I nod against his chest, feeling a little choked up.
Only one more day before I have less reason to be here in Zander’s arms.
Can’t we just stay in this moment forever?
***
Zander parks his car on the side of a quiet, rundown road. The houses here are at least half a century old, if not more, and many look like they are on the brink of falling apart. We are in one of the poorest neighborhoods, and not a place I pictured Zander’s cop friend living.
Zander doesn’t seem surprised to see the distressed houses or to be in this neighborhood. Then again, he’s likely been here many times before. And perhaps the night makes these houses look worse than they are. Maybe it’s not so bad in the light of day.
I can understand some people have no choice on where they live, and I shouldn’t judge a place just on looks, but I thought cops make better money than just above the poverty line. Ken can afford something more than this place, right?
“This is it?” I ask as I glance up at the house that looks like it probably should have been condemned.
“Yeah, Ken never moved after … Artie grew up here. I think, after what happened, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. I know a few months after it happened, Imogen, his wife, moved out. He was harder to pin down after that. I should have tried harder, though.” Zander is staring sadly at the house in front of us.
“People grieve in different ways. Maybe throwing himself into his work and being busy all the time was how you both coped. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child.”
“I know. They were close.” Zander’s voice wavers for a moment before he quickly clears it. “Come on; let’s get this over with.”
We get out of the car, and then Ken answers the door after one knock. He takes a quick look at us both, his face stern, and I get an immediate feeling like we are about to step into the principal’s office.
I suppose being a cop most of your life gives you that authoritative presence without trying. Then again, this situation is likely not one for handshakes and smiles. This is serious stuff, and Ken is clearly mentally prepared for the shit that is about to land on him. I have to admire that, because a lesser man would want nothing to do with this.
He nods at Zander before turning away from us and leading us down the dark hallway.
I’m quick to follow Ken, but Zander is a little slower, glancing around the walls and through a couple of the open doorways that reveal empty rooms along the way.
“Shit, did you get robbed or something?” Zander asks as he enters the room where Ken has stopped, his gaze moving around the almost bare living room.
Shadows cover most of the room, but it is easy to see there is nothing more in here than a couch facing away from us and a few empty bottles of beer lying around. A streetlight on outside the window, which has no curtains, means we can see well enough inside this room. There is something sinister about walking in here at night.
“Got no use for most crap people deem important these days,” Ken mutters, bending down to grab a bottle off the floor before he takes a swig of its contents. I guess they weren’t all empty.
“You drunk?” Zander snaps, taking a step over to the wall and flipping the light switch. Nothing happens. “Electricity part of you cutting back, Ken?”
“Guess so,” he grumbles.
“What the fuck is going on?” Zander sounds concerned, which in turn makes me more concerned.
“You got the information I need?” Ken asks, his eyes a little twitchy.
“You don’t look like a cop right now. What’s going on?” Zander demands before his eyes widen in shock. “You in on this fucked up shit, Ken?”
“Hell no!” Ken is quick to deny.
I don’t know him at all, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying to me. This room and atmosphere, however, are freaking me out.
Zander takes a step toward me before he stands in front of me, blocking my view of Ken. His protective stance doesn’t inspire much confidence in this situation.
“Then tell me what is going on.”
“Do you remember playing baseball with Artie?” Ken asks.
I poke my head around Zander’s side to see Ken reach down to the couch and pick up a baseball bat, lightly balancing it in his hands.
“Yeah, of course I do. He was good. He could have gone all the way if he wanted to.” Zander’s voice cracks a little.
I rest my hand over his arm, hoping he might gain some support from my touch.
“Did you know he hated playing baseball?”
“What?” Zander’s voice is sharp and full of shock.
“He liked hanging out with you, but he never cared about baseball.” Ken laughs to himself, shaking his head.
“I … He never told me.”
“He would sit in his room and eye this bat, wondering how much longer he was going to bother playing. But every year, you signed up, so he signed up, too.”
Zander snorts. “I only played it as long as I did for him. I started to lose interest toward the end.”
“I told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want. That you wouldn’t care if he didn’t play.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Zander confirms.
“As much as I loved my son, he was never a leader. He followed you as much as he could, and then he decided to follow me.” Ken’s voice falters now.
“He was proud of following in your footsteps. He always told me he wanted to be a cop.”
“And look where that got him. Dead on his first day,” Ken growls, his anger and grief obvious.
“That isn’t your fault. Nothing you could have said or done would have stopped Artie from becoming a cop. It was his dream,” Zander insists.
Ken is obviously having a bad day. I begin to wonder if I should be here for this conversation. I didn’t know Artie, so it feels intrusive being here.
“It was his dream. A dream shouldn’t kill you, though. A dream shouldn’t mean the end of your life.” Ken’s voice cracks. He takes another sip from the bottle before dropping it to the floor where it cracks loudly.
“I know.”
Silence surrounds us then, and I grow impatient, waiting for someone to speak up.
I glance back over at Ken to see him shaking his head before his focus comes back to us.
“I need to know if you have that information.” He sounds serious now, determined.
I feel Zander relax under my hand, which I still have resting on his arm. I’m still not sure what is going on, though.
I look around the room again, feeling worse as I take in the barren look. Certainly, no one wants to live like this. Sure, many things in life are unnecessary and pointless. Who really needs fake potted plants or countless different lamps and lights for just one single room? But some things are necessary. One couch staring at a blank wall is not something a normal person would choose. Add in the picture frames leaning on the floor and flipped over, and I really don’t get a good feeling about this.
“I do have information for you,” Zander says hesitantly, holding out a USB in his hand. I notice it’s different than the one I gave him. Another copy?
“Then I don’t need you anymore,” Ken says calmly, so calmly that I don’t even understand what he means until it’s too late.
I don’t see what happens next, but since Zander is hit over the head with the baseball bat, I assume he doesn’t see it coming, either.
He falls to his knees, and I jump back when the bat swings again and Zander takes another direct hit to the head.
“Stop!” I scream, my feet frozen. I can’t bring myself to run away from this or to crouch down next to Zander. I am stuck where I am, neither helping Zander or myself.
However, when he swings his bat back again, ready for another strike against a defenseless Zander, it’s enough to jolt me back to life.
“No!” I leap over Zander’s prone body and attempt to tackle Ken, but he is in better shape than he looks.
With what
seems like zero effort, he swipes at my feet, tripping me and sending me sailing to the ground where my shoulder cracks hard against the floor.
Did I mention there is just a concrete floor? No carpeting or floorboards. Just cold, solid, unapologetic concrete.
“Stupid woman,” he mutters. “Got no fucking clue what you’re doing.”
I have to agree with him. What the hell am I doing?
“Ken …” Zander gasps. “What are you …? Why are you doing this?” His voice sounds disorientated and weak.
“Why?” Ken snorts before shaking his head at us both. “Because there is a shitload of money in this, because I’m living in a goddamn dump and I don’t fucking deserve that. I gave up my wife, my son, and for what? So I could retire with nothing?” he yells, kicking Zander in the thigh.
I wince at the way his body jolts from it.
“You got what you want. Just take it and let us go,” I beg.
“Let you go?” Ken snorts again, his beady eyes gazing down at us. “You’ve seen my face, and you know what I’m doing. There is no way you’re getting out of here alive.”
“So, you’re a murderer now? You’re just going to kill two innocent people to get a bit of money?” I gasp, not only fearful for what is about to happen, but hating that someone is betraying Zander like this. He’s been through enough pain in one lifetime.
“Actually, I’m only going to kill one person,” he says calmly.
For a brief second, I think he means to let Zander go. They have a history together. He was his son’s best friend. Of course he can’t fatally harm Zander. Then it clicks.
Zander would never let this go. He won’t ever stop. So why let him go?
“You’re not going to kill me?” I ask nervously.
“No, honey, I’m not. You’re worth more alive,” he sneers, though I think I see a little hesitation in his eyes.
“You’re going to give her to those assholes? Do you know what they’ll do to her?” Zander yells, a surge of energy springing him to his knees before he is knocked back down.
“Stop hitting him!” I cry, scared when he doesn’t open his eyes this time. Is he already dead?
I urgently search for a pulse, but I can barely find purchase against him with my hands shaking so much.
Ken is mumbling to himself, his back turned to me as he searches his couch.
Now is my chance to run, but how can I leave Zander? In all honesty, how am I supposed to help him? Is there any way to do that?
I need to find help, and since I can’t trust the police, I need Zander’s friends’ help. I don’t have a cell phone on me, so I reach into Zander’s pocket and feel the phone in there. Unfortunately, before I can grab it, Ken turns around, holding a gun.
“No!” Feeling utterly helpless, I cradle Zander’s head in my lap. “How can you do this? Zander is a good man. He was your son’s best friend!”
Without even answering me, he fires two shots into Zander’s chest. His body jerks upward from both; otherwise, he doesn’t even open his eyes.
“Thanks, honey. Don’t know if I could have done that without you covering his head. It’ll make the nightmares more bearable,” he states coldly before his voice sharpens with anger. “Now get the fuck up.”
“You bastard!” I scream as he quickly grabs my arm and forces me to my feet.
In my anger, I attempt to pull away from him. I punch, scratch, and kick him, but all he does is unexpectedly push me away from him, letting me go and almost causing me to fall on my ass. I need all my concentration to remain on my feet, and then, before I can even blink, he delivers a punch to the side of my head.
I only vaguely recall hitting the ground, becoming more aware when I’m dropped somewhere compact, with walls all around me. I’m slow to realize I am in the trunk of a car.
Tears pool down my face, and even that makes me feel useless. I couldn’t do a thing to stop Zander from being hurt, and now he’s dead. Van has lost everyone now. His life will never be the same. And now there is a good chance he will never recover.
As for me, it’s obvious who I’m about to see.
The question now is: how long will I have to suffer before I’m killed?
Chapter 11
I have no idea how long I’m trapped in the trunk. Minutes? Hours? Days? I don’t know. What I do know is, however long it is, it’s not long enough. All too soon the car stops for good, and then fresh, cool air suddenly hits me as the trunk is finally opened.
My lips are dry, my skin soaked in sweat, and my bones feel like jelly.
I should probably be terrified right now. I should probably feel something at least.
All I feel is numb.
I don’t really care that I’m being dragged out of the trunk. I don’t care that I’m dropped unceremoniously in front of someone horrifyingly familiar. I don’t care that Brian is glaring down at me. I don’t care when he reaches out and takes a swing at me, slapping me hard across my cheek and shoving my head into the side of the car. Even the pain from that impact quickly fades to nothingness.
I have never felt so detached before and wonder if this is a good thing.
Obviously, fun things aren’t for me in my future. Even considering thinking about my recent past is a no-go zone, so why not stay in my own head? Why not keep feeling numb?
“… sure you didn’t drug her?” Brian’s voice floats inside my head.
“Nah, just knocked her out. She’s probably got a concussion. If you want her alive for whatever you want to do, perhaps refrain from damaging her head any further,” Ken says simply.
Brian’s response to that is a grunt.
“You get the file?”
“Yes.” Ken ruffles around his pocket before pulling out the USB. He stares at it for a moment, perhaps second-guessing what he’s doing. Then he makes his choice when he passes it over to Brian.
“And you’re sure there aren’t more copies?”
“Zander told me before I shot him that this one is the only one. He was trying to wipe his hands of it. Said it was giving him too much heat.”
I blink slowly as those words sink in.
Zander never told him that. In fact, Ken never asked. Is he lying on purpose because he realizes he fucked up? Or does he hope somewhere out there another copy exists and these guys will be brought down?
He said he wasn’t part of this to Zander, but he must be. He wouldn’t have committed murder and given me to Brian if he wasn’t connected. Still, maybe part of him wants to be caught.
Then why not leave Zander alive?
“Well, having a fucking building explode tends to make people antsy. Nice work with that, by the way.”
When Brian gives Ken the compliment, I realize Ken’s betrayal of Zander is even worse.
“How about you, bitch?” Brian crouches in front of me, gripping my throat with a firm hand. “You make any other copies?” He squeezes his hand over me then, cutting off my air supply while giving me a sinister smile. He’s enjoying this.
I shake my head the small amount I can move.
He just stares at me, watching as my eyes water.
I can’t help panicking as I struggle to breath. My hands move out of habit as they scratch his arm, but he’s too strong.
Why am I even struggling? Isn’t this a much nicer death than what is likely planned for me?
“I’ve dreamed about you being here with me. I’ve fucked my fist so many times to the thoughts of what I’m going to do to you,” he hisses as he releases me.
I drag in painful breaths as I cough and splutter. My lungs burn, my skin itches, and bile bubbles away inside me as I try not to vomit over myself.
“I did as was asked. I want my money,” Ken demands, not at all disturbed by Brian’s words to me, or his actions.
“You don’t care what we’re doing here?” Brian asks him, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you’re doing here. I just killed my son’s best friend; I certai
nly don’t care about some woman I’ve never met before.” Ken’s voice is cold.
“Good. I might be in touch if we need any further assistance from you.”
Ken’s eyes narrow on Brian. “In touch? I don’t see why—”
“You killed a man tonight. I own you now,” Brian ruthlessly states.
Ken glares at him, but he doesn’t comment further. Perhaps he can sense the deteriorating situation.
“Get lost. You’ve got a murder to cover up. You’ll have your money tomorrow,” Brian snaps.
Ken gets in his car and drives off, not another word spoken.
Still, I feel numb.
It’s probably weak to want to stay trapped in my state of mind. Is there a rule book that says I have to be strong?
“You gonna walk on your own, or do I need to drag you?”
It must take me too long to answer because, within moments, Brian pulls on my ponytail, dragging me across a dusty warehouse floor.
I scratch at his hands, trying to get him to release me, as I kick out to gain traction with the floor so I can lift myself up.
When he finally drops me, it isn’t because of my attempts. It’s because we have reached a new door.
He pulls out a key and undoes the padlock, and as soon as he opens the steel door, reverberations of cries and moans echo from inside.
Brian picks me up, shoving me against the archway of the door, and steps into me, his erection digging into my waist. “As much as I’d love to begin our fun right now, you’ve caused a lot of headaches for a lot of people. Therefore, I must wait to have my fun until the rest are here. For you, there will be a live audience.”
I shiver as his words send a wave of terror over me. Then I struggle to grab ahold of my numbness. I need it. I can’t do this without it.
“So quiet, my pretty?” He reaches out and caresses my face, his touch digging into my cheeks after a while, and then he fists my chin, ripping my head to the side so fast I feel dizzy. “Don’t worry; you’ll be screaming in no time. They all do.” Then he pushes me through the doorway.
I Stole His Car (Love at First Crime Book 1) Page 18
