouldn’t hurt her too badly.
Gold Grill climbed into the van. He pulled a large, chromed semi-automatic from under his oversized tee shirt, placed it on the floor of the vehicle beside her, and lowered his oversized pants to his knees.
She frantically shook her head. “Mmmph. Mmmph!” If the idiot would just remove the gag, she could warn him. Over the shoulders of the men outside the van, she spotted movement down the alley.
Oh, crap. It was too late.
Moving with his usual predatory grace, and with the ski mask already in place, her kidnapper silently closed the gap. The thugs’ attentions were all riveted on what was happening inside the van and so they were as yet unaware of his approach. She let her head thump back to the carpet as Gold Grill grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants and roughly yanked both them and her panties down.
Her kidnapper came to a stop directly behind the thugs. “You punks have made a huge fucking mistake.”
As one, they jumped and spun toward him. Gold Grill released his grip on her pants, leaving them bunched around her ankles. Yanking his own pants back up, he grabbed his weapon and crawled from the van.
With the understated confidence of a martial artist, her kidnapper stood there calmly, feet planted firmly, arms loose at his sides. Since they were five against his one, none of them seemed overly concerned by his unexpected return. Strangely, no one questioned that he was wearing a ski mask in the heat of summer. Perhaps in this neighborhood such details went unremarked.
Gold Grill was holding his weapon casually pointed at the ground. “Yo, who the fuck you callin’ punks? Bitch, you in our ‘hood now.”
“This may be your ‘hood’, but that doesn’t give you the right to break into my vehicle.”
An invisible fist clamped Larissa’s heart and squeezed tight. Despite everything, she didn’t want her kidnapper to be killed. However, if his death were the price for her salvation, then so be it. After all, whether he believed it or not, he was delivering her to her death.
“Yeah?” challenged Gold Grill. “Why you gots a woman tied up in yo’ ‘vehicle’?”
Her kidnapper shrugged, still looking confident and comfortable, arms still hanging loosely at his sides. “This woman is my wife and, what can I say, she’s kinky like that.” He locked his gaze on Gold Grill and, behind the mask, Larissa could see ice-cold rage in his eyes. “But it was a mistake for you to have put your hands on her.”
Evidently disconcerted by that fact that he evinced no fear, as most people would have when faced with such a dangerous-looking group, a few of the thugs shifted uneasily and exchanged worried glances. Apparently not as perceptive as his friends, Gold Grill snarled, “I just wanted the bitch to see what it’s like to have a real man.”
There was a lightning flash of movement as her kidnapper jabbed out one powerful arm and hit Gold Grill in the throat. The chromed weapon clattered to the alley as Gold Grill fell backwards into the van. The back of his head slammed painfully into her ribs and an elbow dug into her bare thigh as he thrashed, clutching his throat and making a garbled wheezing sound. The carpet was rough against her bare buttocks as she tried to scoot out from under him.
The thug with his hair in pom-poms had produced a revolver and was now aiming it at her kidnapper. Despite the weapon, Pom-poms was clearly frightened, his eyes showing white all around like a panicked horse.
Larissa’s heart surged into her throat. Her lungs seemed to clench, making it even more difficult to draw in each labored breath. If they killed her kidnapper, they’d have to kill her too, to eliminate the witness.
Her kidnapper spun on one foot and Pom-poms’ revolver went flying. Before Pom-poms recovered from the shock of being so easily disarmed, her kidnapper delivered an uppercut to his solar plexus. Breath exploded from Pom-poms’ lungs. He folded in half and dropped to his knees. Lacing his fingers into a single fist, her kidnapper hammered a blow down onto the nape of his neck, sending him sprawling face-forward onto the ground.
As Doo-rag lunged for the dropped revolver, her kidnapper grabbed his outstretched arm and spun, redirecting the thug’s forward momentum. Doo-rag slammed face-first into the side of the van, then dropped to the pavement like a bag of cement.
Only two now remained standing. The light-skinned one shuffled his feet uncertainly as a nervous tic yanked at the corner of one eye. The one with the long, unkempt afro clutched a slim, black butterfly knife. The cubic zirconias in his ears glittered, mirroring the adrenalized gleam in his wide eyes.
Her kidnapper extended his hands toward them, palms up, and waggled his fingers in a beckoning “come on” gesture. Almost faster than Larissa’s eye could follow, Afro flipped and twirled the blade in a complicated pattern, displaying an enviable coordination. “I’ll cut you up, motherfucker!”
Unlike Larissa, her kidnapper was clearly unimpressed. “Less talk, more action. I’m a little pressed for time.”
The thugs attacked as one. Her kidnapper deliv
ered a front snap-kick that caught the light-skinned thug in the pit of the stomach, lifting him onto his toes. He produced a strangled “Uhmpf!” before collapsing to his hands and knees, frantically trying to suck air into his lungs.
Simultaneously, her kidnapper avoided having his heart impaled by the simple expedient of sidestepping. As inertia carried Afro past him, her kidnapper drove an elbow into the side of his head, then pistoned a kick to his side. The thug slammed into the adjacent building, slid down the brick face, and lay crumpled in a heap.
Her kidnapper calmly grasped the hilt of the dropped knife, placed his booted foot on the blade, and snapped it in two. Retrieving the two dropped firearms from the ground, he placed them in the van, meeting Larissa’s panicked gaze for just a moment.
Gold Grill was still sprawled half on top of her, clutching his throat and making sounds like an injured animal. Her kidnapper grabbed him by his shirtfront, hauled him out of the van, then slammed him up against its side hard enough to rock the entire vehicle. “Enjoy hurting women? Let me give you a little taste of what it’s like.” He drew back and punched Gold Grill square in the chest.
As Gold Grill struggled to draw a breath, her kidnapper then proceeded to beat him. Larissa could only see a portion of what was happening, but she could clearly hear every meaty thunk as fist or foot impacted with flesh.
There was a sharp crack like a wooden Louisville Slugger breaking. The resulting scream was raw and shrill, scraping across her consciousness like a nightmare. Was he going to kill Gold Grill?
Doo-rag lurched to his feet. He took one wild-eyed look at the beating occurring less than ten feet from him, turned and, hitching up his oversized jeans with both hands, beat a hasty retreat down the alley.
From her limited vantage point inside the van, she couldn’t see any of the remaining three men although, over her own loud wheezing, she could barely hear Pom-Poms retching. Someone else was moaning and gasping for breath. The fourth was either unconscious or, like Doo-rag, had fled. In any case, her kidnapper was now focusing his attention solely upon Gold Grill.
She felt absolutely no pity for the man who’d intended to rape her. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and concentrated on sucking air into her constricted lungs while trying to block out the screams and cries of a man apparently being beat to death. There was another cracking sound, followed by another piercing scream that made every hair on her body stand upright.
Surely, someone would hear and call the police.
Then the sounds of the beating ceased, leaving only garbled moans and sobs. When a shadow fell across her face, she opened her eyes to find her kidnapper leaning inside the van. He tore the cardboard packaging from an inhaler and quickly removed the gag from her mouth. Cradling her head in one hand, he held the inhaler to her mouth and depressed it. She sucked in, held the breath for a moment, then broke off in a fit of coughing that ripped through her lungs like a saw blade.
When it subsided to where she could speak, she gasped, “Another.” He held the inhaler to her mouth and depressed it again.
Gently lowering her head, he tugged her bra and tee shirt back down into place. “Raise your hips.” When she obediently did so, he pulled her panties and pants back up.
“Another?” At her nod, he again cradled her head and held the inhaler to her mouth. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not as much as you are,” she managed to say before another fit of coughing overcame her.
Under the ski mask, his jaw clenched. He quickly freed one of her hands, pressed the inhaler into it, and slid the door closed. He had to force it completely shut, but the lock was clearly broken. With a curse, he climbed in the front and drove off.
* * * * *
Now that the momentum of his rage had slacked off, guilt ached away at the back of Chase’s skull. Jesus, that animal had nearly raped Larissa. What if he hadn’t gotten back in time? She must have been scared to death.
He’d driven several miles by the time she finally stopped coughing. Pulling into another alley, he stopped next to a row of trash dumpsters. The chromed .45 was a nice weapon and he wouldn’t have minded keeping it. Considering whom he’d taken it from though, it stood to reason that it may have been used during the commission of a crime. He unloaded and dismantled both weapons, and distributed the individual components amongst the dumpsters.
When he climbed back into the cargo compartment, she pleaded, “Please, I’m begging you. He’s going to kill me!”
“Save your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fuck you, then! I wish they’d killed you.” She struggled wildly as he shoved the gag back into her mouth again and then, armoring his heart against the mute appeal in her eyes, blindfolded her as Keswick had requested.
The sky clouded over as he drove toward Keswick’s estate. The grayness seemed to reflect the foreboding he felt, casting a pall of apprehension over him. When they finally reached Chatsworth, he pulled out the disposable cell phone and dialed Keswick.
“Yes?”
“We’re five minutes away.”
“I’ll be watching for you.”
The wrought-iron gate was opening before he’d even pulled to a complete stop before it. He drove up the long drive and killed the engine in front of the house. Keswick hurried down the wide, brick stairs to meet him. His brows rose at seeing the bruise at his temple. “How’d you get that?”
Gripped by a sudden, irrational anger toward the man, Chase barked, “Ask your wife.”
“Oh. Sorry. I did warn you to be careful.”
“It’ll take me a few minutes to release her.”
“Is she gagged and blind-folded?”
“And hobbled and handcuffed.”
“Bring her in like that. She’s gonna be pissed, and I don’t wanna be her next victim. I’m gonna have to keep her tied up until I’ve had a chance to calm her down.”
“What makes you so sure you’ll be able to?”
A broad grin split Keswick’s face and he lowered his voice. “I have a four-carat diamond ring waiting for her inside. When she sees it, she’ll be ready to drop to her knees and blow me right then and there.”
Chase barely managed to quell the murderous impulse to smash a fist into the grinning face. Obviously sensing his sudden rage, Keswick took an involuntary step back. He frowned at the vehicle’s broken side door. “What happened?”
“Some punks crowbarred the door when I stopped to buy her a new inhaler. You didn’t warn me that she had asthma.”
Keswick looked startled for a moment. “It totally slipped my mind. So, what happened with the punks?”
“I took care of them.”
“Are they dead?”
“No. But at least one of them will be visiting the emergency room.”
“Did they see your face?”
“No, but they saw Larissa’s.”
“That don’t matter. Go ahead and bring her in.”
CHAPTER 18
Brian Sparrow went back inside the house and watched as Mr. Special Forces helped the cunt out of the van. Seeing her again after two years made his dick swell at the thought of his impending revenge. She clutched something in one cuffed hand and, as promised, was gagged and blindfolded. It definitely wouldn’t do for her to get a look at him in front of Mr. Special Forces. She hadn’t seen him in two years but, even with his face and body altered, she might still recognize him.
But what was troubling Mr. Special Forces. The cunt had told him about “Brian Sparrow”. Was he now having second thoughts about delivering her?
Maybe he should simply kill the man. With him dead, there’d be no loose ends to worry about later. Not to mention the forty grand it would save. Once Mr. Special Forces was inside the house, he could open the desk drawer as if to get the money, pull out his revolver instead, and kill the man before he realized the danger.
The problem with this scenario was that one of his neighbors would hear the shot and call the police.
He could come up with
some pretense to lure the man out to his soundproofed “playroom”. But Mr. Special Forces would see what was inside the playroom before he could get the door closed behind them. The thought of what might then happen made his gut tighten. No, too risky. Besides, he might have need of his services again.
Sparrow grinned as the cunt fell to her knees, grasped Mr. Special Forces’ ankles, and pressed her forehead against his feet in an unmistakable gesture of pleading. Looking both angry and miserable, Mr. Special Forces hooked his hands under her armpits and hauled her to her feet. When she refused to walk, he hoisted her over his shoulder before grabbing a white plastic garbage bag from the van.
She struggled and fought as he carried her up the front steps. Sparrow held the door open and led the way into the living room. Grabbing a thick, leather belt, he silently directed Mr. Special Forces to deposit her onto the upholstered seat of an armless, wooden chair, then immediately wrapped the belt around both her and the chair, pinioning her arms to her sides.
Once he had it buckled snugly behind the chair, the cunt sat there with the apathetic despondency of one who has finally passed the point of hope. Sparrow hurried over to the desk, grabbed four paper-banded bundles of bills from a drawer, and motioned for Mr. Special Forces to follow him to the front door.
Once they’d stepped outside, he handed the money over. “Thank you. You don’t know how much Larissa’s return means to me.”
Mr. Special Forces took the four bundles and, with a distinct edge to his voice, said, “This marks the end of our association. Never contact me again.” When he turned and strode down the wide steps, Sparrow stared after him, seeing the anger manifesting itself in the line of his broad shoulders, in the fast, jerky movements.
Had Mr. Special Forces grown attached to the little cunt? How sweet.
He waited until the van pulled out of the long driveway onto the road, locked the front door, then moved to the speaker panel on the wall and pressed the button to close the front gate. He waited until it was fully shut, then headed through the house to make his long-awaited re-acquaintance with the cunt.
The Heart Has Reasons Page 20