Ryder

by Ali Parker

  Without making a sound, Brice tried the doorknob. The front door was unlocked. He crept inside, peeking down the dark hallway. No sign of his cousin. No lights were on in the house, and Brice cursed himself for not even bringing a flashlight. His assistant was right; he was unprepared, unarmed. But while he waited silently for his vision to adjust to the gloomy interior of the large house, Brice realized he was in familiar territory. He didn't have to remain unprepared. He needed to use his wits, to outsmart his cousin, just like he'd outsmarted the asshole's father.

  Creeping down the hall without making a sound, Brice made his way toward the basement steps.

  Chapter 19

  Janna's eyes flew open, and she blinked rapidly, the sunlight from the window hitting her face. She rolled onto her back to hide her face in shadow as she adjusted to her surroundings. The last thing she remembered, she was being pulled down the long hallway to her doom. He'd knocked her out with a chemical-soaked rag again, and it was now daytime.

  She looked around the room, trying to find a sign of her captor. She spotted him easily, where he lay sprawled in an armchair pointing in her direction. He'd passed out while guarding her, no doubt helped by the empty bottle of vodka lying near his feet. But her eyes didn't miss the snub-nosed revolver that rested on his knee, gripped tightly in his hand.

  Slowly Janna took in the rest of the room. It seemed to stretch out into the dark distance, the square of light from the one unshuttered window being too small to illuminate the room in its entirety. It stretched back and out of sight, and Janna had no idea how big it was.

  The ceiling angled in on either side, ending in an apex that extended the length of the room. An attic perhaps? Her eyes returned to her kidnapper, who still slept in the chair. Now was the perfect time for an escape. Could she get away without waking him?

  * * *

  His descent into the basement was aided by the light of Brice's cell phone screen. When he was far enough down that he could risk turning on a light, he pulled on the cord of a nearby ceiling lamp. Nothing happened. No electricity. Brice let out a sigh. This part of his plan might take longer, but it couldn't be helped.

  Brice made his way over to a stack of boxes that dominated the south wall of the basement. There were several stacks; each box labeled neatly in his grandmother's hand. He'd helped her organize some of these boxes himself, one summer when he'd returned home from college for a visit. A few held his possessions from when he'd spent a few weeks each summer at his grandparents' place, along with his cousin Chester and other cousins from time to time. He'd packed up the stuff himself, that summer in college. And his grandmother had neatly labeled each box. The one he was looking for now, the one he noticed suddenly on the bottom of a nearby stack, was labeled "Brice: Sports Equipment."

  * * *

  Janna started sliding backward, inching out of the square of light and towards the darkness at the other side of the room. Chester slept on, and Janna started to stand up, intending to tiptoe out of the room, then run like hell. But she slipped when she attempted to stand, realizing too late that Chester had taped her legs together after knocking her out the second time. Landing on her side with her ankle twisted beneath her, she let out a cry of pain.

  Eyes darting to the chair, she saw that he'd opened his eyes.

  * * *

  Brice felt strange with the quiver strapped to his back. He hadn't picked up a bow in so many years; it now felt almost unfamiliar in his hands. But his mind was remembering the summers he'd spent, working so hard to hit the center of the target his grandfather had attached to a big tree out in the backyard. He'd been fourteen when he'd finally started hitting the bullseye consistently.

  He felt that same nervous flutter of anticipation he'd felt that year when he found his mind-body connection with his bow. Could he find that same concentration now, when he was facing Janna and her kidnapper?

  A stair creaked faintly under him as he climbed, so he paused for a moment. The creak had alerted no one. It was another flight of stairs up to the attic, the most likely place for his cousin to hole up. It had been Chester's room for as long as he could remember.

  Dear Chester's stuff wasn't boxed up and stacked in the basement. No, it lay exactly where he'd left it, undisturbed by his grandmother's constant urge to clean and organize. Her precious Rodchester should always have his things on hand, in case he needed them. He'd never have to dig in the basement to find his child-sized bow and quiver of plastic arrows.

  Anxiety crawled up his spine, trying to take over his brain. He felt foolish suddenly, climbing up to face an irrational, likely armed drunk, with only his plastic bow and arrow set. Still, the light of his cell phone screen reflected off the sharp metal tip of his arrow, reminding him that his weapon wasn't without teeth.

  * * *

  Janna froze, watching Chester watch her.

  "Going somewhere?" he slurred, waving the gun in her direction.

  He rose from his chair; his form shadowed against the light of the open window. The fact that she couldn't see his expression heightened her fear. Chester was intoxicated, irrational. She couldn't predict his actions, couldn't guess whether he'd use the gun. She remained still and tried to get control of her breathing.

  * * *

  Brice held his breath as he climbed the last narrow staircase that led to the attic. The door at the top was ajar, a faint light showing from inside. He flattened himself against the wall as he climbed, attempting to keep out of sight. Without making a sound, he crept to the door and peered into the attic.

  Since it ran the length of the entire house, the space was very large, and the square of light Brice noticed at the other end did nothing to illuminate most of the room. He crouched and began slowly moving forward, keeping low to the ground and behind cover. Luckily, his cousin's collection of childhood mementos was vast, and Brice had no problem finding pieces of furniture, boxes, or large toys to crouch behind.

  As he got closer to the window, he was able to make out two shapes before the square of light. A tall form stood against the window itself, blocking out much of the light, but leaving enough to see a smaller form lying on the floor.

  His heart felt as if it would burst through his chest in fear. Then the shape on the floor moved, and Brice was able to take a breath. She was still moving, still alive.

  Brice took up a position behind the corner of a bookshelf, hidden from sight by a large stuffed teddy bear that slumped on the bookshelf's top. He was close enough to hear Janna as her soft voice suddenly broke the silence.

  "I'm not going anywhere." Her voice gained strength as she continued. "But I don't see what you hope to gain by holding me here. It's morning, and Brice hasn't come after me. And he's not going to."

  "He'll come," his cousin replied, then broke off to cough heavily. "He'll follow the trail of breadcrumbs soon enough."

  "I doubt it." Those pitiful words burned their way into Brice's heart. He prayed that she was only saying that to get Chester to release her and that she didn't believe that he'd actually abandoned her. He blocked out all the pain, all the worry, and tried to concentrate on rescuing her.

  It would be best if nothing spooked his cousin. If Brice could work his way close enough to surprise Chester before he noticed him, maybe he could overtake him and get the gun away from him. Even if he was forced to reveal himself, perhaps he could convince his cousin to release Janna and take Brice in her place. Anything to get Janna to safety. But the important thing was that Chester not be unnecessarily provoked until Brice could get into position.

  As he completed that thought, the sound of sirens floated in through the open window. Chester spun around to look out the window, then sputtered "Fuck! I can't believe he called the police! Doesn't he know what kind of press nightmare this will be!" His cousin's voice sounded tight, on the verge of hysteria. Then he let out a fit of giggles that set Brice's teeth on edge.

  This was the absolute worst timing for the cops to show up, and Brice wished Tony would h
ave held off calling them. No time for regrets now. He pulled up his bow and nocked an arrow. As his cousin reached for Janna, without hesitation he released the tightened bowstring.

  The arrow flew across the room to embed itself in the hardwood floor next to Chester. His cousin fell back on his ass, his eyes darting around the room wildly. Brice pulled out another arrow, trying to keep his cousin distracted and away from Janna so that the police could make their way into the house. He didn't want to hurt his cousin, but he wouldn't allow him to hurt Janna either.

  The arrow's tip must have reflected in the light because Chester brought his gun up and fired two rounds in Brice's direction. The teddy bear exploded into fur and stuffing, and Brice pulled himself further behind the bookshelf and out of his cousin's line of sight. That gave Chester time to grab Janna and drag her to her feet. He started pulling her across the room and towards the door leading to the stairs.

  "I knew you'd fucking come, Brice, but I wasn't sure how you'd play this. I figured you'd want to keep things quiet, try to negotiate with a band of hired security thugs at your back. The police are a surprise." An unreadable look passed over his cousin's face. "It looks like we'll have to go with Plan B."

  "Plan B?"

  "You fucked me when you fucked over my father. He was in debt to some guys who aren't exactly patient with their repayment terms. They want their money, and they want it now."

  Brice frowned. "If this is all about money, I'll give you all you want. But you have to let her go."

  Chester expelled a burst of air that might have been a laugh. "How can I believe that, when you've got the cops outside ready to haul me away. No, you've given me no choice. I'll have to earn the money a different way."

  Brice could hear the desperation in his cousin's voice. "Plan B?"

  "That's right. We're going down to negotiate with the police. My first demand will be that they call the media. I want every reporter in the state here for the grade finale. It should make selling my story easy, even if I have to write it while locked away in some high-priced mental health facility on their dime."

  "Why would the press want to buy your story," Brice asked. Maybe if he could distract him, he'd pause long enough for Brice to get the drop on him.

  "A lunatic with a gun, and a closet full of family skeletons just waiting to be opened. I'm sure several chapters will be devoted to your own mistakes. Evetta, for example. And now this one, who's playing you against Alexander Drake to see which one has the bigger bank balance."

  As he talked, his cousin moved towards the door, dragging Janna beside him. Her body was angled towards the side of the room where Brice lurked, and he wasn't able to get a clear shot.

  The thought of exposure bothered Brice, but not for himself. He'd hate to have Janna's name dragged through the mud unwarrantedly. But his annoyance was eclipsed by fear. Chester was talking about a prolonged hostage negotiation. Anything could happen when a legion of nervous cops were all pointing their guns in the same direction. Brice was more worried about exposing Janna to that danger than exposing her to the press. Still, he held his position.

  His cousin placed the gun against her side, so Brice didn't dare risk jumping out and startling him. It wasn't until Chester made it all the way to the doorway and turned back that Brice had a clear shot. Still, he hesitated. He didn't want this to end in violence. Not if he could prevent it.

  "I'll have my revenge, even if it is just knowing that your sweetheart here won't have anything else to do with you after today. And I'll have money again, money you can't take away from me."

  The gun twitched in his cousin's hand, causing Brice's heart to contract painfully in his chest. He couldn't stand seeing her in such danger anymore.

  "Stop." Brice stood up behind the bookshelf and pushed the remains of the destroyed teddy bear off its top. He threw the bow to the ground, the slung the quiver off his back and dropped it as well. "Just stop. Let her go. Your quarrel is with me anyway."

  * * *

  Janna gasped as Chester laughed maniacally and turned his gun on Brice. From the moment she'd realized he'd come, her fear had undergone a transformation. She'd been terrified last night when she realized she'd been kidnapped. She'd panicked when her captor had tried to drag her into his shadowy lair. Her fear had been for herself, for the unknown horrors the drunken playboy might have wreaked upon her. But when Brice revealed himself when she realized he was taking all the danger upon himself, Janna felt all that dread transfer to Brice, and she trembled in fear for his safety.

  Janna tore her gaze from the daring man before her to his cousin. Chester's eyes narrowed as he attempted to aim the gun, and she could feel his malicious hate rolling off of him like the scent of his stale liquor sweat. She realized that Brice was in much greater danger than she'd ever been, and at that moment she made a decision. Before Chester could pull the trigger, she lunged at him, knocking the gun from his hand and sending it skittering across the floor.

  "Fucking bitch!" Chester shouted, then backhanded her. The force of the blow drove her backward, and in one sickening second, she realized that her bound feet encountered only air where the floor should have been. And then she was falling, bumping against the wooden steps before hitting the floor with a hard and consciousness-erasing smack.

  * * *

  "Janna!" Brice leapt into action, his thoughts focused to crystal clarity. He lunged for the gun, clawing it away from his cousin and shoving his fist into his face for good measure. Chester tumbled backward, blood gushing from his nose. Brice secured the weapon and then ran for the edge of the stairs, holding his breath.

  She lay at the bottom; her left leg bent beneath her. Her eyes were closed, and blood was pooling around her head.

  She's dead.

  The thought freed some caged beast inside him, and with a roar, he lunged at his cousin. Brice put the barrel of the handgun under Chester's chin, pushing it up and forcing his cousin to meet his gaze.

  Chester swallowed nervously as Brice cocked the gun. Blood streamed out of his nose. "Look, Brice, I just wanted to scare you, just wanted you to feel how I did, to lose the life you'd known. Scare you enough to pay me off. I wasn't going to hurt her, I swear--"

  "Shut up." His hand shook, the gun trembling slightly.

  Brice fought for control, the world around him fading to only the man in front of him. The man responsible for Janna's death.

  You're just as responsible, an inner voice reminded him, and he nodded to himself. He pushed harder on the gun, delighting at the painful grimace that covered his cousin's face.

  "Drop the weapon!" an outside voice scratched against the door of the small world he inhabited, but he didn't let it in. His finger wanted only to squeeze against the cold metal trigger. To put an end to this whirling madness inside himself, an end to the realization that the rest of his life would be spent without light, without love.

  Without Janna.

  It seemed his cousin caught a glimpse of those thoughts in his eyes, for Chester began to struggle, trying to pull away. Brice held tight, and his cousin began to pant, his heavy breathing spattering his blood against the hard angle of Brice's jaw.

  "I said drop it!" The voice was closer, banging hard against his consciousness. Brice ignored it, a cruel smile curving on his face. Time to end it.

  "Brice...don't." The tiny voice, weak and filled with pain, burst the bubble of his focus and he dropped the weapon instantly, turning his eyes to the bottom of the stairs. Startled blue eyes stared back up at him.

  Chapter 20

  Janna looked out the window but could see little beyond the gray drizzle of rain. She shrugged, figuring there probably wasn't much to see. A few bare roofs. The hospital parking lot. Nothing to get excited about. She lay back in her bed, picking up the remote control and shuffling through the channels again, for the fortieth time this hour.

  The hospital had a bastardized form of cable that seemed dominated by sports channels, talk shows, and teenage angst-filled hour-long d
ramas. Basically the dregs of television. Although she'd only been forced to endure the confines of her hospital room for a day and a half, she didn't know if she could take it much longer. Janna finally threw the remote down in disgust.

  "Nothing's on?" a familiar voice asked from the doorway. A half-smile lingered on Brice's lips as he entered, coming to stand next to her bed.

  His teasing rubbed Janna the wrong way. When she'd seen the gun pointed at him, when she'd realized all the danger he'd taken upon himself, she tried to save him. She knew she still had deep feelings for the man, then.

  Immediately after, he'd taken control of things, overriding any opposition. Brice had insisted on riding with her in the ambulance and then refused to leave her side through most of her examination and treatment. Now she sat here, an air cast boot on her injured leg, sixteen stitches sewed into her scalp, her sprained wrist in a sling, while the handsome millionaire strolled around making jokes.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked, putting his hand under her chin and gently drawing her face around, making her meet his gaze. His green eyes were warm with concern.

  "Fine," she said, pulling away from his grip and crossing her arms over her chest.

  "Glad to hear it." He took a seat in the chair beside her bed. "You'll be getting out soon."

  "Great." she picked up the remote again and flipped through channels. Although she wanted to get the heck out of the hospital, she alternatively wished that she could put off this conversation for as long as possible. There were too many feelings swirling around inside of her, too many to make sense of so quickly.