“I know the plan,” Isaac interrupted.
Alex straightened his glasses and considered him for a moment. “The vehicle behind Nate’s is ours. Use it at your convenience.” The older man then turned and entered the restaurant without another word.
Minutes ticked by. Isaac let his head fall back, his expression unchanged as his skull rapped against the brick wall. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose. As he slowly let it out, Emma finally emerged from the SUV. He watched her as she stretched while speaking briefly to Nate. Despite his emotional turmoil, Isaac warmed at the sight of her. He looked away and scolded himself: If you’re going to leave without her, you need to be stronger than that.
Emma turned from Nate and started to walk toward the restaurant. When she saw Isaac, a wide smile spread across her face, and she quickened her step. He couldn’t help but feel his heart melt a bit, and he looked down at his feet as she approached.
A squeal of tires and sudden yell from Nate snapped his attention back up just in time to see the second vehicle surge forward, past the SUV in front of it, and pull up next to Emma. In a matter of seconds, two men hopped out of the van’s sliding side door, grabbed her, and roughly shoved her into the van. Before anyone could react, it accelerated away from them with another screech. Isaac barely had time to process it before she was already gone, and he ran into the street behind the van, only able to scream wordlessly as the tail lights faded into the night.
Chapter Nine
Emma was yanked backward off of her feet and into a vehicle before she could even comprehend what was happening, but the moment her focus clicked into place, she fought. She heard a sliding door slam, and could feel the momentum of the van as it picked up speed just as she kicked her right leg out. She was on her back on the floor, and her foot connected with a man’s shin. Emma grunted as she kicked again, this time finding his knee, but she didn’t have time to relish his cry of pain. She continued to flail until a man threw his weight on top of her legs.
Her wide eyes had started to adjust to the darkness of the vehicle, and she could make out four people as they hovered over her. The back of a van, unfortunately for them, didn’t give her kidnappers much room to spread out and have much of an advantage, and she almost laughed as they got in the way of each other.
“Fuck,” one of them shouted. “Just fucking shoot her.”
Emma fought even harder. She wrenched free of the grasp around her shoulder and threw a punch. Her fist connected with the bottom jaw of the man that had held her. He cried out and she felt a splatter of something warm land on her face.
“Bitch!” The back of a large, hairy hand connected with Emma’s cheek, and she went limp momentarily. “Fuckin’ bit my tongue,” the man growled. She barked a laugh and tried to kick her feet again, but her legs were still pinned. She squirmed and struggled, but they finally had a hold of her.
“Tie ‘er the fuck up,” another said in a thick Italian accent. She was roughly and quickly restrained, the men careful to not release their vise-like grips on her until Emma’s arms were tied behind her back, ankles bound tightly together. They pulled her up until she was in a sitting position, her back against the hard metal and plastic of the van’s interior, opposite the sliding door.
Panic flooded her veins now that she couldn’t move, couldn’t fight, and manic giggles bubbled throughout her stomach and threatened to force their way out of her throat. She ignored it. “I’m going to fucking kill you for this. Each and every one of you.”
Mocking laughter was all she heard in reply, and her blood felt so cold, the skin of her arms prickled. The van rocked and swayed as it made its way to their destination. Emma shifted on the floor, her legs in front of her, her phone cutting into her side from its home in her left pocket. My phone, she thought with a spike of hope. She had no idea where her purse was, had lost track of it the moment she’d been flung into the van, but she could feel the rectangular shape of her cell pressing into her. Maybe they won’t find it, maybe they won’t take it, maybe if I’m left alone I can get to it. Her mind was a blur, and she felt a sinking feeling as she thought, That’s a lot of maybes.
She glared at each face before her. None of them had bothered with masks, and Emma knew that wasn’t a good thing. She pulled at her restraints, but they held. In an attempt to quiet the unbridled fear that coursed through her, she spoke, making her voice steady and cold.
“You do realize you were seen, right? I’d be shocked if my driver isn’t already following us.”
The man closest to her chuckled. “Anyone behind us?” He directed the question at the driver of the van.
“Nope,” the driver said after he checked the mirrors. “Clear as day.”
Emma’s hope fell as the kidnapper chuckled. Isaac and Nate had seen them take her. Why weren’t they chasing after the van?
“Do you think they’d be stupid enough to be seen?” Emma forced a laugh of her own, but it sounded weak. Why aren’t they coming for me?
No one answered her.
“Which one of you is in charge?”
No reply.
“What, no ransom call? Or are we waiting until we get to, oh, let me guess, a dark warehouse on the outskirts of town where no one will think to look?”
Still no reply, but she caught the eyes of the man who knelt on the floor across from her.
“Are you in charge?” she asked. The man blinked at her. Emma shifted forward. She could feel her blouse hang down, and his eyes flicked to her cleavage, then back up to her face. “I’ll let you live if you talk to me,” she said. “You don’t even have to tell me where we’re going. Just talk to me.” She tried to dredge up some fake tears and realized she didn’t need to: her eyes welled up on their own. “Please?” A tear fell from the corner of her left eye and dripped down her cheek. She’s spent so long pretending, so long manipulating men with false pouts, blushes and tears that she couldn’t remember the last time she truly cried out of pure emotion. This makes twice in one night...
Emma didn’t see it happen. Pain sliced through the back of her head as someone behind her brought the butt of their pistol across her skull. She gasped at the agony and hunched forward, no longer caring what her blouse revealed or to whom. She let out a whimper, and her addled mind drifted.
She thought of Isaac. Sweet, lovable, perfect Isaac. The morning after he’d brought her Laska, she’d woken up to his absence, a large, carefully handwritten note on the couch that said: Don’t leave. I have another surprise for you. PS: I already walked her. She’d been on the floor of her living room, freshly showered, playing with the dog when he came back. The buzzer had scared Laska, who ran into Emma’s bedroom while she let Isaac in. He had gone out of his way to buy a new light blue leash and matching collar, which sported a small, silver heart with “Laska” engraved into its metal surface. A white plastic bag he carried also contained two ceramic dishes, multiple kinds of bones, dog toys, and, in the other arm, he held a large bag of dog food.
“I also saw this in a shop window and couldn’t resist getting it for you,” he’d said as he had held up a large, handmade Batman coffee mug. She had squealed in delight at the sight of everything, at the realization of what he’d done for her, and she’d thrown her arms around his neck, planting a quick kiss on his lips. She didn’t know why she’d done it, other than the fact that it had felt so natural at the time, and Emma had blushed furiously at her blunder, had actually apologized before she busied herself with unpacking Laska’s new toys. Isaac had been quiet for a long time after that as they introduced the dog to everything he’d purchased. She didn’t want him to feel awkward, so she had focused on playing with her dog, trying to push the memory of how his lips felt on hers to the back of her mind.
She didn’t want to make their friendship awkward by letting her feelings for him show. She needed him in her life, even if he wanted to only stay friends. He was her rock, more important to her than anyone else. She couldn’t lose him.
But where w
as he? she thought miserably. As she drifted from the blow to the back of her head, her memory of that day disappeared, and her vision went black for a moment. Isaac, she thought, she pleaded. Isaac, help me.
Emma’s mind was clearing a bit, and she lifted her head and leaned back against the van once more. She glared at the man across from her, who shrugged at her and stared back. The vehicle continued to sway, and she realized she’d lost track of time; she had no idea how long they’d been moving. Panic rose in her once more as the van came to an abrupt halt, and Emma’s focus snapped to the present. A grinding sound emitted from the sliding door as it was yanked open. The ties around her feet were cut, then she was grabbed and pulled from her position on the floor, hands still bound. She struggled to keep her feet beneath her as they quickly moved her along. She cried out in frustration as two men led her into a dimly lit warehouse on the edge of the city. Emma couldn’t help but laugh as she watched her ridiculous prediction of the location come true.
“You idiots,” she mumbled. Her only answer was a shove to the ground. She felt the gravel crunch under her knees, felt the fabric of her jeans tear open to reveal her soft flesh, wincing at the sharp pain of small stones as they cut her. She forced her fear down, away from the surface, and swore to herself that she’d survive this night.
—-
Shawn had been quiet while he ate, preferring to listen to his adoptive father and brother chat. His stomach was painfully full, but he continued to munch on some green bean casserole regardless.
“So what else have you been up to?” Jaxon asked around a chunk of turkey.
“Work, mostly,” Bruce replied. “I rarely go out. Too old for that.” He chuckled. “Gotta get up early, anyway. Job keeps me on my toes for sure.”
“Still considering moving to Chicago after your trip out there?” Shawn asked as he mopped up a pool of gravy with a chunk of bread.
“Nah. The city’s great, but I’d get homesick. Did you know in Chicago they have this giant metallic bean just...sitting there? It doesn’t do anything! It’s just there!”
“Yeah, Dad, you sent like, seven hundred pictures.” Jaxon’s voice held sarcasm, and Shawn stifled a sigh at his brother’s attitude.
“The aquarium was pretty neat,” Bruce continued, seemingly oblivious of his son’s comment. “We could all go sometime. Like a family vacation or something. There’s a fun nightlife there, too.”
“Nightlife?” Shawn said with a grin. “I thought you said you didn’t go out?”
“I said rarely.”
“I thought you were old enough to be in bed by eight.”
“Watch it, bud.” Bruce laughed, and Jaxon joined in. “At least in Chicago I didn’t have to deal with Redborough’s crazy vigilante. I worry about you two, with that masked lunatic prowling the streets.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re safe.” Jaxon cleared his throat.
Shawn’s grip on his fork tightened.
“He slaughters people,” Bruce continued. “He calls himself a superhero, but what kind of hero kills anyone who gets in his way?”
“I don’t think Grim kills just anyone.” Jaxon spoke quickly. “His victims are always criminals.”
“I heard he was behind that massacre at the warehouse a few weeks ago.” Bruce leaned forward, and Shawn heard a minute thud as a bottle came to rest on the wood of the table. “At least, that’s what the news reports say.”
“Yeah, real reliable,” Jaxon muttered.
“Huh?”
“The media loves to make shit up.”
Shawn grimaced. “Hey, do you need another beer?”
There was a pause, then Bruce said, “Why not? Hell, Jax, why don’t you make me a martini instead? Gin, dirty, two olives.”
Jaxon rose, his chair scraping along the floor. “Sure.” Air whirled past Shawn as his brother left the dining room.
“So.” Bruce spoke up again. “There’s gotta be a lady friend in your life by now.”
Shawn groaned. “No, Bruce, there isn’t.”
“Good looking guy like you? Come on. You’re almost thirty.”
“Hey, I go out.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Bruce...I don’t want to discuss my romantic life with you. No offense.”
“I just worry about you, cooped up by yourself in this house, all alone. There’s so much out there to do, so many people to meet.”
He didn’t reply, and instead dropped the fork he held onto his plate with a loud clatter.
“Shawn?” Jaxon said in a loud voice from the kitchen.
Grateful for the interruption, he called out, “What?”
“Do you have any olives?”
“I have no idea,” Shawn replied. “Check the fridge, dude.” Shawn pushed himself away from the table and changed the subject. “Let’s go see what’s on TV. Jax and I will clear the table after we’ve digested for a bit.”
The pair exited the dining room and went into the living room, where Bruce flipped on the television, its white glow flipping from one bright color to the next.
“Okay, let’s see what’s on.” Bruce shifted on the couch next to Shawn. “Probably nothing, this late on a holiday.” The glow changed hues again. “Yep. A parade. Some news. More news. Got any movies we could—”
A sudden crash sounded from behind Shawn, from the kitchen, and he leapt to his feet. Twirling, he dropped into a slight crouch, arms out to his side, ready to surge forward. “Jaxon? What happened?
“Jeez, kid,” came Bruce’s voice. “He just dropped the shaker. You need help, Jax?”
“N...no. I’ll get it.”
Something in Jaxon’s voice caused Shawn to frown. Why does he sound scared? He took a step forward.
“You sure you’re okay?” Bruce’s blur moved away from the couch, toward his son, but paused at Jaxon’s reply.
“I’m fine, Dad. Just sit down, I’ve got it.”
Shawn listened as Bruce lowered himself onto the couch again, but didn’t join him. He was considering calling out to Jaxon when sudden movement to his immediate left startled him. A dark shadow seemed to flit through the house, just out of sight, and vanish against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with two fingers. Not now.
A sudden nagging sensation tickled his forehead, between Shawn’s eyes, but it went away just as quickly as it had come. He absentmindedly rubbed the spot as he listened for any other disturbance from the kitchen. When none came, and his vision remained darkness free, he finally sat back down on the couch.
“Holy shit. Look at that.” Bruce turned the volume up on the television. “Seems like your so-called superhero has himself a calling card.”
“What do you mean?” Shawn’s stomach did a flip, joining the heightened senses his body was still trying to sort through from Jaxon’s accident. He listened to a female reporter’s voice.
“As you can see, people are beginning to call out for the masked vigilante we know simply as ‘Grim.’”
“There’s two X’s on the wall, and some lines underneath,” Bruce explained to Shawn, falling into his old habit of narrating what his adopted son couldn’t see. “Looks like someone spray painted it. Oh, there’s writing under it. Says ‘Grim is your reckoning.’” He scoffed. “This city’s getting more dangerous by the minute.”
—-
The captors had bound Emma’s ankles once more, then pushed her to her stomach on the dirty floor of a small room. Two of them stood to her right. She could only see their heavy black boots from her position. The laces of the one with smaller feet were loose, the tips frayed slightly. She felt the sharp bite of fine particles of grime underneath her, which scratched against the concrete floor whenever she moved. The floor smelled of damp wood and mildew, and the heavy, sour tang of old machine oil. It was humid in the room, and she had begun to sweat, the dirt of the floor clinging to her skin where it touched the ground.
Emma turned her head away from the feet of the men behind her and looked to her left, where
she could see the other two captors. One knelt on the ground a few paces away from her, a large black canvas wrapped in front of him. As she watched, he untied it and rolled it open to reveal a handful of bright metal tools. Her heart fluttered and she exhaled loudly. Her breath kicked up a plume of the film underneath her which was drawn into her nostrils and into the back of her throat, and she let out a cough.
“Don’t worry,” the man that knelt by the tools said. He was the one who had watched her in the van. His nose was slightly crooked, and he gazed levelly at her with light brown eyes. “We’re only going to send your colleagues a few pieces of you.” He pulled a long pair of pliers from the kit on the floor without taking his eyes from hers.
Fear warmed her stomach. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
Crooked Nose looked above her. A sharp, sudden pain shot through her right side as a boot found her ribs. Emma gagged at the sudden wave of nausea that accompanied the ache in her side. Her diaphragm contracted, and she struggled to regain her breath.
She lost sight of Crooked Nose as he stood, save for his feet as he took a step toward her. “You have nice teeth,” she heard him say, and felt her eyes widen. Her stomach bounced in her torso, and she attempted to wriggle away from him as he advanced. A heavy boot came down on her back, and she stilled, her breath coming out in quick, panicked gasps.
“He said to leave her face alone,” a voice said to her left.
“True,” Crooked Nose replied, his voice low. “Did you ever play the piano?”
She fidgeted under the man’s foot for a moment before she realized he was addressing her.
“Fuck off.”
“You have such delicate fingers.” He knelt beside her, his dark pants crunching in the grime by her face. She could see the other man behind him wore a full-toothed grin. Warm fingers gripped her hands, and Emma’s vision swam as her eyes began to roll in fear.
“I bet you played the piano...” Crooked Nose said softly, almost to himself, as he slipped the mouth of the pliers around her left pinky. Emma could feel the cold metal close around her finger. She gasped and bucked underneath the man’s boot on her back, and attempted to clench her fingers into fists, but the tool was already in place, preventing her from getting the finger loose. Emma felt lightheaded, her mind swaying. Pain laced through her left hand as he slowly began to squeeze.
Grim Ambition Page 12
