Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) (29 page)

Zed ran as if Lawson was on his tail, prodding him with his devil’s pitchfork. His bowels began to twist as if someone was trying to strangle him from the inside out.
Goddamn it. You are not stopping to take a shit, Farrell.
His nose began dripping like a motherfucker. Run, run,
sniff
. Run, run,
sniff
. Quickly glancing behind him, he leaned over, put his fingers over his nostril and blew a snot rocket at the ground, swiping his arm under his nose to get the rest of it.
Better.

A runner ahead of him collapsed, screaming and clutching his ankle. Zed managed to not go down with him, barely leaping over his fallen form.
Damn, that was close.
An intense burn chafed between his thighs, where the skin kept rubbing.
Fuck. Imagine a DNF due to thigh blisters. I shoulda wrapped my legs with athletic tape, like Jace suggested. No, I said. I’ll be fine, I said. Fuck. Focus on something else. Focus on…focus on finishing, for Christ’s sake. How many more miles to go?

The constant rubbing of his shirt on his chest caused his right nipple to sting. He glanced down and spied a red blood stain.

About twenty runners were ahead of him as he passed the halfway mark. In typical northwest fashion, a gentle mist had replaced the earlier blue skies. It cooled his skin somewhat as he ran. He glanced over to see his cheering squad, rooting for him, energizing him. Beck looked absolutely radiant.
Nothing can happen to her. I can’t let Lawson get to her.
Zed wondered if he looked like a wild-eyed lunatic, racing for his life.

She waved some pink makeshift pom-poms like a cheerleader and blew kisses at him.

At the next aid station, he whizzed through, grabbing a cup of water and pitching it on the ground with the other paper cups as he joined the melee. He kept a steady awareness of his surroundings, looking everywhere for signs of a huge marine.

Twenty or so minutes later, he neared the end in Waterbourne State Park, a beautiful place where he’d camped, kayaked, and enjoyed many times.
I’m still alive. No brother. Maybe he’s the one who’s dead. Maybe something happened to him. Maybe…
He could see the finish tape. Six runners preceded him, something he never imagined. He thought he’d place last, at best.
Come on, come on.
He spied Ricky ahead as a wriggling dot in the distance and put on the speed, passing three of the runners. He kept up a neck and neck pace with one guy, finally inching ahead of him.
Two more to go.

The only thing he heard was his breathing and his pounding footsteps. He surged ahead of the next guy. Pulled up side by side with his only competition. The guy inched ahead of him. He heard the panting of another guy right behind him. A muscle in his thigh began to shriek. He caught his toe in the dirt and stumbled, losing his position.
Goddamn it! You can do this, Farrell!

The wide blue and yellow tape, marking the finish line loomed ahead, a colorful slash beckoning him forward. His body exhausted, blisters forming on his heels, he let two thoughts urge him onward.
Do this for Beck. Do this for Ricky.
Then, he added,
Do this for you, Farrell. You’re a winner, not a fucking attempter.

The roar of the crowd filled his ears as he surged forward. The end was right there…right there…so close. He ignored the pain screaming through his muscles and forced his legs faster, passing the guy in front of him. He threw up his arms like a champion and launched across the finish line in the lead, falling to his knees once he crossed, as flash bulbs went off all around him. He peeled the colorful tape from his midsection, waving it like a flag.

“I did it! I fucking did it! I won!” He heaved himself to standing, his legs all rubbery and wobbly.

Jace and Zoe threw their arms around him. Ricky hugged his leg. Caitlin, Jeff and their pack surrounded him. Even Mitch and his wife stood nearby, ready to offer their congratulations.

Jace handed him a power bar.

Ricky thrust a new water bottle in his hand, on which he’d written, “Uncle Zed is a winner!”

He scooped the child in his arms and kissed his cheek, before tossing back his head and glugging the water.

“Ew, Uncle Zed, put me down. You’re all sweaty.” His grin stretched the width of his face, despite his protests.

Zed’s eyes scanned the crowd. He accepted the congratulations all around from family, friends, and well-wishers. Finishing his power bar, he put Ricky on the ground before his legs gave way, and said, “Jace?”

“Yeah, man,” Jace answered, a huge smile stretching his cheeks.

“Where’s Beck?”

“You fucking asshole,” Beck yelled. “You motherfucking, piece of shit moron. Put me down.” She beat against his solid back with her fists. It felt like beating a concrete slab.

Lawson assaulted her the minute she stepped from the porta-potty, still zipping up her charcoal gray, skin-tight skinny jeans. He must have been tracking her because the whole thing went down so smoothly, if an abduction could be considered smooth. He simply slipped around the corner like a ghost, picked her up, and began jogging, before she had a chance to react.

She’d been the only one in the portable toilet service area. Everyone else was watching for the first runner to round the bend. She hadn’t seen anyone coming down the road, and had raced to relieve her aching bladder.

Now, bouncing against his horrid back, she screamed, “Let go of me you fucking, goddamned prick! Help! Help!” She heard the crowd roar and she strained to see what happened, slung over the marine’s shoulder like a rag doll. When she saw who the crowd cheered for, she groaned.
It’s Zed. My baby won the race and I’m not there to congratulate him.
“Help!” she cried again. “Someone help me!”

She tugged the marine’s shirt free from his waistband, raked her freshly manicured nails across his back and screamed for help. This kind of thing felt like business as usual, given her history with men.
One more interaction with a pissed off male.
But this guy had an edge – the deadly edge of being a killer.

The bastard swung her from his grip, surprising the hell out of her, placed one huge, thick, gloved hand around her wrists, removed the camo bandana he’d wrapped around his head, and whirled her around so her back faced him.

She bent her leg, ready to stomp the shit out of his booted foot, but he quickly wrapped one of his legs around both of hers, pinning her. She began to yell, scream, anything to draw attention. In the distance, the cries of an excited crowd, cheering on athletes, could be heard.

Holding her tightly, he tied the scarf around her mouth. He spun her around to face him, restraining her arms once more. “How’s that?” he said, grinning broadly.

The bastard looked almost gleeful, his too handsome, military groomed face alight with satisfaction. His golden hair had grown out, swirling around his head in a disheveled mess. His eyes, the color of a bright blue sapphire, resting on the gray barrel of a gun, reflected the clear, calm, in control brain of a trained killing machine.

Beck let out a swift kick, aiming for the groin but catching his shin with her foot.

He laughed, like this was some sort of game. “I like you. Maybe when this is all over, you and I can…well, you know…have a little fun.”

She shook her head vehemently, eyes wide with horror. Then over the shoulder she went, flung like a sack of potatoes.

The cotton wrapped tightly around her mouth stunk like unwashed hair, sweat and stale hair product, making her gag.
Why isn’t anyone looking in this direction? Because they’re all watching Zed.
A pesky tear escaped her eyes.
Fuck that. No crying, Tosetti. You need a plan.

Once he reached his Jeep Wrangler, he dropped her on her feet and opened the passenger door, one hand clamped around both of her wrists like a vice grip. A slew of white wire ties lay strewn on the floor. He grabbed one and tried to wrap it around her wrists.

She struggled away from him, kicking his shins, his ankles, whatever her feet could connect with before launching away from him in a sprint.

With swift, pounding footsteps, he caught up to her, and secured her hands behind her back. He dragged her back to the vehicle, plunking her on the front seat.

Oh, no, where’s he going to take me?
She whipped her head at him, trying to connect with his face.

“You’re a feisty one,” he said, chuckling. “I’m definitely going to fuck you before I kill you. I’ll be the last thing between your legs, guaranteed.” He grabbed his crotch and gave it a hearty squeeze.

Beck shook her head back and forth like a weathervane. The thought of him raping her was unreal. The thought of never seeing Zed again, was heartbreaking. She jacked her legs as high as she could in order to kick at the dashboard.

“Nuh uh. You’re not going to mess with the Jeep, bitch.” He shoved her legs down, getting his eerily placid face so close, she could count the hairs sprouting from his nostrils. “Got it?”

This time her head butt connected with his nose, causing a bright spurt of blood and the man to curse and yelp. Then he laughed. “Someone needs a lesson.” He wiped the smear of blood, spreading it across his face like war paint, reached toward his hip and retrieved a non-reflective black combat knife from its holster. It looked like a modern issue of the knife her dad still had from his days in Viet Nam. Like the soldier before her, it looked sharp, menacing and efficient.

Lawson stood and contemplated. He hummed a nursery rhyme.

Beck scanned her memories.
Is that Frère Jacques? That ‘are you sleeping’ song?

Then in his deep, nasty voice, he sang, “Are you creeping, are you freaking, yes, I am. Yes, I am. Brother Zed’s a loser, Brother Zed’s a poser, I will kill, yes, I will.” He chuckled, seized a lock of her hair and sliced it free. He waved it in her face. “You give me a hard time, your face is next, got it?”

When she nodded, he smiled. As he backed away from her, she wriggled her legs free and began kicking the dash, the console, whatever her feet could reach.

“You fucking bitch. You’re nothing but trouble, you know that? You’re going to destroy my Jeep.” He gripped her thighs with one meaty paw, ground her head against the headrest with his other sweaty palm, and contemplated her for a few grueling seconds. Then his mouth dropped open and his face brightened, like he had the best damn idea, ever. “New plan. We’re going to play ‘bait and switch’ with old Zeddie-boy. Before I murder his ass.”

Bait and switch? This guy’s nuts.

He jerked his glove from his hand and wiggled his fingers at her. The index finger only had one mangled joint left. “See this? I lost my job because of this. I lost my job because your prick of a lover had the nerve to slice off my finger. He’s going to pay. I’ve been watching him. Tracking him. Planning. This is a big mission. Operation Destroy Brother Zed. He’s going down, that boy. I’m going to lure him away from here and put a bullet through his head.” He made a gun out of his hand, his stumpy digit acting as the barrel of the shotgun, and pointed it at her head. “Pow!”

Beck jerked, terror filling her eyes.

“Then I’m going to fuck the shit out of you. And then?” He curled his hand into the pistol shape again, pointed at her once more and repeated, “Pow! Mission accomplished.” He hauled her from the seat of the vehicle. Whirled her around and hooked the wrist restraints with his middle finger. Dragging her behind him, he sauntered to the back of the vehicle, swung the rear door panel open, and Beck’s ears were met with something weighty and jangly. When he strode in front of her, she saw a lengthy chain slung over his shoulder. “Here we go, sweetheart,” he said. She was hefted over his other shoulder, and they trekked away from the Jeep.

Waterbourne Park had one lone wood and concrete outhouse near the water’s edge away from the race. A few minutes later, Lawson set her down in front of it.

Beck glanced wildly around. Her view of the racers was obscured by trees. Only distant cheers and clapping could be heard.
No one’s out here. What’s he got in mind?

He opened the door to the loo and shoved her into the relatively spacious, cold concrete room, with the stainless steel throne and the stench of a mountain of feces and piss held in its confines. “Remember I was nice to you when you think about your dead boyfriend…at least you won’t have to piss your pants.” He unbuttoned and tugged, until her pants were around her ankles. His satanic tongue slid between his lips as he studied her hips, one hand reaching for the cleft between her legs.

She hauled her leg back and kicked him, as hard as she could.

He quickly seized her shoulders and slammed her against the cool concrete wall, making stars appear in front of her eyes.

She blinked through the tears of pain.

Lawson got close again, staring at her with unhinged eyes. “Let’s get one thing clear, bitch. You ever say who did this, I’m going to hunt down every one you love and kill them, one by one. Then, I’m coming for you. Understood?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

“I’ll be back for you in a little while. After I’ve dispatched Waldo.”