by Ash Johnson
Chapter 36
Blake
My vision returns but is fuzzy, and my stomach pitches and rolls for a few seconds until I can make sense of everything. I’m lying in the middle of mine and Harlow’s bed and my feet are zip tied separately, one to each corner of the wooden posts of the foot board. My hands are zip tied in front of me, which I’m grateful for, but they’re also damn tight, which makes being grateful a bit harder. I take a few seconds to scan the area but don’t see or hear anyone else in the room with me.
I have no idea who the fuck cracked me over the head, but I have a strong suspicion who it could be, and I’m beyond pissed at the extremes she’s gone to. And how the hell was she strong enough to get me upstairs?
The last thing I remember before everything went dark was Harlow sitting at the bottom of the basement stairs, her hands zip tied and a thick strip of tape across her mouth.
But it was the pure fear in her eyes--the fact that someone hurt my girl and more than likely threw her down that flight of stairs-- that has me wanting to rip someone’s fucking head off.
I realize that the zip ties around my wrists are a start to saving Harlow, and if I work at it for a minute, I might be able to get them off. I struggle with the plastic restraints and force myself to ignore the burn as the offending object rubs at my wrists.
Then the murmur of people talking floats up the stairs. I stop my movements for a few seconds to see if I can hear what’s being said, but it’s all too muffled to make anything out. The voices must be coming from the basement, and I’m hoping that one of them belongs to Harlow. I can only hope that nothing happens to her before I get free.
The voices are getting slightly louder, but I still can’t understand what they’re saying, so I give up on trying to hear them and focus on freeing myself so that I can put an end to this shit.
A thought causes me to pause my work. I never took Alex to school today. Where the fuck is she? Is she in the basement with Harlow? Is she hurt somewhere else in the house that I don’t know about?
Now I don’t just have my girl to worry about, but her little sister, who has become like my own sister. I’m scared to death that something has or will happen to both girls, but I force myself to calm down and focus on the task at hand.
I need to get out of these restraints and help the girls out. If I just lay here and wait for someone to come save us, we could all be dead before anyone realizes that something is wrong.
My body is breaking out in a sweat and the skin on my wrists is beginning to bleed from the amount of friction and tension on the zip ties, but I ignore the pain and keep struggling against the offending plastic. After what feels like hours of resistance, I get one of my thumbs free.
A little more wiggling and my entire right hand is out. I lean down and test the restriction of the ties around my ankles, but they’re too tight for me to pull my feet free like I did my hands. I try to pull with everything I have against the plastic, but it just won’t give.
Then I remember that I left a pair of needle nose pliers in the night stand from a project I was doing in the room a few weeks ago. I extend my arm over my head and stretch my entire length, happy when my fingers graze the knob of my night stand. As soon as I get the knob fully in my grasp, I pull the entire drawer out of the night stand.
With the removed drawer at my side, I’m over-the-fucking-moon thankful for the day I was just too damn lazy to return my tools to the garage where they belong.
Pulling out the pliers, I lean down toward my feet. I get the metal tool under one zip tie and move it to the very end of the mouth where there is a cutter almost like scissors that will cut through this plastic like butter.
I get the zip tie on my right foot cut open and move to the left when I hear a sound that makes me freeze.
A gunshot rings throughout the house, followed by silence.
Then: the sound of footsteps barreling up the basement stairs, running up the second flight of stairs, toward our bedroom.
Fuck.
Chapter 37
Harlow
It feels like I was only unconscious for a few seconds because I wake up a crumpled mess on the floor right in front of the chair I just freed Alex from. I keep my eyes closed as I listen to whoever hit me move around my body. I try to pretend that I’m still knocked out, but I doubt it works because my breathing has accelerated to a ridiculous level due to my fear. Even I wouldn’t believe I’m unconscious.
“You know I’m going to have to find that stupid little bitch and kill her, right, Harlow?” someone growls in my ear.
Nope, faking didn’t work.
I open my eyes widely as a hand grips my forearm a bit too tightly and hauls me to my feet.
I bite my lips to keep myself calm, only to find that my duct tape has been replaced. I’m guessing they didn’t want me to scream the second I came to.
The tears streaming down my face in rivers and the tremors wracking my body cannot be helped at this point.
A hand is placed in the middle of my back, and then I’m shoved toward the chair I freed Alex from not even two minutes ago. Since my feet are tied together, I have no way to keep my balance, and I tumble onto the chair, falling with it when it tips over.
I also get the edge of the chair’s seat shoved into my ribs in the process. Shit, that hurts.
I roll over slowly to find Dominick standing over me, the barrel of what appears to be a 9mm handgun pointed at my face.
“Get the fuck up,” he says through gritted teeth.
Have you ever tried to stand up when your hands and feet are tied together? No doubt saying something like that out loud would get me shot. I can only hope Alex has made it to another house and called the police by now.
I roll over onto my side and try to get my hands under me so I can stand again, but apparently I’m moving way too slow, because he huffs and grabs at my elbow, pulling me upright much harder than is necessary while righting the chair once again.
“Sit your ass down,” he points to the chair with his gun. I sit without any hesitation. I’ve seen what could happen if you hesitate with Dominick. Last time I hesitated to pay him, he punched me in the kidney so hard that I pissed blood for two days and was left with a bruise that looked like I’d been kicked in the back by a horse.
Once I’m in place he pulls a sharp-as-hell pocketknife out of his front pocket and saws through the restraint around my feet. He pockets the knife once more and then picks up a roll of duct tape I hadn’t noticed on the floor and proceeds to fasten my feet to the legs of the chair but leaves my hands zip tied in front of me. Once he’s finished, he takes a step back and glares at me.
I wait what seems like hours for him to say something, and then he finally pipes up.
“Did you just get back from a little trip, Harlow?”
I sit still, staring at him through tear-filled, blurry eyes, but the tape on my mouth is making it impossible to answer him. “Answer me, you stupid bitch!”
I barely nod my head, unsure what else to do but afraid of what will happen when he gets my answer.
“I know that you went to Mr. E, Harlow. Rocco told me that you flew to Detroit to speak to him about your fuckin’ loan early this mornin’.”
I nod again.
“You are one stupid fuckin’ whore. Mr. E is gonna fuckin’ kill me, and if I’m gonna die, then I’m taking you with me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll take out that asshole I watched you pull into the driveway with. The fuckin’ tool that was dumb enough to move you into his house should be the first to go.”
I shake my head furiously, begging Dominick with my eyes not to do anything to Blake. “What was that?” he brings his gun up behind his ear, as if to hear what I’m saying more clearly. “I can’t hear you with the tape--” he says, and the slimy smile on his face as he taunts me only serves to piss me off.
Before I know what’s happening, he reaches up, grabs an edge to the tape, and rips it off, leaving it hanging loosely on one cheek. I keep quiet d
espite the pain, because it will only piss him off if I react.
“Please don’t do anything to Blake. He had absolutely nothing to do with this. If you want to blame someone, please blame me. I’m the one that went to Mr. E this morning. He told me that I hadn’t paid him and that I had to come see him to get everything worked out. I’m the one who ratted you out to your boss so if you want to kill anyone, just kill me and leave Blake alone.”
My rambling must piss him off, because he raises the barrel of the gun into the air and fires off a shot, shutting me up immediately.
He leans in closely so that his mouth is right next to my ear and whispers something that chills me to the bone.
“Well, since you don’t want me to kill him, I guess that’s going to have to be the first thing I do. Then after I’m done with him, I’m gonna have to find that fuckin’ sneaky little sister of yours and get rid of her, but don’t you worry, doll. When I’m finished with them, I’ll come back and take my time with you. I’m gonna do things to you that are gonna make you beg me to fuckin’ shoot you.”
With those parting words, Dominick slaps the duct tape over my mouth again and moves toward the stairs. Then, he jogs up to the bedrooms, where I assume he put Blake after he knocked him out.
All I can do is close my eyes and hope that Blake goes quickly and will forgive me for what’s about to be done to him all because of me.
Chapter 38
Blake
I roll off the bed and shove myself under the mattress before whoever is rushing up the stairs reaches me. Once under the bed, I shuffle toward the side closest to the bedroom door, hoping to get an upper hand on the bitch when she comes in here.
I feel like a pussy hiding out under the bed from a girl that’s half my weight, but I’m not sure what she may have for a weapon, and I need to know what I’m up against before I attack.
After a few seconds, a pair of shiny men’s dress shoes rush into the room.
What the hell? I thought for sure that Heaven was behind all of this shit, not a man.
“Where the fuck did you go, asshole?” he murmurs above the bed. As soon as his shoes start toward the closed off bathroom, I scoot out from under the bed and army crawl as silently as I can, hoping that his focus stays on finding me in the bathroom and not at the door.
I make it out of the bedroom undetected and want nothing more than to rush downstairs to find Harlow, but I have to be smart about this. If I go in unprepared and without backup, we’ll both be dead. So I rush into Harlow’s old bedroom and jump into the closet, closing the door softly behind me.
Hiding like a chick in a horror movie pisses me off, but I have to remember that whoever this guy is he wants to kill us, so I need to be smart. I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone, more than glad that this asshole didn’t swipe it when he tied me up.
I think about dialing 911 but to call Ronan instead, knowing he can get men here faster than dispatch can send help.
“Hey, Blake, haven’t heard from you in a while. What’s new brother?” I’m still amazed that he talks to me like this, or that we even have the relationship that we do, because once upon a time, I was fucking the girl that would end as his wife.
But I don’t have time to focus on this at the moment. Harlow and I need some help, and we needed it fucking yesterday.
“Ro, I have a crazy-as-hell guy in my house with a gun. He tied me up, but I got loose, and I have no idea what the fuck he did with Harlow. I need you to get over here with backup as soon as you fucking can.”
“Who the hell is Harlow?” he asks. Jesus, I didn’t realize that I needed to explain my dating status after I had just told him that there was a gun-toting nut case in my damn house.
“She’s my girlfriend. She and her sister live with me. Now, are you on your way here or not, fucker?” I whisper, trying to keep myself as hidden as I can. It wouldn’t do Harlow or me any good to get killed because I was yelling into my phone like a dumb ass.
“Yeah, man, I’m out the door with a few of my guys, and I’ll call in some patrol cars while we’re on the way. They should make it there before us, so just hang tight and be safe. Be there in a minute.”
With that I hang up the phone and put it back in my pocket just in time to hear someone move into the room. Luckily for me, Harlow put her cardboard boxes in here without collapsing them so there are three lying in the back corner. I quietly lift one up and try to curl my big body into a tiny ball before putting it on top of me. It barely covers me and is a very uncomfortable position but it works and just in time.
The closet door flies open and I can hear him come in and stop moving, listening for any sign of life, before slowly turning around and leaving the closet. I’m not a fucking moron, so I sit still for a minute and try to locate his footsteps before I get out.
When the footsteps pound down the stairs and then down another set toward the basement, I feel it’s safe enough to come out.
I slink out of the closet and glance around the guest room for anything to use as a weapon. I keep all of my old fighting gear in here, but I’m not sure how much this will help me since he has a gun.
Well, hell, I guess I’m going to have to go out there and just use my fists against this guy’s hand-gun. Then Harlow lets out a blood-curdling scream downstairs and I know that using my fists will be enough.
I don’t think, I just move and hope that I can get to her in time.
Chapter 39
Harlow
I sit, duct taped to this damn chair, and listen as Dominick moves around upstairs. After what feels like an eternity but could have only been seconds-- it’s hard to tell in my state of panic-- he returns with a look of fury on his face. After a few moments of him standing in front of me, seething, it finally clicks.
He went upstairs to deal with Blake, but I never heard a gunshot. Blake must have gotten away.
I release a sigh at the thought of him getting away from Dominick’s rage and the barrel of his gun.
“What the fuck are you sighing for, bitch? You think that just because your little boyfriend isn’t here that I won’t let anything happen to him?” He laughs at my assumption. “You really are one dumb bitch, aren’t you? I’ll wait for him to come back, because once he hears you screaming from the things I’m gonna do to you, he’ll come runnin’ to save his precious Harlow like the stupid fucker I’m sure he is. I promise to make this last long enough that you’ll get a chance to see him before I kill you too,” he says as he leans forward and presses the barrel of his gun against my forehead.
I whimper and then immediately regret making the sound when Dominick leans back far enough for his free hand slice across my cheek, setting it on fire with his stinging slap.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls. I bite down on my tongue, even though I have tape over my mouth, to prevent any more sounds from escaping and force my mind to think of something else so I won’t panic. I start to wonder if Alex ever made it to a phone. Then I wonder where Blake escaped to and if he found Alex before she made it out of the yard.
“Now, let’s talk about your little meeting with Mr. E, shall we?”
He’s removed the barrel of the gun from between my eyes, but now he’s pacing around the room, his movements erratic, which may scare me even more than the gun. I don’t know what to expect from Dominick when he seems calm and controlled. This version of him is downright terrifying.
“I’m sure you two discussed the reason why he hasn’t been receiving any of your payments for the past few years, but what I don’t understand is why he didn’t just put a fuckin’ bullet in your brain when you tried to argue with him about the fact that you had paid. I’ve seen him kill people for even hinting at the fact that they’d tried to pay him before when he hadn’t seen a fuckin’ dime, so why not you, huh?”
I keep my watery eyes on his jerky movements and try to process what he’s saying. Mr. E seemed so understanding and, dare I say i, nice when I met with him. I don’t think he would resort
to killing people for trying to argue the fact that they had paid him, but then, I don’t know Mr. E at all. He’s a loan shark with probable ties to the Irish mob. He would kill me and not think about me ever again as far as I know.
Suddenly, Dominick snaps his fingers and jogs up the stairs. I struggle against my restraints and realize it’s tearing at the skin around my wrists, but I keep fighting them in hopes of freeing myself and getting the fuck out of here before he comes back.
But he returns just as quickly as he left. Only, this time, he has the duffle bag I took with me to Detroit in his hands.
Fuck.
He unzips it and tosses out the jeans and tank top I had packed as I back up outfit in case I needed it, only to find the shoe box at the bottom. He throws the lid off and scrunches his brows together as he studies the bank receipts that fill the box.
Then, it clicks.
“You stupid fuckin’ bitch. You kept receipts from the bank deposits you made? Tell me you didn’t show these to Mr. E” he growls, crumpling a few of the receipts in his hand.
I whimper once more and am met with the same fate as the last time I made the noise, only this time his hand is balled in a tight fist when it connects with my jaw.
White stars burst behind my tightly closed lids, and pain radiates through my jaw as the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. I try to open my mouth and find that one of my teeth is broken, and a piece is now rattling around inside of my taped up mouth.
I have to force myself to breath slowly through my nose as I keep swallowing down the metallic taste of blood.
“Answer me. Did you show these to Mr. E?” His low voice sounds like he’s ready to kill me at any second. I’m guessing once I answer him, he will.
I blink fiercely to get my blurry vision to focus and barely nod my head to acknowledge what we both know to be true. Then the cold steel barrel of his gun once again presses against my forehead.