Trapping Sophia: Disciples 6

by Sweet, Izzy

  Calvet shifts impatiently on his feet. “Then how?”

  “Either we strangle her,” Dickers says, looking back to me, his eyes gleaming. “Or we slit her throat. Whichever everyone is the most comfortable with.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Trent gasps and swallows loudly, like he wants to gag.

  “There has to be another way…” Jacob says quietly, his face now as white as a sheet.

  “There is no other way,” Dickers snaps back immediately, “and we’re running out of time. Those fuckers can come bursting in here at any second.”

  “You’re all sick! Fucking sick!” I declare and wince at my own voice.

  Dickers’s is right, the guys outside could bust in here at any second, and if I want to get out of this, I need to delay these jerks for as long as I can.

  “I haven’t done anything to you and you’re going to kill me,” I say more softly, trying to create more guilt and doubt in their heads.

  “I vote we slit her throat,” Dickers’s grins.

  Calvet makes a face, as if he finds it distasteful. “That would be even messier than a bullet. We’d have blood all over us.”

  “Oh my god!” I shriek.

  The pain in my head nothing now that they’re discussing how to murder me like they’re trying to figure out where to go out to eat.

  Focusing my attention solely on Trent and Jacob, I try to get through to them. “Killing me won’t save you guys. You said it yourself, Trent, Dickers just wants me dead because he’s sick. Please don’t do this!”

  “Strangulation it is,” Dickers nods in agreement.

  “Who’s going to do it?” Calvet asks, looking at the other three. “I vote not me. This isn’t my fucking mess.”

  Trent shakes his head and backs away from Dickers. “I… can’t…” Then he suddenly turns green and bolts to the back of room, heading for the bathroom.

  I almost vomit myself when I hear his puke splashing into a toilet.

  But that’s one down that can’t hurt me…

  Rolling his eyes, Dickers turns toward Jacob. “I think you should do it.”

  “What?!” Jacob nearly shouts in surprise and takes a step back. “Why me?”

  Expression hardening, Dickers explains, “Because you’re the only one in this room who could blame this on us later.”

  “I wouldn’t...” Jacob tries to argue.

  “You say that now, but what about six months from now? When the guilt starts to eat at you?” Dickers presses and takes a step toward him. “The guilt over Cronin is already eating you up.”

  “I was trying to save Cronin,” Jacob says in his own defense.

  My blood can’t decide if it wants to turn hot or cold hearing him say that.

  “Save him?!” I scoff in disbelief. “You got him killed!”

  “Exactly,” Dickers nods, ignoring me. All his attention riveted on Jacob as he continues to drill into him. “You weren’t in with the Russians like us. You were just trying to cover for your son and save your friend. When this is all over, what’s to keep you from turning us in for a slap on the wrist?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Jacob insists and tries to square his shoulders.

  Dickers grins and spreads his hands. “Then prove it. Kill her.”

  Jacob starts to shake his head, looking like an older imitation of Trent.

  And for a moment, I have hope that he’ll be the voice of reason in this madness. That it’s true what they said. That he didn’t kill my dad. He was trying to save him, and he’ll save me…

  “Do it,” Dickers growls, done playing nice as he takes another threatening step toward Jacob. “Or we’ll all die here. You, me, Calvet, and Trent. You know what those men outside are capable of. You’ve seen their handiwork firsthand. You think they’ll simply put bullets in our heads after what we’ve done? Fuck no. It’s going to be fucking painful and messy. You want that for yourself? You want that for your son?”

  Stiffening, Jacob just looks at Dickers for the longest time.

  Long enough for me to pray for them to all suddenly drop dead, with their dicks falling off.

  Then his shoulders slump and he says exactly what he said in the car when Dickers first convinced them they had to kill me. “Damn you, Dickers.”

  Any hope I had that he would somehow save me turns to ashes in my mouth.

  The only thing I can hope for now is that the men outside decide to do something.

  Why aren’t they doing anything yet?

  Dickers chuckles ruefully. “We’re all damned, might as well survive for as long as we can.”

  Jacob shakes his head in disbelief.

  “Stop stalling, Jacob,” Dickers says when Jacob makes no move to do what he agreed to do. “Do it now, before it’s too late.”

  Trent stumbles out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth off with his arm. I can smell the puke on him from here and it turns my stomach.

  Dickers nods at Trent. “Do it before Lucifer comes in here and tortures and murders your son.”

  “Fuck!” Jacob curses loudly, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard him cuss this entire time.

  In fact, it’s probably the first time I’ve heard him cuss in my entire life.

  Turning to me, Jacob takes one step forward, as if it pains him to do it and says, “I’m sorry, Sophia.”

  “No,” I gasp in disbelief and try to scoot back on the mattress. But I might as well be a fucking turtle stuck on its back.

  “Please, Jacob, don’t do this,” I plead.

  Tears fill my eyes as my death walks slowly toward me.

  His face a twisted mask of regret and grief.

  I’m not even dead yet and he’s already grieving.

  “I have to, sweetheart,” Jacob chokes out with his own tears gleaming in his eyes. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You do, you have a choice!” I insist as he reaches the edge of the mattress. “You can do the right thing!”

  Looming above me and pausing, Jacob says, “It’s already too late for that.”

  “Oh god.” Trent gags, drawing Jacob’s attention, then he runs for the bathroom again. Retching before he makes it to the toilet.

  “Do it, Jacob. We’re out of fucking time!” Dickers says angrily.

  Sucking in a big breath to steady himself, Jacob bends forward and reaches down, wrapping his hands around my throat.

  As his hands begin to squeeze, I kick uselessly at him.

  “I’m sorry, Sophia. So sorry,” he croaks out, his grip tightening around me, cutting off my air.

  Tossing my head back and forth, I try to shake him off.

  But his grip only tightens.

  Tightens to the point that my head starts to feel like it’s swelling up with unbearable pressure.

  I can’t tell what’s more agonizing, the fact that my lungs are screaming for air or that his hands are crushing my windpipe.

  My eyes burn, my tears becoming acid, as I stare up at him. Stare at his face as he literally strangles the life out of me.

  Please, I don’t want to die, I silently beg, my head growing fuzzy.

  I want to live and see James again. There’s so much I still need to say to him. There’s so much I need to do!

  I want to snuggle Fluffers and brush Mitzy’s hair.

  I want to meet Beth’s baby, and I want to play hide and seek with Charlie.

  And I want to be around for Amanda! She needs help.

  God, please, I want… I want to have my own family. I want to get married and have a baby. And maybe travel. And maybe do other things…

  I don’t want to fucking die! Not like this!

  In one last surge of adrenaline to save myself, I somehow manage to arch my back up, off the mattress, and plant my feet.

  Determined to see this through, Jacob pushes me right back down with a sob, his stranglehold so hard and constricting, I swear my windpipe is cracking.

  Already tired from all the other shit I’ve gone through, without air, my body gi
ves up. My kicks growing weaker and weaker.

  Darkness begins to creep into my vision, bleeding into everything around me.

  And it’s cold…

  Death is so cold it burns like fire.

  “Tell your father when you see him,” Jacob sobs above the buzzing in my ears. “I’m sorry, but I have to protect Trent. He’ll understand.”

  Then the darkness swallows me whole.

  21

  James

  Uriel slams his car to a stop right in front of what’s left of my house. His brakes squealing and tires screeching.

  A lot of shit has been running through my head while I’ve sat here on the front step. I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck the cops figured out where I live.

  I checked out the SWAT truck a little bit ago. There was nothing of importance in the truck. No blueprints and no search warrants. All the communication gear was shut off. But my address was in the GPS.

  My fucking home address.

  It wasn’t Amanda. She could have tipped the cops off, but I doubt she knew my address. All she knows is an approximate location, and this doesn’t feel like something she would have done.

  The fact that there could be a mole in my family worries the hell out of me. Especially after Bart and Cherry…

  But my gut is telling me this wasn’t a mole either.

  Intuition is pushing me toward someone being followed. Someone being either John or Simon.

  Standing up, I groan. My fucking calf burns like hell. A large chunk of flesh is missing thanks to the graze of a fucking bullet.

  “Shit, brother,” Uriel says as he opens his door and starts to get out. “You okay?”

  Rolling my head in a circle to work out some of the kinks, I walk over to the passenger side of the car and yank the door open. “Let’s go.”

  Sitting down inside the car, I pull the door shut and get situated with my new bulletproof vest. I had to go back down to the safe room after killing that last guy. New clothes and a fresh M4A1 were in order. I also had to calm Fluffers and Mitzy down. Neither one of them was happy to be left again, but there’s not much I can do.

  Nothing can be done until I get Sophia back.

  Uriel thankfully doesn’t waste time looking at the devastation that visited my house. Nothing’s on fire at least… but that’s not much of a comfort. We’ll have to go to a safe house until we can find or rebuild a new one here.

  “You leave anything alive back there?” Uriel asks once we’re on the road.

  “Just my dog and a very fucking lucky cat,” I say. “Where do we stand with Sophia?”

  “Simon got ahold of Oscar in just enough time. He was able to follow them at a safe distance,” he says.

  Then he puts his finger up in a sign for me to hold.

  Pushing the phone button on the console between us, he autodials Simon.

  “Do you have James?” Simon asks, his voice coming through the speakers.

  “Right here,” I say. “Where’s Sophia?”

  “Are you injured?” Lucifer asks before Simon can answer my question. “And did you tell me to eat your asshole?”

  “Yes,” I growl. “Where’s Sophia?”

  Uriel chuckles and shakes his head. “We’re on the way to the motel out on highway 82.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  And for the life of me I can’t figure out if I have a concussion or if I’m just really fucking confused right now.

  Why the fuck would those assholes be holing up in one of our hidey-holes?

  “We herded them there after we caught up to them,” Andrew explains.

  Simon must have patched us all into the same comms channel.

  My head is fucking spinning with this new information, and I have questions.

  “I’m taking it that you have the place surrounded? I don’t hear gunfire or racing engines,” I say.

  “Yes,” Simon says before he sighs. “Though I don’t think we can wait much longer before they start to get desperate.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “They haven’t called in any reinforcements or backup,” Lucifer says.

  “You think they will?” I ask.

  “We don’t know,” Simon says, “and I don’t have a cellphone jammer or a way to keep them from making contact with the Russians.”

  “Is that why they hit my house and came after…” I trail off as a thought comes to me.

  I don’t like the implications one fucking bit.

  “Sophia,” Lucifer finishes for me.

  “They either want to silence her or spin what went down as a rescue,” Simon says.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “So how much time do we have before we’re the ones surrounded?” I ask.

  “Twenty minutes,” Simon says.

  “Fuck. Who’s sniping?” I ask.

  “No one. Not enough time for you or Uriel to get into position,” Andrew says. “Although we do have John up on the roof of one of the outbuildings, keeping watch.”

  “How many people do they have there?” I ask.

  “Four,” Simon says. “Both Morrisons, TO Dickers, and an unidentified patrolman.”

  Holy fuck. We have the serpent’s head and his fucking body in front of us.

  We need to capitalize on this… but how do we do that?

  “What’s the game plan?” I ask.

  “We’re working on it,” Lucifer says.

  “How far out are you?” Simon asks.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Uriel says, and the car starts move faster.

  Glancing over at the speedometer, I see that we’re hovering around ninety.

  “Who do we have at the motel?” I ask.

  Lucifer’s crisp voice comes back over the line and a dark chill travels down my spine. “All of us in Garden City. Jude is still in the Ukraine. Thaddeus is now in Boston. And Simon’s man, Eric, hasn’t shaken his tail as easily as we hoped. We’ve lost too much blood.”

  That means he’s there too. Great. If he gets a single fucking scratch on him, Lily will devour every single one of our souls.

  There won’t be a single person who could stop her, either.

  Silence falls over the line, thick and heavy.

  We’re dying out, and we don’t have enough fresh blood filling our coffers. At this rate, if the Russians did seriously attack us, we could very well end up being the ones running off with our tails between our legs.

  Or worse.

  We could all wind up dead.

  That’s a terrifying thought.

  But equally fucking terrifying is that I don’t know what’s happening to Sophia.

  She’s that ever-present thought in the back of my head.

  Always there.

  Always weighing on my very soul.

  I don’t know what’s happening to her, and I can’t fix any of it.

  “John or Simon, one or both of you caused this shit. You got made and exposed my house. Figure out who the fuck had a tail or a tracker on them. I’m not calling anyone a rat, but they shouldn’t have been able to find me,” I say quietly.

  “Fucking hell,” Lucifer snarls.

  “How can you be so sure…” Simon snaps at us before trailing off.

  “There wasn’t any other way,” I say, “unless we’re dealing with a Judas.”

  My blood runs cold at the thought.

  Uriel easily handles the sparse traffic on the highway, and when we’re almost to the motel, I feel the weight of the world slowly lifting off my shoulders.

  No matter the outcome, it’s time to act.

  There’s nothing left for us to do but act.

  “Here’s the plan—” I start to say when we’re five minutes out.

  “Oh fuck,” Gabriel grumbles over the line. “If I get fucking shot, Meghan will beat my ass.”

  “Yeah, I’m not getting shot again either,” Johnathan says. “Beth almost fucking neutered me the last time I got hit.”

  There’s a good amount of snickering
after that comment. It was probably needed with the tension riding so high.

  “What do you have in mind?” Lucifer asks after the chuckling on the line quiets down.

  “We can’t go in full throttle. They’ll kill my wife because she’s their only bargaining chip,” I say. “They’re not willing to die either, but they won’t want to come with us willingly. They’re going to hold out until the calvary comes.”

  “Which will be who?” Uriel asks from my side.

  “Not the cops,” I say. “They would have called them in already. And I’m willing to bet they’re going to have a shit time explaining what happened at my house...”

  “That means the Russians, if they can get here in time,” Simon says.

  “Have you heard any chatter regarding any warrants against us?” I ask.

  “Not from any of our judges, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have one in their pocket,” Simon says.

  “They’re holding out for the Russians,” Gabriel says firmly.

  “We can’t let that happen,” Lucifer says.

  “One minute,” Uriel says.

  “I’ll handle this then,” I say.

  “My sister in-law’s safety is top priority,” Lucifer says over everyone.

  There’s dead silence yet again.

  I hate it when that motherfucker drops bombs that don’t need to be talked about like that.

  “I fucking knew it…” Gabriel grumbles.

  Uriel elbows me hard in the side and I practically double over. Fucker almost hit the spot where I took the bullet.

  Pushing the mute on the dashboard, I look at him. “I’ll tell you later.”

  He nods his head and looks at me holding my side. “You wanna talk about that?”

  “Not particularly,” I say and straighten back up as best as I can.

  “You get hit?”.

  “Yeah, but in the vest,” I say and wince. “Caught a couple grazes lower but they’re not an issue.

  “Cracked ribs?”

  “Maybe,” I say, and toss the assault rifle into the back.

  “What’s the plan?” he asks and looks up ahead.

  We’re quickly coming up on the abandoned motel

  “Shock and awe,” I say.

  “Fuck. The last time we were together and you said that, I couldn’t hear for two fucking days,” he grunts.