by Saxon James
If I wasn’t so concerned about who’s doing this or where I am or what the hell is coming, I would have been pissed that this inconvenient kidnapping is cutting into my time with Taryn.
And I can’t stop imagining what he probably thought when I didn’t show up. It’s already getting dark outside, the setting sun signaling I’ve been here for close to twenty-four hours, if not more. When I came to, I was alone, and no one has come back for me since. I’ve already pissed myself which is fucking perfect and my stomach is an empty pit, remembering to growl every time I start to get numb to the pain.
Other than a few times I’ve nodded off, I haven’t slept, and my eyes are beyond irritated without my glasses. I groan and shift around, trying to get into a more comfortable position, but it’s become clear to me that comfort no longer exists. Whatever it is that’s happening here, I want it to be over with already. Coming to kill me? Cool, bring it on.
I groan and roll over on the bed until I’m face down in the pillow. The lack of control over what’s happening is really starting to wear me down, and I’m literally at the point where I have to wait for whatever is coming. Rainer was busy last night, and Taryn’s probably assuming I ditched him, plus it’s my day off work, and I don’t have any family who would be looking for me.
No one knows I’m missing.
Hours tick by until the sun disappears, and the only light in the room comes from a streetlight down the block. All I can see through the window is endless grass and a random house in the distance. I have no idea what part of New Jersey I’m in—or if I’m even in New Jersey at all—but it’s nowhere I know.
Footsteps make their way down the hall like they have a couple of times since I was brought here, but this time they pause outside the door. The lock scrapes and the door cracks open, releasing some of the tension inside the room.
A man taller and wider than Taryn steps inside, and I roll onto my side to see his face. He’s kind of plain looking, and other than his size, there’s nothing remarkable or even memorable about him that I can make out with my blurry eyes.
“Get up,” he grunts.
I sigh as I draw up my knees and try to push onto them and into a seated position. It takes a few attempts with how tired and hungry I am, but I eventually manage it. My head spins as I push to my feet.
“Come.”
He turns and leaves, expecting me to follow him without complaint. I do, because really, what other option do I have? Following him down the hall, I pepper him with questions about where I am and why the fuck I’m here. He doesn’t answer, which, of course he doesn’t, but I keep trying, if for no other reason than to get under his skin.
He sniffs and glances back at me. “You fucking stink.”
I try to lift one shoulder but it doesn’t cooperate without the other. “That happens when you’re covered in piss. It’s kind of a sore spot for me, though, so maybe we shouldn’t talk about it.”
He grunts, and thank fuck Taryn isn’t the stoic, silent type. What a fucking bore. It occurs to me I should probably be scared, but the resignation that my shitty life was destined to stay shitty, keeps some of that fear away.
I follow the ogre down a flight of stairs, along a hall, and to a door that clearly leads down to a basement. And maybe it wasn’t my flippant attitude but the normalcy of the house that held back my fear because looking at those dark steps sends a shiver down my spine.
“Go.”
When I don’t immediately follow his order, he gives me a sharp shove, and I topple over the first step and barely manage to regain my footing. I lean heavily against the wall for a second, then move on before he can shove me again.
The basement is nearly empty. Cement floors slope down to a large drain that has a chair sitting over the top of it. I stall at the sight, wondering if this is some psychological game or if I’m about to enter into the kind of fucked up shit people don’t recover from.
The ogre shoves me forward, but this time I don’t go easily. It’s probably dumb to leave it up until now to fight back, but screw this. This isn’t a mild inconvenience anymore, this is some next-level, mafia bullshit, and I’m not sticking around to see what happens.
Too bad for me I’m terrible at putting up a fight at the best of times, but with my hands behind my back and a three-hundred-pound human boulder in front of me, I might as well roll over and expose my belly.
He picks me up and shoves me into the chair, securing fucking metal clamps around my ankles and attaching the zip ties at my wrists to something. I give a good tug, knowing it’ll be useless but hoping the restraints have a weak spot. They always do in the movies.
Unfortunately, this isn’t a fucking movie. I’m not going anywhere.
Goddamn it. I might not be the most outstanding guy in the world, but I’ve put my head down and worked hard. I set my plan, worked toward it, and then met a guy who’s way too good for me in the process.
Things were actually almost starting to look up for me. For once I could see my life outside of a dollar sign.
The universe has a funny way of self-correcting.
“You planning on telling me what I’m doing here?” I ask.
He grunts and drags a foldout table across the floor, metal legs screeching against the cement. I cringe, barely able to hold back from grinding my teeth at the noise, but the assault to my eardrums is quickly forgotten when he leaves the room and comes back carrying a toolbox.
“What in the fuck is that for?” My voice comes out strangely more high-pitched than usual.
“Nosy men who need to mind their business.”
A hollow laugh rattles from my chest. “Could you be any more of a cliché?” I groan and drop my head back. Despite my words, my stomach is a fucking mess and it’ll be lucky if I don’t unload its contents in the next five minutes. Good thing there’s a convenient drain right underneath me. I’ll bet it makes cleaning up bodily fluids a cinch. And oh fuck, I’m definitely going to be sick.
“So are you going to tell me why you’ve dragged me to this hellhole?”
“Wasn’t me. I’m just the help.”
I snort. “The help. Right. But surely you know who you’re helping?”
The man chuckles, slow and deadly. A lump forms in my throat as I swallow.
“Let’s just say they’re a mutual acquaintance.”
Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound good, does it? “Any chance of some water?” I ask, trying to distract my own mind more than anything. I really don’t want to focus on whatever is in that toolbox. “Maybe something to eat? I’ll even take stale bread at this point.”
“Yeah, you keep dreaming, kid.”
Actually, that’s exactly what I’m trying not to do. There’s a few too many images I can conjure up, so really, I wish we could get this over and done with. I’m starting to itch in random places as my skin grows hot, and panic at the unknown settles over me. Even if he did bring me food there’s no way I could eat, not with that burning smell of what? Bleach? Antiseptic?
Holy fucking shit. What is happening?
My head gives a dull throb as the room struggles to stay in focus.
The hinges on the toolbox grind open, and I roll my head in his direction. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Depends.”
“Jesus,” I say on a breath. “Are we playing that game? Okay, depends on what?”
“How cooperative you are.”
I drop my head forward, hair flopping over my face, knowing it’s not that easy. “In that case, the answer is yes. Yes to anything. Everything. Can I go now?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, I look up to find the ogre staring at me. His eyes are dark, darker even then they technically should be in this dull lighting. He takes a measured step closer and then another until he’s right in front of me, and he looks about ten feet tall. Reaching out, he wraps his thick fingers around my jaw and tilts my head up. “You’re a pretty guy. Pity.”
I
flinch and jerk back. “That’s not reassuring.”
“Good.” He flings his hand back and connects it with the side of my face so hard my head flies to the side. I let out a startled cry, and black spots press on my vision as numbness prickles through my cheek and down my neck. Smartass words rise to my lips, but I push them back again. Now’s the time for adult Elliot to make a reappearance and hopefully get me the hell out of here.
The man crosses back to the table and tosses a smirk over his shoulder. “Finally shut you up, did I?”
My glare settles on his back but I don’t answer. I can’t. He did his job—my self-preservation instinct has kicked in.
“Now, this is the part where you talk. What do you know?”
I’m tempted to play dumb, but when he pulls out a box cutter that tragic idea flies right out of my head. “About the game fixing? Not much.”
“Elaborate.”
My mouth has gone dry. “Only that there have been big bets placed on long shots.”
“And?”
Do I mention the client number? I found that out basically a minute ago, would someone really know I’d gotten that far already? I was grabbed right after that, but even with cameras in Gary’s office, they can only prove I took the ledgers, not what I learned from them.
“And I think the bets are being spread across bookies to minimize suspicion, but I can’t be sure.” My stomach twists as I wait for him to call me out.
The blade of the knife flips out as he steps closer then presses it to my throat. “Who’s involved?”
I badly want to swallow but don’t dare. The sharp metal feels like it’s already broken skin. “There’s only one client who messed up and put in a large bet, so I can’t prove anything, but I’d say there’s a high chance he’s in on it.”
“Anyone else?”
“Hard to say.” My answers are coming quicker now. “A few people made larger than usual bets on the underdog but it’s impossible to know who had a tip and who was making a wild guess.”
His dark eyes bore into mine, like he’s waiting on something. I’m well aware I’m panting, my shirt sticking under my armpits and to my lower back. Finally, the pressure from the knife disappears, and he moves back to his toolbox.
I let out a massive breath, but I know better than to think I’m in the clear.
“What happens now?” I dare to ask.
His back ripples under his shirt as he eases his head to the side, neck letting out a satisfying crack. “Now, you leave the state.”
“W-what?”
“You leave New Jersey and go as far as possible. You quit bookmaking and end any… ties you have to football.”
My stomach plummets. “Isn’t that all a bit extreme?”
His head turns slowly, exorcist-like. “If you knew the amount of money we’re talking about, you’d realize that isn’t extreme enough.”
Knowing full well that I don’t plan on doing any of those things, I say, “Fine. If I agree, you let me walk out of here today?”
“If?” He lets out another dry chuckle. “There’s no if, kid. This is the part where you cooperate or disappear. Which is it?”
“I cooperate.” I’m worried he won’t believe me, but the fear lacing my words isn’t an act.
He stares again, long and hard, and I drop my gaze to somewhere around his chest, not able to meet his scrutiny. I have to play my cards right, and I’ll get out of this. Even with my phone gone, if I don’t get it back, it’s okay, because I sent the photos to Taryn already.
“See, I don’t believe you.”
This time I meet his eyes. “I swear.”
“The problem I have is… you took photos of some pretty incriminating shit. Maybe more than you realize. And then you sent those photos to Taryn Adderson, who we haven’t been able to get to.” He presses his lips tighter. “So now I wonder, if you walk out of here, start feeling a little confident, who’s to say you’re not going to make good use of those photos?”
“I’ll delete them. Right away.”
“Well, that’s only your word, though, isn’t it? And I don’t take anyone at their word.”
I throw my head back in frustration, wanting to be able to use my damn hands. “I don’t get it. What else do you want?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, so pronounced I catch it even in the dim room. “Insurance.”
“Hey?”
He smirks. “Funny thing about phones and computers is, they can easily be made to tell the story you want them to.”
I stare back, waiting for him to get to the point.
“It’s funny how the Sharks go from easily winning every game to losing their next two… probably three or four. Very funny when a certain player and a certain bookie are dating. And the punchline of the joke? That very bookie has badly coded texts about the exact plays that will lose the games.” He rubs a hand over his rough chin. “Wouldn’t want those to get out.”
My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I realize what he’s saying. “Taryn had nothing to do with this.”
“Don’t really care. You dragged him into this. So maybe when you sodomites are locked away, you can remind him he’s there because of you”
I shake my head. Over and over. “I won’t say anything. I’ll delete the messages, move away, end things with Taryn if I have to, but don’t drag him through this.”
Finally, I seem to convince him, and thank god because I’m serious. I’ll do whatever he asks to protect Taryn. A smile that looks closer to a leer spreads across his face. “I think we’re finally seeing eye to eye.”
A breath of relief gushes from me. But I feel sick—so sick—and the tears pressing at the backs of my eyes aren’t making this any easier. “I’ll go home, pack my shit, and then I’m gone.”
“Perfect.” He nods, leaning his hip against the table as he folds his long arms across his chest. “I guess there’s only one more thing to clear up then.”
My body sags, head dropping forward. “Whatever it is, yes.” The words come out strained.
“I’m glad you’re so compliant.”
I ignore the smirk I can practically hear.
What I can’t ignore is the metallic shift of tools.
I glance up in time to see the man pull out a very fucking large hammer. “What the hell is that for?”
He steps in front of me again, crouching so this time we’re eye to eye. And this time, I can’t look away. “The problem with agreements and blackmail is they’re easily forgotten.” He nods like he’s trying to convince me, and I flinch when he reaches up and rubs a hand over my knee. “The way to fix that is to make sure you get a very strong reminder.”
Before I can question it, before I can ask what he means, the man pushes to his feet in one swift move, swings his arms back—
And smashes the hammer into my kneecap.
I scream so loud my throat feels like it tears, but it’s nothing compared to the pain shooting through my leg. He swings his arm back again, and all I can do is brace myself as he brings the hammer down, connecting with my knee again and again. The tears I’ve been holding back let loose.
When my knee feels suitably destroyed, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back. I can feel my whole body shaking, and fuck, I wish I was one of those guys who could take the pain and spit in his face, but instead, I flinch back.
He laughs and pats my cheek. “Nearly there, sweetheart,” he mocks.
My stomach drops through the floor.
“And remember, if anyone asks, you fell down the stairs.”
He aims for my good kneecap and swings.
I pass out before he makes contact.
Chapter Thirty-One
Here’s the thing, for all my life, I’ve been the guy who plays it safe. I put my head down, I work hard, I move forward. Things in life are varying shades of gray, until I get out on the field and a color explosion hits.
As I pace my living room, stomach clenched painf
ully tight, I realize I’m not playing in the safe zone anymore. Somewhere along the way, Elliot became that color explosion, and now with the possibility of him missing, it’s like someone has turned out the lights.
Rainer and I have spoken to the police, but it’s clear they think this is a case of him up and leaving, rather than anything malicious, no matter how hard we push. They assure us they’ll look into it, but the police officer had dark circles under his eyes and a notepad full of jobs, and Elliot isn’t at the top of his priority list. At least his female partner seemed a little more sympathetic, but I know she recognized me, and I saw the way her eyes darted between Rainer and I like she was trying to put together the pieces.
At this point, I’m too stressed and worried to care because I can’t imagine anything worse than never seeing Elliot again.
“Taryn?”
“What?” I spin toward Rainer during my nonstop pacing and he arches an eyebrow as he watches me.
“You’re growling.”
“No I’m fucking not.”
He chuckles, but his heart isn’t in it. “You most definitely are. And it’s distracting. I’m trying to think.”
I flip him the finger and start pacing again, this time conscious to keep all sounds to myself. Not that it matters. Thinking, what a load of shit. No amount of thinking will tell us where Elliot is because neither of us know what we’re dealing with here. Rainer agrees that it’s most likely something bad happened, but I can’t stop thinking about what the police officer said. Elliot’s life was getting kinda messy. Would he have just up and left? Taken off without a word?
The only thing that makes me think he wouldn’t have done that is the fact he didn’t say a thing to Rainer, and those guys have been friends for years. Me, fair enough. But he has no reason to cut his friend out.
The sharp, piercing tone of Rainer’s cellphone goes off, and he scrambles to answer it. I can make out a tinny voice but not much else, and Rainer’s expression doesn’t give anything away.
