Fighting (48 page)

We
glared at each other for a while, but I was cuffed and slumped against the wall
of the van and when it became apparent that I was done fighting back for the
time being, he hefted himself into the front seat.

I
shoved my hands into the pocket and found the bug almost immediately.  I didn't
want to take it out in case they were to glance back and see it, so I had to do
it by blindly.  I felt around for the wires and thankfully, it was an easy
switch to press it against the battery.  I quickly transplanted it from my
pocket to my bra.  Dick turned around to glance at me right as I lifted my
hands to my face and wiped at my bloody nose innocently.

"Where
are we going?" I asked.  "And whose idea was it to kidnap me in the
first place?" I asked with irritation.

Please be listening, Ollie
!

"Far
away," the driver said.

"And
you know who hired us," Dick said.

"Say
his name," I said.

"Fletcher."

"I
knew it!" I shouted.

And
that's when I realized that even if I had the bug connected, I was way, way,
way
out of range for them to receive any signal.  I was really alone. 
Oh,
fuckbuckets
. 

*****

I
felt the van finally slow down and pull into a parking lot of a building.  He
slid the van to a not so subtle stop at the front entrance and Dick jumped out
of the van and opened the sliding door.  He helped me out of the van and didn't
hesitate to hold the gun against my ribs to keep me from running.  I quickly
surveyed my surroundings but I didn't recognize anything familiar.  We were at
a huge warehouse with other antique, abandoned buildings around us. 

Dick
hauled me inside the warehouse and the driver sped out of the parking lot.  He
probably had a strict schedule of kidnapping people he needed to make good on. 

Once
we entered through the front doors, we walked through a maze of rooms and
passed two other armed men, one of whom was Gary.

"I
thought we were friends," I exclaimed as we passed him.

"Friends
don't stab each other," he said.

"Yeah
but I stabbed you
before
I knew you," I defended.

Gary
started to say something but Dick growled, "Shut up," and pushed me
down a long hallway and through the last doorway that was far enough from the
front that it had to be at the heart of the building.  We came to a stop in a
room that was only outfitted with a few chairs and a mostly empty desk.  Dick
threw me down into a seat and shut the door.

"Do
not move." 

He
then proceeded to pull two more zip ties from a drawer on the desk and strap my
legs to the chair legs.

"Do
you even know why I was taken?"

"Woman,
I don't know why he wants you here.  For all I know, he wants revenge because
you cut off his dick and shoved it down his throat."

"How
did you know I wanted to do that?" I asked, shock painted on my face.

He
shook his head in disgust.  "Women."

"Well,
you know what they say.  Hell hath no fury . . . "

He
wrapped duct tape around my torso and the back of the chair a few times so that
I could still move my arms around but couldn't stand up.  I couldn't slide the
zip ties down my legs, either, because the chair was heavily carved with
intricate designs, so where it was cinched was where it was staying.  Damn it,
it looks like they thought this one through.

He
looked around the room and once he was satisfied that I couldn't scoot closer
to anything and use it to my advantage, he left me alone in the room.  I
dropped my head back in relief and listened hard for any tell-tale noises
through the walls.  I heard someone talking, though it was too muffled to
decipher, and then another door opened and shut.

Silence
filled the room, and I was just about to reach for the bug and tamper with it
when the door sprung open and Satan himself stepped into the room.  He looked
happy to see me and then totally horrified to see my disheveled appearance.  I
assumed it was the drying blood on my hands and face and down my neck and
chest, but it could have been my hair that was in total disarray or that my
shirt was torn at the neckline.  You know how those snooty folks are.  They
worry more about cleaning the blood from clothes more than the injury, itself. 
I could almost hear him yelling in outrage, "
But it's satin
!"

Not
that I was wearing satin.  Blagh.

"Good
God, what did they do to you?" he burst out instead.

"This
is what happens when you take a woman against her will," I said. 
"She fights back."

"Still. 
The blood," he said, his lip curling with distaste.

Well,
there you go.

"You
should see the other guy," I said dryly.

"I
did," he said.  "Brutal bruise on his neck, already."

He
sounded impressed and that's when I realized that
violence
turned
Fletcher on.  Shit, but I couldn't win with this guy!  Maybe if I were to curl
into the fetal position and cry for hours on end, he would think me pathetic
and abandon this crazed notion of us being together.  It could work.  I read
somewhere that the smell of tears literally lowered male testosterone levels on
a biological level, because when a man's woman cries, it's like a direct signal
to his dick that he ain't getting any.

Unless,
of course, the man was mentally unstable and enjoyed inflicting pain.  I wasn't
sure if Fletcher would get off on actually hurting me, but he sure as hell
wasn't queasy about paying someone else to do it.  Damn coward. 

"I
thought I had a week," I said.

"As
I watched you walk away from me with James at that restaurant, I realized you
weren't as primed as I wanted you to be because you were too distracted by
him.  So I figured I'd simply take you away and eliminate the distraction and
you would be right as rain."

I
blinked at him.  "Eliminate the distraction?" I asked thickly.

His
smile was practically dripping with slime.  "Yes."

His
first mistake was having me kidnapped.  The second was even
hinting
at
hurting Ethan.  It was easy to think of Ethan as indestructible, but not even
he could deflect bullets.  I ground my teeth together and my breathing
escalated. 

I
repeatedly jerked at my restraints in futile.  "You're going to
bleed," I seethed. 

He
tsk'd
his tongue at me and leaned a hip casually against the desk. 
"Have you reconsidered my offer?" he asked politely.

"The
offer where you want me to work for you and abandon my crew?"

"Yes."

"You're
delusional," I snapped.  I was so angry, I was practically spitting venom
at him.  "This is not the way to someone's heart.  This will not endear
you to me.  There will never be a day where I choose to work for you and
breathe at the same time."

He
looked marginally shocked.  "Are you saying you would rather die than be
my thief?"

"I'm
saying that it won't happen if I'm still alive."

"Why
do you hate me?" he asked as if he were genuinely confounded.  "I'm
not the bad guy, here.  I just needed to make a statement and get your
attention, and that's what I've done.  If you could just see the potential we
have together, you would realize what a waste your anger is, and how this is
meant to be."

Dude
was cracked.

"Fletcher,
how old are you?" I asked.

"Thirty
six."

"Right. 
In thirty six years, have you ever
not
been alone?"

His
brow furrowed.  "I don't need anyone else," he said simply.

"That's
awesome for you but it also means you don't need me, either.  Let me go."

"Of
course I do," he said.  "
You
are who I've been looking for my
entire career.  I've been searching for a love that suits my standard of beauty
and intellect.  There has been no one else who matches both my skill and
integrity."

Integrity? 
"I don't think that word
means what you think it does," I said.

His
neck ticked petulantly.  "You're tied helplessly to a chair and surrounded
by armed men.  You are in no position to speak down to me," he said.

I
was poised for a scathing reply, but he spoke before I could.  "Regardless,
I have already pitched you my offer.  I don't wish to waste any more time on
meaningless conversation.  I'm still giving you a week to decide," he
said.

I
looked at him with confusion.  "What?"

"I'll
come back every day until you've changed your mind."  He looked pleased at
my awestruck expression and walked closer.  He bent at the waist so his face
hovered close to mine.  "And as for James, I mean. . . what was his name? 
Ethan?  As for
Ethan
, you don't have to worry.  It was quick.  He barely
had time to call out for you,
Alex
."

How does he know our real names
?

My
body betrayed my panic; my heart raced, my breathing stuttered, my eyes blinked
rapidly and my hands were balling into fists repeatedly.  I glared into his
smile for a moment and then spit a disgusting mixture of blood and saliva right
in his face.  He straightened quickly and took a handkerchief from his pocket
to clean it away.  He bared his teeth at me, which was a manifestation of his
true nature; charm on the outside, feral on the inside. 

"I
don't believe you."

"We
found the cabin you were staying at.  They were still sleeping peacefully when
my men arrived.  You are completely alone and no one is even
left alive
to
come for you," he snarled.

He
spun on his heel and swept out of the room dramatically.  I put up a good
front, but beneath the surface, real fear began sliding through my body like
slow moving poisonous sludge.  I stared blankly at the wall and recalled the
previous evening under the stars enjoying everyone's company and conversation,
laughing and joking, snuggling with Ethan.  I remembered Ethan lying in bed
that morning, asleep and gorgeous and all mine.  My traitorous mind altered
that image to see rivulets of blood flowing from his lifeless body, staining
the crumpled white sheets permanently.  Red, everywhere.

I
shook my head to clear away the images and refused to fall into that trap.  If
I wanted to survive this, I needed to believe that he and the others were alive
or I'd lose my drive to fight back.  It's always easier to believe bad news
than good news, so even though my mind replayed Fletcher's words over and over
again, I
had
to believe otherwise. 

And
I thought this trip was a clusterfuck back at the hotel when we were playing
poker.  Oh, how the times had changed.

That
made me want to cry, and
that
made me angry.  I, for the very first time
in my life, finally found the switch to completely turn off my introspection. 
I focused all of my energy on sharpening my anger and concentrating it on
Fletcher. 

I
heard him talking through the wall, but again, it was muffled so I couldn't
understand what he said.  I did hear a guy say, "Okay," and then drag
a chair across the room, presumably to sit guard in it.  A door opened and
shut, and I was sure that Fletcher had left. 

I
contemplated my options and had just reached a decision as the door opened.  A
man stepped through who I didn't recognize.  He observed me calmly and sat down
on top of the abandoned desk.  He held a gun loosely in his hand and stared at
me.  I stared back, sworn to be defiant until my last breath, but after five
solid minutes of this, I was starting to become fidgety.  He was so tranquil
and unruffled that I actually wondered if he was a figment of my imagination.

"Who
are you?" I asked, finally breaking the silence.

"You
can call me Virgil."

"Virgil,"
I repeated, rolling it around my tongue.  "Interesting name."  I
paused and figured I might as well fuck around with him while we were there. 
"Almost sounds like
virgin.
"  He squinted his eyes at me and I
looked him up and down.  "You're not a virgin, are you?" I asked
skeptically.

"What
do you think?" he asked sarcastically.

"I
don't know," I mused.  "You look kind of constipated, which can be
associated with sexual frustration."

He
straight up scowled at me.  "Stop talking," he ordered.

I
raised my eyebrows and whistled.  "Someone's
sensitive
," I
sang out.

He
pushed to his feet and took a menacing step toward me.  "You think you're
tough shit but look around, lady.  You're strapped to a chair and your crew is
dead.  Maybe you should be a little nicer to me," he said.

I
swallowed thickly at the extremely unnecessary reminder that my people were in
danger, if not already dead, but I didn't give in.