“Kindneth?” I said. Even through the gag, my voice must have registered my astonishment. Though he’d saved me, kindness wasn’t something I found in his face or voice. Whatever else he was, this man was no saint.
He gave a bitter bark of a laugh. “Not kindness, I’m afraid. Friends of these two may come looking for them. Unlikely, but one or the other might still be alive. Might even be walking around in a year, looking for me. I’ve seen men hurt that bad survive. This way, I won’t have to worry about ‘em talking or walking.” He turned to look at me. “Neither will you.”
He severed the last rope around my wrists and helped me sit up, then unbuckled the leather strap. I spat it out, then spat again, trying to rid my mouth of its vile taste.
He moved to my feet and began cutting the rope around my ankles.
I massaged my sore wrists; they were red and carried the angry impression of the ropes. “They were going to brand me!” I cried with mixed anger and lingering terror.
He nodded grimly. “Couple of psychos. Got their kicks this way.”
“The one called Carlos said it was orders.”
He stopped cutting and looked at me. “Orders? Whose orders?”
“He didn’t say. Do people like this really brand women?”
He shook his head. “They don’t. They treat women like cattle all right but they don’t brand them.”
“But you told them I was worth more without the brand.”
“I was as surprised as you. Said the first thing that came to mind. Just trying to stall them until I was close enough to use the knife.”
I felt the tension around my ankles vanish as the last bond was cut. He stood. “How long were you tied up?”
“I don’t know. Forever, it felt like! Maybe a couple of hours in the car, another hour out here.”
“Well, massage your ankles before you try to stand. Chances are they’re a little numb. Don’t get up until you feel them tingle. I’d do it but I’d just get more blood on you. I’m going to see if they’ve got a rag or something I can use to clean up.”
He walked to the SUV and poked inside until he found a shirt, which he used to wipe off the blood. I kneaded my ankles and watched him, the first chance I had to study the man without being terrified or tethered. The way he’d talked about not standing made me wonder if he was speaking from experience. As a captive or captor?
I looked around. What a Godforsaken place! Incredible that he’d been out here just at this moment. Then my eye was caught by the lawn chairs and barbecue grill. The bastards! A couple of sick sadists.
The vomit that I’d kept down earlier came back and this time I let myself throw up. The stranger said nothing but he got something from the cooler. He came over. “Throat’s dry, I expect.”
“Horribly.”
“Couldn’t find any water.” He handed me a small jug of Gatorade. I took a long, deep drink.
“Don’t drink too much. You’ll just throw up again. Wait a minute or two.” He went to the cooler and popped a can of beer. Instead of drinking it, however, he poured it on himself and continued to wipe, which he did for several minutes. When he was done, he poured beer on his knife and carefully cleaned the blade and handle.
When I was little, at holidays I would watch my parents’ longtime maid polishing the family silver: candlestick holders, serving platters, teapot, creamer, cake knife. It took her days to work through all the pieces, getting every spot of tarnish off. Rock gave no less time and attention to his weapon, inspecting and rubbing it as someone would a precious object. To him, it was clearly as valuable, probably more so. I guessed this wasn’t the first time it had saved his life.
And that was my first long look at Miguel Roca, though few called him anything but “Rock.” He stood there washing blood off himself with a can of beer as casually as anyone else would hose themselves after yard work, like a man with a long familiarity with alcohol and blood and blades.
I began to shiver. Maybe a delayed response to what had happened, maybe to what might.
A Dark Design
Rock finished cleaning himself and tossed the shirt away. The girl was standing now, wobbly but on her feet. She had grit. After an experience like this, most women would be hysterical.
She was tall and pretty. Hell, she was beautiful. Shiny red hair, high cheekbones, pointed chin. She came from money; that was obvious: the way she talked, held herself, her clothes – casual but chic, her jewelry – gold and understated.
She turned her back to him and lifted her dress to adjust her panties. He knew he should look away but he couldn’t help himself. She was wearing pink panties and her round ass filled them out nicely. He felt his cock stir. Damn Jones had no sense of time or place.
Searching for distraction, he remembered an oddity about how she was bound. He crouched beside one of the stakes. Besides the rope, there was a snipped plastic cuff. He looked at the other stake, where there was another severed cuff. “Funny,” he muttered.
“What’s funny?”
“Funny odd. Looks like they bound you with flex, then cut ‘em off.”
“They tied me with something else. I couldn’t see what. My hands were behind my back. When they got me out of the SUV, they cut that off and tied my hands in front.”
“I see now. The flex wouldn’t reach the stake, so they retied you with rope.”
“What is flex?”
He picked one up to show her. “This. Plastic strips with notches. Works just as good as handcuffs. Cops use them.”
“Where did these two get them?”
“Online, I imagine. Anyone can buy them.”
“They can? Why?”
That was a question he didn’t want to fully answer. He shrugged. “Why do people do anything? They’re convenient, useful for kidnapping apparently.”
But the bastards were going to brand her. What the hell was that about? “Orders,” they’d told the girl. Was that a dumb joke or had they really been hired to grab her and mark her? And for who? Well, not his problem. Time to get the hell out of here, get this girl off his hands.
He popped a couple of beers and poured them on the grill. The coals hissed and steamed. Unlikely a mischance would start a fire out here but best to be on the safe side. Country was dry as a tinderbox.
The girl came up next to him, walking all right now. “What do we do now? Call the policia?”
He looked at her. “Where were you snatched?”
“Tuláz.”
“We’re a long way from Tuláz. This is between towns, falls into the jurisdiction of the state police. Were you staying there?”
“Yes. At the Viceroy.”
“I’ll take you there. Once you’re back, you can decide if you want to report this.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“No one will doubt your story, especially once they see the bodies, but when you come to the part about the guy who saved you, they’re going to want to know where he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I won’t be around.”
“But you’re a hero!”
“Not to any friends of these two. And I don’t want to have anything to do with the policia. I’ve been keeping a low profile since I moved here. I don’t want to come to anyone’s attention, especially cops.”
“You’re just going to take me back and drop me off? Who do you think you are? The Lone Ranger?”
“Look, I’m glad I was here just now but I don’t want to get involved in an investigation. Not convenient.”
“All right but I don’t even know your name.”
“And I don’t know yours. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I can’t believe the things that come out of your mouth. You didn’t pick me up in a bar, you saved my fucking life!”
“Which is why you shouldn’t yell at me.”
She drew a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just a little stressed, you know? Listen, Mystery Man, would you do just one thing for me, one little thing
?”
“What’s that?” Rock said warily.
“Would you put your arms around me?” She moved toward Rock and he instinctively folded his arms around her. “You don’t have to kiss me or anything. Just hold me for a couple of minutes because… because I think I’m going to…”
She suddenly began to sob. Tears spouted and trickled down her face. Rock held her, arms around her shoulders and back, the way you’d hold your mother or sister at a family funeral, arms tight but not too tight, an embrace of consolation or, in this case, reassurance but nothing more, nothing that implied a deeper bond because the truth was there wasn’t any. He didn’t know this girl and though he felt sympathy and an instinctive male urge to protect, nothing else.
No, that was not quite true because he also felt a familiar stir between his legs. Oh, God, no. No, Jones! Not now. He reached mentally back to a karate instructor who had taught him to empty his mind. Inhale: slow, deep. Again. Still the mind. Still the body.
She pressed her head against his chest and bawled until his shirt was damp. From time to time, he patted her back. After a few minutes, she began to ease up and he told himself he should say something, not just stand there like a piece of dead meat.
“There, there,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “It’s all right now. You’re safe.” He felt awkward. It had been years since he’d held a woman like this, talked tenderly to her. There had been women of course but none that inspired anything more than passing affection and gratitude for a nice fuck. None that got into his heart. This one wasn’t going to either.
“I’m all right now,” she said finally. He pulled his arms away and dug in his pocket for a couple of napkins from his last meal at a taqueria. He handed them to her. “Sorry, afraid I don’t have a handkerchief.”
She wiped her face. “This is fine. Thank you. I just thought of something.”
“What’s that?”
“I dropped my purse when they grabbed me. It had my ID, phone, credit cards.”
“Where did you drop it?”
“A parking lot.”
“They did this in a parking lot in the middle of Tuláz?”
“Yes. They were fast. They’d parked their SUV next to mine.”
“Even so. That was brazen. There was an attendant?”
“Yes, in a little booth at the entrance.”
“They may have bribed him. In any case, I wouldn’t count on seeing your purse again. What about your passport? Did you lose that too?”
“No that’s still at the hotel, thank God.” She sighed. “I’ll just have to wire Richard for money.”
“Richard is your husband?”
She shook her head. “A family friend. I’m staying with him and his wife. He’s managed our investments since before I was born. Sort of a second father to me. Mom and Daddy had a great marriage but it was a May-December thing. Mom died of cancer two years ago. Daddy’s seventy-two and frail. He wants to sell the mansion, so it’s being renovated. He’s staying with Aunt Angela in New York but since I’m still going to BU–”
“BU?”
“Boston University. I’m sorry. I’m babbling. You don’t need to know my life story. What I mean is Richard was against this whole trip. He’s protective. Thinks I can’t take care of myself.” She sighed again. “Maybe he’s right. Can we go now? This place… it gives me the creeps.”
“Not just yet.” He walked to Carlos, who lay on his stomach, his shattered skull a mess of blood and bone. He lifted the dead man’s shirt, exposing his back. He got the shirt he’d cleaned with and used it to pick up the branding iron.
The girl had turned her head away from the corpse. “What are you doing?” she asked in a baffled tone.
Rock didn’t answer. He thrust the branding iron onto Carlos’s back and quickly pulled it away. The girl shrieked. “Oh my God! Why did you do that?” She backed away from him, eyes wide, suddenly afraid again.
Rock tossed the brand away. “Come over here,” he told her.
“No!” she said in disgust and fear.
“I need you to take a look.”
“You need me to do that? Why? So I’ll know what I would have looked like?”
“No, to see if it means anything to you.”
“Mean anything? Are you out of your mind?”
Rock suddenly strode to her. She stepped nervously backward but he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her toward the corpse until they stood beside it. She squeezed her eyes shut like a child who refused to see something unpleasant.
“For God’s sake, open your eyes.”
“No!”
“Just one look.”
“No!”
“We’re not leaving until you do.”
After a moment, she opened her eyes and after shooting him an angry look, turned to view the still smoking brand and its strange design.
“Ugh! All right, I looked.” She turned and walked a short distance off. Rock followed her. “What in the world is that supposed to be?” she asked.
“What did it look like to you?”
“Like a heart with a slash through it.”
“That’s what I saw too.”
“What could it mean?”
“Nothing maybe. Sometimes cattle brands work the owner’s initials into the design. Sometimes they pun on the name, like ‘Hart’ for instance. Sometimes they’re about the name of the ranch. Main thing is for it to be different from the rest. Maybe that’s all this is. Or maybe it does mean something.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like a ‘no smoking’ sign. Except this stands for, I dunno, ‘no heart.’ Something like that. And it doesn’t ring any bells for you?”
“Nothing. Why should it?”
“This branding business is weird. Maybe they weren’t just after any pretty woman.”
“You mean, they were after me?”
“Possibly.”
“All right but why brand me? Do you think one of them has a ranch?”
“I doubt it. Man busy with a ranch doesn’t run into town for a little kidnapping. This might not be a cattle brand.”
“What else could it… oh!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh my God.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a cold wind. “At first I thought they were after me, right up to the minute they were about to burn me.”
“You mean kidnapped for money?”
“Yes.”
“That happens down here but they don’t pick people at random. Do you have money?”
“All my money is in a trust fund, but yes, my family’s wealthy. Very.”
“Doesn’t make sense to kidnap someone and brand her. That’s crazy.”
“No, it doesn’t make sense. Maybe it never will. Maybe it will always be a mystery. I hope so. I’ll have nightmares about this for a long time, but I hope I never have to think about it again. Now can we go?”
Rock picked up the big man’s gun and searched the car for ammunition clips. He found two. He pocketed them and wedged the gun in his belt. “My bike’s over that little rise.”
The rise was an easy climb for him but he thought it might be steep for her. Halfway up, he turned and offered her a hand, which she took gratefully. Once on top he simply lifted her in his arms and carried her down.
“Thank you, sir.” she said as he set her on her feet.
“No problem.”
He started to walk away but when he saw she wasn’t beside him, he turned. She was still at the base of the rise, arms folded with a look of annoyance. “Listen, make up a name if you want to, but I’ve got to call you something.”
He sighed. “Most people call me Rock.”
“Rock? As in stone?”
“Yeah.”
“Just Rock?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like ‘Shane’ or ‘Paladin?’”
“Sort of.”
“All right, Rock. And my name’s Aurora Constable.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Constabl
e.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, under the circumstances I think we can drop the formalities. My friends call me Rory. Saving my life automatically makes you a friend, whether you want to be or not.”
“All right… Rory.”
She looked around. “Never was any posse, was there?”
“No. Not that I expected them to buy that but it kept them distracted and off balance for a few extra seconds.”
“I’ve never seen anyone throw a knife like that except in a movie. Where did you learn that?”
“Army.”
“The army teaches knife throwing?”
“I was in Afghanistan. You want to learn hand-to-hand, nobody knows it like the Afghans.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“Bike started burping. I was fixing it. Trying to anyway. Don’t know if I did yet. I’ve spent the night here from time to time. There’s a little spring that feeds these oaks, keeps this spot cool and shady. Cheaper than a motel, cleaner than most of them, plus amazing stars.”
He took off his leather jacket and handed it to her.
“I don’t need that,” she objected.
“Gets cold on a bike. I advise you wear it. It’ll take us a couple of hours to make Tuláz.”
She donned the jacket, which swallowed her. She laughed. “I feel like a little girl in my father’s coat!”
It was the first time Rock had heard her laugh. The sound was musical and she had a smile that went with it, full of sunshine. He took the gun from his belt and stowed it and the knife in the saddlebags, then mounted. She hitched up her dress and got behind him awkwardly.
“You ever ride a bike?” he asked.
“Once but it wasn’t this big and just in town.”
“Well, you might find it scary at first. May want to hold onto me till you get used to it. Don’t want to do that, there’s a strap on the seat that you can grip.”
The engine started without a hitch. He listened for a minute. No popping, at least for now. He felt her arms around his waist and the push of her breasts against his back. It had been a while since he’d had a girl there. Nice.
DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,) Page 2