Beyond Ransom
Part One of The Ransom Series
By A.T. Douglas
Copyright © 2014 by A.T. Douglas
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without prior written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
Author Notes and Acknowledgements
Other Books by this Author
About the Author
To writing the story that started it all
and doing it completely on a whim.
1
Freedom
I tap my fingers on the counter lazily as I wait for the toaster to complete its purpose. It’s early, and the few sips of coffee I’ve had so far have yet to take effect on my system.
This morning is like most other mornings. Dad is in the dining room reading the local newspaper. His badge and gun rest idly on the table. They hardly leave his sight, which shouldn’t surprise me given that he’s been a detective for over twenty years. The two items might as well be considered additional appendages of the man.
Mom is already out of the house and at the gym. Is it Pilates or Zumba today? Honestly, I forget. It’s her morning routine, and she’s usually out the door before I’m even out of bed. She’s in great shape for her mid-forties and probably has more drive toward being physically fit than I do, which is saying a lot considering I’m an athlete. I’ve played basketball and volleyball in one form or another for as long as I can remember.
The three of us make a family, and while I love the closeness we share, I often wish there was another kid in the house to take some of the attention. My parents are extremely protective of me, particularly my dad. I know they mean well, but I’ve found myself feeling sheltered and almost held back in life as a result.
I’m ready to break out into the world. I’m ready to emerge from beneath their protective wings and go out into the open wild myself.
I’m ready.
Two weeks. Only two more weeks and I’ll be heading to college at the University of Arizona. Granted, it’s only a two-hour drive away from home, but that’s two hours further from my parents than I’ve ever been before. I’ll be living in a dorm with other people my age, able to go out without a curfew, able to live and thrive. In a way, I’ll be free.
The toast jumps out of the toaster and scares me half to death. Screw coffee. The adrenaline pumping through my veins has done more to wake me up in the last two seconds than the quarter-cup of bitter black liquid I’ve ingested while waiting for my toast.
After buttering the toast and adding it to my plate of scrambled eggs, I take a seat across from Dad at the dining room table. He looks exceedingly serious this morning, his normal stern demeanor and hard exterior even more pronounced than usual. There’s a bit of an awkward silence between us. He hasn’t even greeted me this morning other than a nod when I walked in the kitchen.
“Everything okay, Dad?” I ask, not really sure if I want to know the answer.
It takes a second for my question to register with him before he finally puts down the newspaper. He nods a few times. “Everything’s fine.”
I’m not convinced. I’m not sure he’s even convinced of his answer.
Add to the protectiveness of my parents the fact that they have some aura of secrecy about what Dad does for a living. He never talks about work. He keeps it as far away from home as he possibly can. I guess I should be grateful, but I hate being the only one out of the loop. I want to know the purpose behind him putting himself in the line of fire and at the bull’s eye of the scum of the human race on a daily basis. That need for understanding has always been there in my life and has always remained unfulfilled. My quest for answers was abandoned years ago.
“I’m going to check out a store that sells used textbooks today,” I offer in an attempt to change the subject. “They just got a new shipment in. I think I’ll go see if they have any of my books after breakfast.”
With Dad’s initial lack of response, I can tell his mind is far from me and my quest for cheap textbooks.
“Morgan, I don’t want you going out today.”
I immediately sigh and drop my gaze to my plate, mindlessly poking my fork at the eggs. This isn’t the first time Dad has insisted I stay home when I’ve wanted to go out. There will be no explanation, so I won’t even bother asking why, but I’ll put up a little more of a fight than usual. “The place is ten minutes from here. I’ll be there and back in less than an hour.”
He shakes his head. “No way. Not today.”
I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, pushing the plate away from me toward the center of the table between us, my fork clanking dramatically against the ceramic. “How are you going to handle me going to college in a couple weeks if I can’t even go to a local store? You’re ridiculous, Dad. I’m almost nineteen. I’m not your little girl anymore.”
Dad leans his arms forward on the table and gives me a firm look. His graying hair is messy today. He hasn’t shaved. It all adds to the look of anger emanating from him. Despite my show of defiance, I still hate making my dad angry.
“You’ll do as I say today,” he orders. “I’ll make sure you have what you need to stay protected while you’re at school. I’ve been planning for it since you were a baby.”
A moment of stillness and silence fills the space between us. We’re at an impasse.
I run my hands over my face, putting my frustration with this conversation very clearly out in the open. “I just don’t even know what to say to you anymore, Dad.”
Tears burn at the back of my eyes as the words tumble out of my mouth. My body stills for a moment before I push my chair back from the table, stand up, and walk away without another word.
The walk down the hall to my bedroom is a long one, just me alone with my thoughts. I love my dad, but I’m tired of his constant protectiveness, his overreaction to everything in the scary outside world that could have even a most remote possibility of causing some kind of harm to me.
I’ve always been a well-behaved daughter and a good student. I’m the ultimate rule-abider, and where has it got me?
Nowhere.
By the time I enter my room and slam the door behind me, I let the first of my tears finally fall. With college just around the corner, I thought I was past this, but I’m clearly not. I’m trapped in my room again as I have been so many times before.
/> Dad seems to have plans to protect me while I’m at college, but he can’t be there. He wouldn’t abandon his job on the force to hover over me at college… would he?
Jesus, I need fresh air. I need it so much my lungs are practically burning for it. I move to open the window and immediately suck in a deep breath through the screen and hold it there. My eyes close. As I take in the oxygen and absorb the heat of the sun on my face, I let myself be swallowed up in the quiet hum of nearby traffic from the entrance to our little cul-de-sac part of the neighborhood.
Once I finally let myself exhale, my eyes slowly open and are immediately drawn to my car sitting idly at the end of the driveway. I should be in that car. I should be out on the road enjoying this beautiful day and a taste of freedom.
“Freedom.” The word flows out of my mouth and into the open air, taking with it all notion of obeying my dad’s orders.
A rushed debate flickers across my mind before the decision is made. I quickly close the window and move to my closet to throw on a pair of jean shorts and a white T-shirt. I grab my purse from my desk and peek inside it to confirm the presence of my keys and cell phone before silently and slowly opening my bedroom door.
As I slink across the tan tiled floor down the hall, I hear Dad’s voice booming from the area of the dining room. I gather that he’s on the phone with work and clearly upset about something he saw in the newspaper.
I don’t bother listening to his call, though I’m grateful for the distraction it’s providing and the opportunity it’s giving me to slip on my sandals and sneak out the front door.
A decent wind whips my shoulder-length dirty blond hair all around my face the moment I step outside. I take care to close and lock the door as quietly as possible behind me before setting out down the driveway.
In my lack of planning for this little escapade, I neglected to account for the fact that starting my car would be an immediate giveaway that I’m not in my room where I’m supposed to be. I hate the thought of walking in the heat of the morning under the Arizona sun, but I don’t have much choice. A few blocks’ distance is all I really need.
I pull out my phone as I walk and search for a local cab company. The call is short, but the wait for the cab will be longer than I hoped. The nearest cab is fifteen minutes away but still worth the wait. It’s too hot to walk all the way to the bookstore and back.
My wait begins as I finish walking the last block away from my house to the intersection where the cab will meet me. The dirt on the sidewalk beneath my feet becomes a convenient thing for me to kick around while I wait. I’m only contributing to the dust circling in the air with this wind, but I couldn’t care less.
Within minutes a car pulls up next to me. It’s a black town car with tinted windows, not the yellow cab I was expecting, and it’s early.
I approach the car warily, still trying to make sense of what it’s doing here and why I’m worried about its appearance when I’m the one who called for it.
The passenger-side window suddenly goes down and the driver speaks to me. “Morgan Whitford?”
I nod.
The back door of the vehicle opens abruptly. Two huge hands reach for me, owned by someone with insanely broad shoulders wearing a malicious scowl on his face.
Shit.
Flight or flight reflexes kick in, and within a fraction of a second my body has its choice. I turn to run, confident I am faster than my pursuer, but instead of bolting into the free air, I run into something solid.
I look up at another version of my pursuer, this one not as physically imposing as the other but just as menacing with his malevolent grin. I instinctively begin to move backward away from him only to run into the original pursuer.
I’m trapped. I have nowhere to run, and there’s no one in the immediate vicinity to help me.
The second man approaches me, grabbing the front of my shirt gruffly and pulling me up toward him. “Glad you could join us, Morgan.”
His voice is low. It’s deadly. It’s telling me something I never wanted to admit to myself.
My dad was right. The world is dangerous, and I need protecting.
Where is he when I need him? That’s right. He’s at home thinking I’m in my bedroom sulking that I couldn’t go to the bookstore today.
I’m so screwed.
“What do you want?” I ask without any hope of getting a positive answer.
“You,” he replies.
“Why me? Why do you know my name?” My hands start shaking, but I clench them into fists so that no one will notice.
I watch each tiny movement of the broad smile forming on his lips. “You’ll have to ask your father about that.”
A strong arm grabs me around the chest from behind and holds me as a hand presses some kind of cloth to my face. Potent chemical smell and taste immediately fill my nostrils and my mouth as I involuntarily gasp and breathe it in. I start to feel woozy. I know I’m going to pass out. In that moment a million thoughts and regrets run through my mind as I realize it’s over for me.
Freedom. All I wanted was a taste of freedom.
That last thought is but a whisper in my mind as my knees buckle and I fall away into unconsciousness.
2
Wrong
I awaken with a gasp. It takes only a second for my senses to realize that the hum of male voices that previously enveloped the room around me has gone silent with my sudden announcement that I’m awake.
Something covers my eyes, a bandana or cloth of some sort. Something similar holds my bite open and pulls tightly against the corners of my mouth. My heart races as this information really starts to penetrate my brain.
I’ve been blindfolded and gagged.
I try to wiggle my hands free, but they’re secured tightly behind my back. I try to move my feet, but they won’t budge.
I’m tied to a fucking chair.
Footsteps approach me. I can hear each movement of them in the deafening silence of the room. The steps are heavy, weighted with purpose and intent, and I dread what’s going to happen next.
Fear. Absolute fear takes over me. My breathing quickens. My eyes burn with the sting of tears.
The footsteps stop, and silence surrounds me once again. I can feel how close the person is next to me in the body heat radiating through the small distance between us. A hand or face has to be within inches of my skin. I can feel it even with the pieces of cloth strapped around my eyes and mouth.
“Good evening, Morgan,” a man’s voice says as hot breath washes over my sweating forehead. I shiver involuntarily, tiny goose bumps of terror prickling over my entire body from head to toe.
I can’t reply. I can’t move or do anything to acknowledge what this man just said. I don’t know what he expects of me, so I wait in the darkness behind my blindfold and focus on the rapid thud of my heart within my chest.
The man is moving again. I can hear his footsteps circling around me, stalking me like an animal closing in on its prey.
He’s going to devour me. He’s going to end me.
Panic surges through my body as hands grasp my shoulders. It’s a vicious hold at first before softening in touch. Nausea creeps up within me as the hands begin to massage my skin, slowly moving from my shoulders up under my hair to my neck. The sensuality of it scares the shit out of me. If this is the starting point of my nightmare, where will this end?
The hands slowly enclose themselves around my neck and squeeze slightly, as if practicing to choke me. Their grip then softens, and he releases his hold. The fear and panic rising within me at his touch only increases as his cheek and nose press against my hair. My body cringes away in the slightest movement as he inhales, taking in the scent of me.
“God, you smell good.” The man is practically growling his words. “Let’s get a better look at you.”
The cloth is lifted from my eyes, and I am immediately blinded by a spotlight trained directly on me. I divert my gaze away from it and let my vision clear up before raisin
g my head to take in my surroundings.
Cement is all around me: cold, hard, solid cement on the floor and walls and ceiling. Beyond the spotlight there is limited lighting in the corners of the large room from single exposed light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Men are scattered throughout, well over ten of them, all with hardened faces, scruff on their jaw lines, broad chests, and arms built with muscle. They’re intimidating–no, they’re absolutely frightening to me. In one look at them I can tell I don’t stand a chance.
I drop my head and close my eyes. I don’t want to look at them anymore. I wish the blindfold was back over my face to keep me in visual denial of my surroundings.
I want to be back at home, sitting across from Mom and Dad at the dining room table, watching a movie with them in the living room, just talking with them, doing anything with them.
I was so wrong about my life. I had it pretty good, and I took it completely for granted. All my dad ever wanted was to keep me safe. I should have understood that. I shouldn’t have gone against his wishes and left the house, especially without him knowing when I was going. What I did went against every single thing my dad has taught me since I was old enough to understand his words.
I was so wrong.
“You are a beautiful thing.” The voice is back, demanding my attention. The footsteps approach from behind until they come to a stop directly in front of me. I reluctantly open my eyes.
In my first glance at him, he seems perfectly normal: a middle-aged, balding man with worn features on his face. He’s imposing in the sense that he’s tall and towers over me where I’m sitting, but he otherwise seems completely harmless. In the two minutes I’ve been conscious in his presence, though, I already know his appearance is deceiving.
This man is evil. This man will take everything from me. This man will end me.
The gag is still in my mouth, preventing me from responding or doing anything to participate in this one-sided conversation. The way he looks at me, like some prize to be claimed or object to be conquered, makes me uneasy and only adds to the panic swirling inside me.
Beyond Ransom (The Ransom Series) Page 1