Erased (2 page)

“Fine. Make sure the hardware is in the trunk of the SUV. Loaded.” I start to hang up but stop. There is something I need to know. “What does the virus do, Bruce?” I question.

“Erase.”

Cryptic much? “Erase what?”

There is a long pause before Bruce answers me.

“Everything.”

“WAKE UP, BLONDIE.”

The safety of the dark, beautiful oblivion I succumbed to is suddenly ripped from me. Now, it’s just dark. No beauty here. No freaking oblivion.

I try desperately to pretend what I’m quickly becoming aware of is just a dream. The chill of the concrete against my bare feet. The burn of a thick, scratchy rope that binds my wrists behind me. The tight material around my eyes that masks whatever horrors lie before me.

A moan of terror builds in my throat but dies immediately once I realize I’ve been gagged by a dry rag. My efforts will be futile.

“I said wake up, blondie,” the male voice growls as he tangles his fingers in my long—and probably, at this point, wild—curly hair and tilts my head back.

Tears burn my eyes as I squirm to escape his grasp. This is definitely not a fucking dream. Not even close.

But why me?

This thought has plagued my mind ever since the moment I was plucked unceremoniously from my bed in my apartment. Of course it would be when my live-in boyfriend, Kent, was out of town on business. How freaking convenient on my attacker’s part. I tried to fight the man off but he was easily twice my size. My screams were snuffed out the moment I felt the prick in my thigh and the blackness stole my clarity. Now, as the drug subsides and I try to take in my surroundings, I’m at a loss as to why they chose me.

“Untie her wrists and secure them in front of her. He needs to see this.” The order comes from someone older. The recognition of the voice slices my heart in two.

I know the man who’s giving out orders as if kidnapping a twenty-four-year-old woman in the middle of the night is okay.

It is not okay.

Heavy footsteps approach me, a different person than the one giving orders, and my senses are invaded once again by the man I’m sure was the one who stole me. His presence is almost palpable and he smells surprisingly clean for a kidnapper. I feel his large hands lightly brush against mine as he works the knots efficiently. When the rope loosens and my screaming wrists are given a reprieve, I barely push out a garbled sigh before he yanks them in front of me and makes quick work with the new knots.

“N-t-t. T-t-ho. T-t” My words through the rag are unrecognizable, but I’m desperately making my plea to the man trussing me up.

He pauses momentarily before reaching his hand to my face. The tips of his fingers skitter across my cheeks in a surprisingly gentle move as he takes hold of the cloth silencing me. Once he gives it a tug and my dry mouth is free, tears fill my eyes again.

“Not so tight,” I hiss.

In most situations, now would be the time to scream. Now would be the time to beg for them to release me. Anything. But I’m way smarter than that. I may be a woman who plays piano for a living, but I am not dense. Not the least bit. Screaming won’t do a damn thing.

These men will hurt me. Kill me, even. People don’t kidnap other people and then let them go without acquiring what they want first.

They want me.

My attacker goes back to tying my hands, but this time, I feel give in the ropes and silently thank him for honoring my request. The blood is quickly rushing back to each digit, so I wriggle them to quicken the flow.

“Get her phone, Gideon. It’s time.” The other voice, the familiar one, is once again bossing around the man beside me.

I hear my kidnapper grunt in annoyance before stomping across the concrete to somewhere else in the space we’re in. Between the way their voices echo and the chilliness of the room, I imagine we’re in a garage or a warehouse of sorts.

“Call ‘Dad,’” the one giving orders sniffs.

He fucking sniffs.

Please, for the love of God, no.

“Bruce?” His name barely rolls off my tongue before my nose and eyes burn with tears of betrayal. Not Bruce of all people—he’s like an uncle to me.

He’s my godfather.

A cold laugh, one I’ve never heard from him before, bounces eerily around the room. “This isn’t about you, darling. This is about your precious daddy. He has something that belongs to me. As long as he gives it back, you’ll go back to your pussy boyfriend and your princess life. It will only take one phone call and then it will be over. Everybody wins.”

My heart seizes. This will be over soon. Even though someone I love just as much as my father has orchestrated my kidnapping and now blackmail for whatever he wants from Dad, I still trust his words. His words soothe me.

“Okay,” I whimper.

My kidnapper grunts. He doesn’t seem happy. The anger in his voice tells me that he doesn’t believe his boss. And that confuses me.

“You’re a good Jossy girl,” Bruce coos.

Jossy girl.

Since birth, I’ve known this man. He’s been at every backyard barbeque, every Thanksgiving dinner, and every piano recital or concert I’ve ever played at. When I was younger, he’d ruffle up my hair and slip me a Tootsie Roll behind my dad’s back as he prepped dinner. He’d say, “You’re a good Jossy girl.”

And I was. Always a good Jossy girl.

I’m torn from my memories when I hear a phone ringing on speaker.

“Joss? Is everything okay, princess?” my father asks sleepily but his voice is already filled with concern.

All I get out is a choked sob. I don’t know what to do—what to say. Somehow, I’m waiting for Bruce to ask Dad for what he wants and for us to put this all behind us. It’s like some game, like when Bruce would entertain me so Dad could fix something important on his computer. “Go find me one hundred and thirty-three acorns, Jossy girl.” And like a good little girl, I’d scamper off and spend hours playing our game while Dad worked.

Fix this, Dad.

“Everything is not okay, William.” Bruce’s words are venom as he spits them out.

“Bruce? Was Joss in an accident? Is she okay?” he demands. I can hear the jingle of his belt as he throws on clothes.

Bruce sniffs and calmly states his piece. “I need the password.”

The password?

That’s it? A password? Dad will give it to him and this will all be over. Bruce will take me for breakfast at our favorite diner on the corner near my apartment. We’ll laugh about it over scrambled eggs and pancakes. Dad
will
fix this.

A resigned sigh rushes from my father. I instantly hate the sigh. I’ve heard it before. It’s the one he would give me before he told me no—which was often. Since I was motherless growing up, Dad was the thumb and I lived under it. His rules were strict and unyielding. And even though he wanted me to be happy and to do fun, girly things, he’d sigh and then tell me no.

Every time.

For crying out loud, Dad. Not tonight. Of all nights, give him what he wants!

“Bruce, you know I can’t do that.” My dad hates his words, but he says them anyway.

Something heavy crashes in the room and I jump. With his angry sniffs giving him away, Bruce storms over to where I am and grabs a handful of my blond hair, causing me to cry out.

“You see this, William? This is your daughter. I’ll stop at nothing to get that password. I have the flash drive—now, I need to get inside of it. This virus was supposed to be ours together! So tell me—why in the fuck am I unable to access it?” he snarls.

Dad is silent while Bruce heaves out furious breaths that reek of coffee, his hand still wrapped around my unruly locks but no longer pulling. Finally, Dad speaks.

“You’re a loose cannon, Bruce. I encrypted the program as a safeguard specifically for this sort of thing. And then, not only did you steal it, but you plan on selling it as well. Do you have any idea the ramifications of what will happen if this gets into the wrong hands?” Dad asks in a tone that reminds me of my years growing up—the one filled with intent on making me feel guilty.

Bruce untangles his hand from my hair and explodes. “Don’t you think I fucking know that? The wrong hands are precisely where it’s going! The North Korean government, to be exact. They had their lapdog company, DRP Corp., approach me with an obscene offer. I have seventeen million dollars riding on this. Do you understand that? Seventeen million! Hell, I’d split it with you fifty-fifty. You, me, and Joss could escape. We could disappear. The three of us could buy a fucking island for Christ’s sakes!”

Dad sighs again. How he isn’t begging for Bruce to take me home or just giving him the password is beyond me. It’s almost as if he knew this would happen. I don’t think he counted on my being in the equation though.

“No.”

One word that slices its way right through my chest and fillets my heart.

“Wrong answer, buddy.” Bruce is ridiculously calm, and my brain tells me that it’s the calm before the storm.

I feel Bruce’s weathered hand grab my bound wrists and haul them up. My yelp of surprise does nothing to stop the way he manhandles me.

“Password, William—or she loses her fingers one by one.”

What?

I gasp in horror. This is surely some joke. My own godfather wouldn’t cut my fingers off.

“Bruce, don’t do it. Please.” Dad’s tone doesn’t reassure me because it tells me that he believes Bruce will act on his promise.

My heart flares to life in my chest and patters around wildly out of control.

“Please don’t hurt me, Bruce,” I beg tearfully.

“Password. Now.”
Bruce.

“No.”
Dad.

“Daddy, please. Just give it to him.”
Me.

A growl.
My kidnapper.

Thankfully, my hands are dropped back into my lap, and I pull them protectively against my chest. Bruce storms away, but in an instant, he’s back at my side, wrenching my wrists away from their safe haven.

“She’ll never play piano again, William. Are you sure you want to make that decision for your sweet daughter?”

Tears spill down my cheeks. Piano is everything to me. From the moment I was able to understand who my mother was, I’ve been smitten with it. She was a concert pianist like I am. Mom went to Julliard—just like I did. My destiny was to fulfill what she never could the day she died on the operating table while giving birth to a premature me. It was the only way I knew how to honor the woman I never knew but somehow always knew loved me even before I took my first breath.

I need to play piano like I need to breathe. I don’t even understand who I would be without it.

“Please!” I beg for anyone who’ll listen.

“Bruce. I can’t.”

Three words. Three simple words from my father’s mouth effectively turn my carefully laid-out world upside down. The betrayal in those three words will forever singe a scar in my heart.

A hateful noise tears from Bruce as he yanks my ring finger up. The same finger I’d hoped to one day wear my mother’s wedding ring on. The same finger I’d secretly wished my boyfriend of nearly two years would slip a promise of his love on while bent on one knee.

“Now, William.”

Silence.

While Dad remains silent, all that can be heard is my terrified sobs, the labored breathing of Bruce, and the grinding of the teeth of my kidnapper.

“I can’t. It’s too important.” His voice is thick with remorse and resignation. My father has resigned himself to allow me to lose my fingers—my life and my career—to protect a fucking password.

“Please, Bruce, no!” I scream, finally finding my voice.

Cold, unforgiving metal clamps on to the soft skin just below the knuckle closest to my palm. The squeeze at first is bearable. But as he slowly—still giving my father a chance—begins smashing the metal together, I start to lose my mind.

Thrashing in a futile attempt to escape him, I force myself not to think of the excruciating pain of my finger as Bruce continues his assault. Here’s the moment. I’m about to lose my fucking finger.

Bruce starts a countdown as he squeezes. “Three.”

Silence.

“Two.”

The bone of my finger aches with the pressure of the metal. Tears no longer have a place in my eyes as stars of shock settle there instead.