And here I am: a prisoner, alive. For now.
I twist and turn, but all it does is make the restraints cut painfully into my skin. Yet the friction against the firm mattress gives me slight relief from the stickiness I feel—my clothes are clinging to my skin. The humid heat is stuffy and oppressive, and that makes me believe I’m still in China. Yeah, that’s right—that’s where I went: Hong Kong, China. Something to do with business.
I remember attending business meetings. I remember looking at exclusive sports cars. I remember meeting members of an exclusive car club.
Having lunch with the car club—that’s the very last thing I remember. Would they be behind my abduction? I don’t think so. I recall feeling upbeat after lunch, with us coming to an agreement: they’d invest in my funds while I’d help them with a project, some development in Nevada. It wouldn’t be in their interest to plan my abduction. Besides, they are worth millions, perhaps even billions, themselves.
No, I’m sure it isn’t them. But who? And how much do they want? Frankly, I don’t care about the amount—as long as they’ll let me go. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but by now, Elle must have noticed I’m missing. She’d probably wonder why I haven’t responded to her texts like I normally do.
Unless… they’ve taken her, too. I shiver at the thought. It would kill me if she has. But if they’ve captured me so easily, they could also get hold of her. And what in hell will they do to her?
Sheer panic grips my heart. I need answers—now.
“Hey.” I try to call out, but all that comes out of my parched throat is a scratchy croak.
“Hello!” I try again, and this time I manage to crank up the volume somewhat.
“Is anyone there? Hello?”
I shout out again and again, but there is no response. Since that muffled scream, I haven’t heard any other sounds outside the room apart from the chirping of a bird. No traffic noise, no planes—it makes me wonder if I’m in the countryside. How did they manage to move me here without anyone noticing; without me having any recollection of it? They must have drugged me, either when they first took me, or before that, during lunch. That would explain the intense ache that is still pounding my head, albeit to a lesser extent.
Whoever they are, they must have been keeping close tabs on me for a while. A thought crosses my mind. The people who have arranged my abduction could be from home. It is too much of a coincidence—the computer systems failing and me arranging this trip to China, soon after which I get abducted. Without that technical glitch, I doubt if I’d even be here. If that’s the case, they’re a lot more sophisticated than the average kidnapper.
Whoever is behind this, must be someone with the ability and means to pull it off. To drug me and capture me in the middle of a busy restaurant is no easy feat. This is a carefully planned operation.
A door slams. And another one.
Footsteps sound outside the door.
“Is anyone there?” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Silence.
“Hey! Open up!”
I sigh. How long are they planning to ignore me? How dare they ignore me? I struggle against my restraints, twisting my body this way and that. I feel the edge of the mattress and then, a moment of weightlessness.
“Ah!”
I hit the floor and make a few rolls until I end up on my stomach. A searing pain in my head, my shoulder, and my hip assaults all my senses. I can’t talk, I can’t move, I can’t think—all I feel is pain.
I groan loudly, feeling weak and powerless. If I ever get out of here alive, I’ll hunt these bastards down and give them a taste of their own medicine—make them feel this excruciating pain.
A loud, scratchy sound snaps me out of my pain. It comes from the door.
A jangle, a scrape.
I lift my head a touch and turn my gaze toward the sound.
A click, a scrape. And the door opens.
I am blinded for an instant.
The bright light streaming from the crack of the door shines directly into my eyes. I blink a few times and make out a silhouette in the doorway. Someone is stepping into the room. Heavy steps, a large fleshy shape—a man.
“Hey. Could you help me out? I fell off the bed.” I figure there is no harm in sounding polite, even though I am not sure if he’ll understand me.
The man is carrying a rectangular object that he drops on the table with a clunk—possibly a tray.
“Do you speak English?”
I scramble to think of something I can say in Chinese, but all I can think of is ni hao, and I doubt asking him how he is doing will help my situation.
His head snaps to me. As he’s looking down, I can feel his eyes on me, but the backlight prevents me from making out his features. He mumbles a few gruff words in Chinese and takes a step forward until the tip of his shoe touches my knee.
“Can you help?” I talk slowly, stressing the word “help”. Even if he doesn’t speak English, he must understand what I mean.
He squats down, and the stench of rank sweat assaults my nostrils. His hand reaches behind him. And when it surfaces, my whole body freezes. A glint of steel dances in front of my eyes—a knife.
“Stop! You want money? I give you money!”
He laughs evilly, shaking his head, and lowers the knife to my throat. My heart is hammering in my ears, and I clench my eyes shut.
This is it. This is how my life ends.
Chapter 8
Elle
My heart stops beating.
Someone has abducted Ryder.
“What—what are you…”
The low, menacing voice cuts me off. “Don’t talk, don’t make any unusual movements. Just say ‘yes, okay’.”
My heartbeat starts up again at a furious pace and makes its pounding way to my ears. My fingers in a death grip around the edges of the cell, I try to keep my voice steady. “Yes. Okay.”
“Now, get rid of your friend and go back to your hotel.” I press the phone hard to my ear—the voice has become muffled, distorted.
How does he know I’m not alone? Has he been following us? Is he around here right now? Once he hangs up the phone, I’ll alert the police so they can get onto him at once.
“Um…”
“Don’t even think about calling the police or get help from anyone. I know where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing. So don’t fuck with me. Smile, get rid of her by making up some excuse, and wait for my call.”
I lift up the corners of my mouth as much as I can, hoping it will pass for a smile. “Okay. Bye.”
Slowly rising to my feet, I stare at the screen, willing my face to display a neutral, bored expression.
“Who was that?”
Ying has her eyebrow arched, and I shrug.
“Oh, no one. It was just a message to tell Ryder that some uh—jewelry he ordered is ready for collection.”
I hope the fake smile I put on this time is convincing, for I’m going to lose it soon with the nerves battering around my body—she’s bound to pick up on it. But to my surprise, her face lights up, and she closes her tiny hand around my arm.
“Jewelry? Elle, it might be a ring. He’s going to propose!”
Thank God. She’s just given me the perfect excuse to get rid of her.
I cover my mouth with my shaking, clammy hand. “Of course. How couldn’t I have seen it? He probably wanted to surprise me, that’s why he hasn’t been in touch.”
“Yes, that’s what I think, too. It’s so exciting.” She radiates a smile that at any other time would have been infectious.
I tap my finger on my chin. “I was thinking, I should go back to the hotel. I’m sure he’s already there.”
“Good idea. I’ll drive you back.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll take the subway, it’s a lot faster. I’ll call you when I get there.”
In the hope she won’t stop me, I give her a quick hug and immediately start walking, tossing a wave at her over m
y shoulder. Only when I reach the main road again and blend into the crowd, do I let out a long breath of relief. I brace my hand against a wall, trying to get my shaking legs under control.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I can’t believe this is happening: Ryder abducted, in plain daylight.
How the hell did they manage to snatch him in the middle of this crazily crowded city? Where have they taken him? Who has taken him? But the why is a no-brainer: they want to get their hands on his money. In hindsight it is obvious, but it has never even crossed my mind—his wealth makes him an easy target for criminals.
Ryder must realize this himself, but it seems he is not too bothered about it. Even though he is always worried about my safety, I’ve never seen him take security measures to protect himself, such as employing bodyguards. On the contrary, he almost disregards his personal safety, driven by his passion for risky activities like mountaineering, skydiving, and car racing. It is not surprising that we first met at a street bike race that was fraught with danger. He wouldn’t think twice to visit me in the middle of Harlem at hours that I would even consider to be unsafe.
Needless to say he would never consider taking precautions for attending daytime business meetings in a busy city like this. He couldn’t have anticipated this would happen to him.
What should I do now? I’m in a foreign country, where I hardly know the way, where I hardly know anyone—I’m in over my head. Maybe I should call the police after all. The caller is clearly a local; I can tell, even though he speaks English with an American accent. I think back to the car club meeting where a lot of the drivers spoke good English, having been educated overseas. Would one of the club members have taken him? He was last seen in the restaurant with them. I dismiss the thought—judging from the types of cars they drive, they don’t need the money. In fact, some of them seem to be even wealthier than Ryder.
Even if the kidnapper is most likely some low-life criminal, it is unnerving to think that he is keeping tabs on me. This guy is not dumb. To abduct Ryder and get in contact with me through his cell, must have required a lot of detailed planning. And that’s why I should tread carefully, especially if he’s able to follow all my moves. Otherwise, I might put Ryder in unnecessary danger.
My head spinning, I make my way to the subway, shoving through the throngs of people, jostling with them to get into the train, scrambling to step out of it and find the exit. A hollow desperation lingers at the pit of my stomach. People, people, everywhere. How am I ever going to find him?
Ryder’s cell glued to my hand, I glance at the screen every minute to check for a call, for a message. But all the way to the hotel, the screen remains blank. I step into the suite, and in a sudden moment of madness, I storm from room to room. Somehow I cling onto a desperate hope that this is not really happening; that Ying was right after all about Ryder wanting to surprise me; that he’s pulling some prank to get me riled up. But every part of the suite is exactly as I left it earlier—no sign that tells me otherwise.
With a loud wail, I launch myself into the bedroom and onto the massive bed, on Ryder’s side, clutching his pillow to my stomach in an attempt to crush the swirls of anxiety. For the first time in my life, I pray—to God, the universe, or whoever has the power to help me.
I can’t lose him—I can’t live without him.
I lift the pillow, intending to press it against my aching head, when the ringing of Ryder’s cell cuts through the silence in the room. My heart lodged in my throat, I immediately look at the screen: “Unknown number”, but don’t pick up the call.
I have to stay calm. If this is about money, I will give him however much they want. As long as I can get him back.
Taking a deep breath, I accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Miss O’Halloran. Good to see you’re back at the hotel.”
It is true—he is following me. I was right not to call the police.
“What do you want? Or should I say, how much? That’s what this is about, isn’t? Money?”
I can’t help the biting tone in my voice—it’s all I can do not to scream and curse at the greedy asshole.
“What else? Of course it’s about money. And you’re going to give it to me.”
“I’ll do what I can to get him back. But I want your promise to return him in one piece. I don’t want you to hurt him.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t be hurt. But only—only if you do what I say. And as I said before, don’t get the police or investigators involved. Don’t tell any of your friends. You’ll have to do this on your own. If you don’t, Mr De Luca here will suffer the consequences.”
I swallow. “I—I’ll do whatever you say. Just tell me how much.”
“I want one million US dollar in cash.”
One million? Does this jackass know how much Ryder is worth? A million to him is like a drop in the ocean. Even I could put up at least half of the money with the inheritance I received from my uncle.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. But I need to know that he is okay. I need to know if you haven’t hurt him already.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Shit, have I lost him? I pace up and down and glance at the screen to see if the call has dropped, but I’m still connected.
“Hey, are you still there?”
To my relief, he comes back on, but his voice has turned icy. “Let’s talk business now. I want the money tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I can get it together so quickly.”
“You’ll work it out. The deadline is tomorrow at nine.”
“Nine? That’s way too early. I need more time.”
“You have all night. Plenty of time.”
My brain starts working overtime. It’s going to be morning soon in New York, so I can make the necessary arrangements, and when it’s morning here the money should be ready for collection from the bank. Closing my eyes, I nod to myself, relieved. This should work.
“I’ll do my best. I’ll do anything to make it happen.”
“But one more thing, Miss O’Halloran. You can’t simply take it out of a bank account or borrow it from a friend. You’ll have to earn the money.”
My chest tightens. What the hell is he talking about?
“Wh—what do you mean, earn it?”
“Just as I said, you’ll have to earn it, not simply withdraw it from the bank or get a loan from someone. No, you have to work for it, earn every single cent of it.”
I furiously shake my head. “That’s impossible. There’s no way I can do that. Not in such a short time.”
“You’ll work it out somehow. But let me remind you, I know at all times where you are and what you’re doing. So if you’re thinking of screwing me over behind my back, think again. I will hurt him. Badly.”
“No! I’ll do anything. I’ll get you the money. But please don’t touch him.”
“Just do what I tell you. Tomorrow at nine.”
A thought shoots through my mind: I need proof that he’s still alive.
“How do I know you haven’t already killed him? Let me talk to him. Please. I won’t do anything crazy, I know you’ll hurt him.”
“That will be difficult. He can’t talk right now.”
I feel the blood draining from my face.
“C—can’t talk? What do you mean? Are—are you saying he’s already been hurt?”
“No, he’s asleep. I’ll call you later. Give you proof he’s alive.”
A crackle in the line, and he’s gone.
Oh my God. What the hell am I going to do?
I stare at the cell’s screen and take note of the time. It’s six o’clock. I only have fifteen hours to get the money together.
I hop off the bed. I have to find out how much cash I have right now. My purse holds four bills of five hundred Hong Kong dollars, which is around two hundred and fifty bucks. I stride into the walk-in wardrobe, where our suitcases and bags are stored in the hope of finding
more cash, but I come up with nothing.
My eye falls on Ryder’s side of the wardrobe—a neat row of hanging suits. He could have well have some cash in his pockets. The first suit I try is one of my favorite ones, a dark-gray one that he wore when we went on our first date when we played video games, ate Chinese noodles, and had a night picnic. My mind filled with those sweet memories, I stroke the jacket’s fabric, brushing its sleeve against my cheek; breathing in its masculine scent—my Ryder.
Tears well up in my eyes. I miss him so much. I’ll do anything to get him back.
I search the pockets of the suit, and they are empty save for some business cards, of potential clients, I presume. The next suit produces some cash: three fifty and two hundred dollar bills. But I can’t even find a dime in the rest of the suits, nor anywhere else in the suite.
I count it all up, and my stomach drops. I have six hundred bucks altogether.
How the hell am I going to earn more than nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand dollars in less than a day?
Ryder
I brace myself for the cool, sharp edge against my skin.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel a hand on my shoulder that rolls me to my front.
Is that what my captor plans to do to me: stab me in the back? The cowardly asshole. A hot anger invades my fear-filled veins.
I won’t die like this. Let him look me in the eyes when he plunges the knife into my heart.
I shove my shoulder hard against his hand to roll to my back. And when I do, something gives, and I feel a release of tension.
My hands are loose!
In shock, I stare down at them. They are stiff and painful around the wrists, but at least I can move them freely now. I open and close my fingers in front of me, the increase in blood flow causing pins and needles, and rub my wrists where the restraints cut into my skin.
I’m so relieved at my newfound freedom that I notice too late that the big, rank-smelling man has made his way to the door. Before I can voice my protest¸ he steps out of the room and closes the door behind him, turning the lock.
Burn for You Page 10