The weight on my arms lifts, but settles on my legs. What is he doing? An explosion of pain in my side answers my unspoken question. I open my mouth to scream, but can’t tell if any sound is emitted since I still can’t hear anything. Another blow lands on my other side. Back and forth, Muscle Man pummels me. There is no place for me to go. No way to get away from him. No ability to guard myself from his anger or his fists.
Muffled voices filter through the ringing in my ears.
“Stop him. He’s going to kill her.” Skinny Guy, I’m guessing, from the heightened tone of his voice.
“That’s enough,” Ringleader says. His voice is calm and controlled, as usual. “We get nothing if she’s dead.”
One final blow to my side, and Muscle Man is off of me. I hurt everywhere. I want to roll over, but there’s no strength left in my body. I don’t even have the ability to cry. So, I lay still. If I could live without breathing, I’d stop inhaling and exhaling, too. John used to beat the shit out of me, and he caused me unbelievable pain. But I have never felt pain like this before.
I detect shuffling sounds around me, and murmuring voices. I don’t know what is happening, and I’m almost past the point of caring. I did what I had to do…and I failed. There is a very good chance that I will never see Alex again. Did I tell him I love him enough to last a lifetime? Does he know how he took my broken soul, trapped in a dark box, and coaxed it into the light and breathed new life into me? Will he ever forgive me for not fighting harder to get back to him?
Icy coldness rests on my cheek. I jerk away, but a voice whispers in my ear. “Easy, it’s an ice pack.” Skinny Guy takes my hand and places it at the side of my head. “Can you hold this here?”
I can’t answer—can’t even nod my head—so I just do as I’m told. The thin blanket is pulled around my shoulders, and to my surprise, a heavier blanket, maybe a comforter, is draped over me and tucked in around me. I want to hate this kid, but at the moment, his small act of kindness is the only hope I’m clinging to.
I know Alex is out there, searching for me. He will never give up until he finds me. I just hope I’m not a corpse in an empty house when he does.
Eleven
Something cold and wet is pressed against my lips. I open my eyes, and snap my head back. Bad idea. Pain shoots through my eye sockets, and white light floods my vision.
“It’s okay,” Skinny Guy says, his voice low, almost soothing. “I promise, it’s only water.”
I open my eyes slowly, allowing my vision to clear. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress next to me. I either fell asleep or passed out after the beating from Muscle Man. The long shadows across the floor, and less light in the room indicate it’s late afternoon. I’ve probably only been out for a couple of hours.
I try to sit up, but struggle.
“Here let me help.” Skinny Guy places his hands under my arms, and pulls me up. I lean against the wall, and gently rub my temples to ease the throbbing between my eyes. With the series of blows to the head, courtesy of that dickhead Muscle Man, I no doubt have a concussion.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Skinny Guy says.
I open my eyes and peer at him. His pale blue eyes under the shock of blonde sticking out of his ski mask are soft—remorseful. I’m not sure how to respond. It’s okay and don’t worry about it are just flat out lies. He helped kidnap me. And keep me here.
“What’s going to happen now?” I ask. A jolt of pain skitters along my jaw, and the throb in my head just got worse. Jesus, even talking hurts.
“Honestly, I don’t know. We’re waiting to hear from the big boss. If I had some idea of what was going on…I could come up with a plan to get you out of here. But, it’s just too risky.”
His mouth flattens into a thin line, and he drops his gaze. He doesn’t have to say more. It’s just as life-threatening for him to leave, at this point, as it is for me. If both of us try to escape, neither one of us would survive. A small flicker of sadness hits my heart for him. He’s a kid in way over his head, trying to help his sick mother, and going about it the wrong way.
“I appreciate that you want to help me,” I say, and lean my head back against the wall.
“Even if it is too little, too late?” He asks, snorting, but there is no humor in his tone.
I shrug. There’s not much more I can do. My fate seems to be in the hands of others. The kidnappers, and the big boss—whoever he is—may be using me to lure Alex for whatever reason. I just hope he realizes it’s a trap before they have a chance to kill him.
I’m not holding out much hope that Alex will find me before I’m dead.
The door opens, and Muscle Man saunters into the room. He looks me over, and a smile spreads across his face, delighting in his handiwork. Without taking his eyes off me, he tosses a bundle of rope and fabric to Skinny Guy. “Get her ready to go. We’re moving out soon.”
The blood in my veins turns cold as dread sweeps through my body. I thought I was prepared to die. But knowing my fate is a far cry from actually accepting it. My brain scrambles to put together a plan. Run. Beg for mercy. Scream bloody murder. Yeah, none of those are viable solutions.
Muscle Man crosses his beefy arms across his wide chest, and gives Skinny Guy a deadly glare. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Skinny Guy grabs both my wrists in one hand and wraps a length of rope around them. My head is reeling, my brain about two seconds behind everything happening around me. What the hell should I do?
Securing the knot, he moves to my feet, and places my ankles together. I kick my legs to break free of his grasp. Muscle Man takes a step forward.
Skinny Guy squeezes my ankles. “Don’t. You’ll only make it worse.”
I glare at him, wishing I had the power to laser burn him. Just a minute ago he was professing how sorry he was for not doing more to help me. What a difference sixty seconds makes. I should know, after all my years as a criminal defense attorney, you can’t trust a criminal.
Skinny Guy holds up a strip of black material that looks as if it was cut from the bottom of a t-shirt. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Blindfold her,” Muscle Man says, and turns to leave. “Boss wants to make sure the bitch can’t identify him.” He closes the door behind him as he leaves.
Flattening the material, Skinny Guy squats next to me.
“Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted to help me?” My voice cracks, which would normally piss me off, but I don’t have any pride left to care.
He exhales through his nose and stares at me for a moment. “If they’re still worried you might be able to identify them, they aren’t going to kill you. Hell, they would probably show their faces just so you could see them before they put a bullet in your head. I’ve told you, that’s not part of the plan.”
I don’t know if I should believe him or not. My mental faculties are not at their prime, so logic and reasoning are bumping around in my head like a pinball.
He reaches down to my ankles and pulls on the rope. “Look, I didn’t tie them tightly. Same with your wrists.” He lifts the bindings to show the slack. “If things go to shit, you can get out of these and run like hell.”
“Provided I see the shit coming in time to do anything about it. It’s a little difficult to see a shot to the back of the head.”
“I’ll give you a sign if bad things are going to happen.” He lifts the blindfold up. “I promise,” he says before placing it over my eyes, and securing it in a knot at the back of my head.
The crack of gunfire echoes through the house.
Twelve
I jerk my head towards the door. “What was that?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like a gunshot,” Skinny Guy says, his voice low. I hear him shuffle across the room.
Raised muffled voices come from somewhere in the house. “What the hell are you doing?” Ringleader. Another gunshot blast. This one much closer—maybe in the hallway. Then there’s a loud thud.
<
br /> Skinny Guy drops on the floor next to me. He tries to loosen the rope around my wrists. The lock on the door clicks. The latch release resounds through the room louder than it should be.
Skinny Guy stills next to me and whispers, “no,” just seconds before an explosion. Something warm and wet splatters across my face, neck, and arms. Groaning beside me, his body hits the floor like a sack of potatoes. I can hear him wheezing, struggling to breath, and then is silent.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. The air shifts around me. Whoever is on a shooting rampage is still in the house—still in this room.
This is it. I’m going to die. My heart is thumps hard, as if it is crawling up my throat trying to escape the inevitable shot that will finally stop it from beating.
A vision of Alex standing before me in his tuxedo on our wedding flashes before my eyes. I was wrong. I did get my happily ever after—just turns out it was much shorter than I anticipated it would be. But I can count my blessings. I had the truest, deepest love that many people never experience in a lifetime.
A large body moves next me.
“I love you, Alex,” I whisper.
Hot, rancid breath bathes my cheek. Cold steel rests against my temple.
I hold my breath, waiting for the shot. Please let it be over quickly.
“Bang,” a male voice mutters close to my ear.
The gun is pulled away from my skin. The space beside me is empty as heavy footsteps stride across the room.
Is he gone? I hold my breath and concentrate on the sounds in the house. I can’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean the gunman isn’t still here.
Moving my feet to wrestle out of the bindings, I wriggle my wrists, hoping Skinny Guy was able to get the knot loose enough for me to get free.
A loud crash comes from the living room, like a car barreling through the wall. Heavy footsteps in the hallway. Coming closer.
He’s back. He’s going to shoot me for real this time. Heavy breathing fills the space. Someone is in the room.
“In here,” the voice says.
I should know that voice, but my brain is short-circuiting, and I can’t figure out what to do to save myself. A body drops next to me. Hands pull on the ropes around my wrists.
“No! No!” I yank my hands away, and kick my legs out, scooting back until I’m flat against the wall. I have nowhere to go. I can’t see anything with this blindfold on.
“Kylie, it’s me.” The blindfold is pulled away. Light temporarily blinds me, but I can make out a figure in front of me. I lash out, striking him with my still bound hands.
“Baby, it’s me. It’s Alex.”
Alex!
My vision clears. It’s true. He’s real. He’s here. He removes the ropes from my wrists, tosses it to the floor, and gathers me in his arms. Warmth cocoons me like a blanket. Every inch of me tingles with his touch.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he says, his voice low and husky. Sliding his hands to my shoulders he pushes me back, and looks me over. “Jesus, what did they do to you? Are you hurt?”
I want to tell him I’m fine now that he’s here, but the words won’t form. All I can do is stare at him. My brain still can’t fully comprehend that he’s here, and I’m safe.
Am I safe? Is the shooter still here? Where are the kidnappers?
I look past Alex. On the floor behind him, in a crumpled heap is Skinny Guy. His head rests in the center of a large pool of blood. A milky film covers his lifeless eyes.
Oh, God…he was so young.
Alex wraps his arms around me so tight he nearly cuts off my breathing. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. No one will hurt you again.”
A woman is screaming “No,” and I realize the voice is mine.
Tears stream down my face. I close my eyes, and bury my face in the crook of Alex’s neck.
“Two more dead out here,” Jake says from the doorway. “No sign of the shooter. Looks like he took off out through the back.” Hearing his voice and having Alex hold me relieves some of the tension in my chest. Some. “Cops are here, too.”
The police. Jake. Alex.
I release a long held breath from my lungs, close my eyes, and relax most of my weight against Alex.
The respite is short lived. Men with guns burst through the door, pointing them at Jake, and then turning them on us.
“On your knees,” a man in a black flack jacket yells at Jake. White block letters across his chest indicate he’s with the police. “Place your gun on the floor and slide it over to me, then lace your fingers behind your head.”
Distracted by what is happening to Jake, I don’t notice other officers encircling Alex and me. “Move away from the woman, sir.” One of the cops lowers the barrel of the rifle to within inches of Alex’s face. “Do it now!”
Alex releases me and scoots to the edge of the mattress. Two other cops grab him by the shoulders, and force him flat on the floor. His face is turned to me. “It’s okay, baby.”
What the hell is happening? My head feels as if its one of those spinning plates atop a thin rod, ready to crash to the ground in a million shattered pieces.
A hand rests on my arm. I shift away and stare at a female police officer squatting next to me. “You’re okay, ma’am. We’re here to help you.”
A man in a suit kneels next to the woman, glances at his cell phone, and then looks at me. His eyes narrow. “Looks like the same woman.”
I glance at Jake. His hands are behind his back and zip ties encircle his wrists. He’s nodding his head to whatever the officer is saying. I jerk my head towards Alex, and stars flood my vision. Pain shoots up from the base of my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to dissipate. Opening one eye at a time, I watch as the two officers haul Alex to his knees, and bind his wrists, as well. What are they doing? Alex and Jake aren’t the bad guys?
“She needs medical attention,” the female officer says to the suit.
The suit grimaces. “I need some answers about what happened here.”
Voices merge together in an unrecognizable chorus of words. The activity around me turns into a movie I’m viewing from afar. All I can hear is my breathing—the only thing I can manage to focus on. The one thing I can understand. The rhythm is steady, but more accelerated than it probably should be. The bodies in black around me are replaced with people wearing white. A light shines in my eyes, and I slam them shut.
Muffled voices float around me. The cadence of the words competing with my breathing melody, and demanding my attention.
“Ma’am? Can you stand and walk?”
I gaze at the young man next to me. He has light brown hair and a white shirt. Did he ask the question? Is that his hand under my elbow?
“Can you stand up?” His mouth is moving along with the words. I nod, but have no idea if I can get up or not. Gently, with pressure under both elbows, I get my feet under me.
“There you go,” another voice says from the other side of me. Another man in white with dark hair and a mustache supports my other arm. “Let’s see if we can walk, shall we?”
We take a few steps. My feet are so heavy. My legs uncooperative. I pitch from side-to-side like a drunk sailor after a night in port. The sun hits my eyes, blinding me. How am I outside? I don’t remember walking through the house.
“Can you tell me your name?” Mustache asks.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Do I know my name? Snow crunches under my feet, sticking to my socks. The doors to an ambulance are open at the end of the sidewalk. Where’s Alex? Is the gunman still in the house? My scalp prickles.
No, Jake said he was gone.
“Is it over?” My voice sounds more like a mouse squeaking.
Mustache nods. “Yes, it’s over.”
Skinny Guy’s eyes flash before me. “Are they all dead?” I already know the answer, but I desperately need to hear it again.
“I don’t know what’s happened. Right now, I’m o
nly concerned with you.”
My heart sinks. Why am I grieving over these men? They kidnapped me. One of them beat the daylights out of me. But did they deserve to die?
“Ma’am?” I glance at Mustache again. “Do you know your name?”
I open my mouth. “Kylie Tate…Stone. My name is Kylie Stone.”
“Okay, Kylie, we’re going to help you into the ambulance. Can you step up?”
He points to a step at the back of the ambulance. I nod and lift my foot. The brown haired man is already inside the ambulance, hand still under my elbow, and helps me up. “I’m going to have you sit, okay?”
I nod.
Mustache sits on the bench across from me. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”
I lift my hand to my face, and let my fingers skim over my jaw.
“Your jaw hurts? I bet. There’s some swelling and bruising.” His fingers press along my jaw, and I move my head away. “I know, this hurts, but I have to make sure your jawbone’s not broken.” He touches my cheekbone. “Is that sore?”
“Not as much,” I say.
Mustache murmurs to brown haired guy, who types on a tablet. “Anywhere else, Kylie?”
How about my whole damn body?
I lift the hem of my sweater. Brown hair sucks in a breath as his eyes drop to my side.
Mustache man lifts my sweater higher. “Can you tell me how you got these injuries?”
Tears flood my eyes. A sob breaks free of my chest. The weight of Muscle Man sitting on my legs, using my body as a punching bag, feels all too real as I recall the memory.
“Okay,” Mustache says, his voice still steady but softer. “I need for you to focus on me and breath. Nice easy breathes.”
I mimic his inhales and exhales. “He hit me.”
“Just hit you? Did he kick you, too?”
I shake my head. Christ, if he had kicked me, I’d be dead from massive internal bleeding. Straddling me, he wasn’t able to put his full power into his punches. Standing and kicking me would have been a whole other story.
Vindication: Of Demons & Stones: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Three Page 6