by Nicole Fox
The TV blared through the door as I unlocked it with my key and pushed in. “Alright,” I growled. “Not sure what you saw down the road, but it was a-”
I stopped dead in my tracks, the words in my mouth tasting like ashes as the boxes of fried yard bird tumbled from my hands and spilled out over the dirty motel room's floor.
“Lydia?” I asked as I looked around, completely dumbfounded.
On the bed were the handcuffs, the chain connected to them. But there was no Lydia Banks. The TV blared on, seeming to taunt me. How had she gotten out? How had she managed to get the cuffs off her wrists?
“Lydia!” I shouted, despite knowing full well she wasn't here. “Motherfucking Lydia!” I shouted, kicking the fried chicken all over the floor.
Bitch had done it to me again. I couldn't believe I'd been suckered like that for the third fucking time.
“Lydia!”
I knew she couldn't have gone far, not even in a larger town like this. She was still a wanted woman across state lines, even if it was under an assumed name. I balled my hands into fists at my side, punched the wall. When I finally found her this time around, she was going to learn some fucking respect.
Chapter Eleven
Lydia
My long legs had always made me a natural runner, and that didn't change even when I was in this position. My first thought when I used the bobby pins from my hair to pick the locks on my handcuffs was that I was finally in a town where I might be able to get clear of Kort.
Not that I hated Kort. He actually wasn't half bad. Things might have actually been good between us if he hadn't been working for my father. I'd even enjoyed reading to him all afternoon, the way his brow furrowed as the story twisted and turned and took us on its wild ride. I almost felt bad that I'd had to betray him this way, but survival took precedence. I mean, he deserved to get screwed over by me. He was a thug who'd kidnapped and dragged me fifteen hundred miles east already just so he could deliver me to my pops.
But that didn't mean I couldn't feel bad about him actually getting screwed over. He hadn't been mean to me, or awful in anyway. If anything, he'd indulged me and been kind of sweet. That's what got him into this mess, with me running away and all, but still.
I'd ended up at Lucky Lou's, the first shitty dive bar I'd come across. I'd seen the sign as I rambled down the sidewalk, and ducked down the stairs into the little basement bar, trying to get off the street as soon as possible. Besides, with my go-bag gone, I needed a little fiscal capital to stay on the run, and bars were great for that kind of thing.
What do you get when you mix alcohol, men, parlor games, and a pretty blonde? A bunch of suckers and fools, at least after their third drink. And, like Pops would always say, suckers and fools were soon parted from their money. I pulled open the door and headed inside. The smell of old, stale cigarette smoke filled my nose, followed quickly by a waft of fresh tobacco haze. The bar itself was divided into two levels. The first one, at a glance, was the main area, a shotgun style bar that went all the way back to the rear wall. The second, slightly lower level, was larger and had pool tables in one area and dart boards along the back. Bad classic rock was blaring, the speakers popping like corn kernels on a stove with each bass beat.
Lined up and down the bar were men of all ages, sizes, and shapes. Bikers, truckers, young hipsters who were there to somehow ironically soak up the scene and the cheap booze. As I glanced up and down the bar I realized none of them were my type. None of them caught my eye. The last man who had was presumably still out trying to find me fried chicken.
I, on the other hand, definitely drew a few interested looks from the men. And some irate ones from the women who were pissed that there was new meat horning in on their territory. All in all, Lucky Lou's was a dive bar, through and through. It was definitely my kind of place.
All I had in my pocket was the change from the grocery store where I'd bought the chips and soda before that jackass tried to rape me. That amounted to just under twenty bucks. I hope it was enough to get a cheap stiff drink to steady my nerves.
“Bourbon and coke,” I called to the bartender as he came over to me. “Well.”
My drink was cheap, only a couple bucks, and I tipped the barter a little extra to help with my waitress karma. Figured I'd need it when I got out of this town, and got clear of Kort.
Drink in hand, pouty lips taking a sip from the straw, I headed down to the billiards area. Here, there were about half a dozen pool tables, all occupied. Most of the guys here looked pretty intent on their games. Besides, with just over ten bucks, I barely had enough to cover an opening bet for a game of pool.
Glancing over at the dart board I saw my chance. A couple guys exchanging money on the sly as they finished up their game.
I'd worked in a little dive bar like this shortly after I'd gone on the run from Pops. On slow nights, some of the old men would teach me how to play darts and pool. And, as slow as that place was, that made for quite a few nights of practice each week. Eventually they stopped playing with me because I was taking all their drinking money. In no time flat, I had a game going. I lied about the amount of cash I had to start, betting on my luck and skill, and soon ended up with three-hundred bucks more in my pocket, give or take.
Then, another drink in hand, I took my winnings and headed over to the pool table. A little while after that, with a fresh wad of cash in my pocket, and a couple irate men who I'd just bilked out of their money, I saw Kort walk in and glance around.
You took too long Lydia, cursed myself.
“Look,” I said to the drunks around me, “I didn't lie to you guys, did I? You saw me play earlier, didn't you?”
“Nah man, nah. This is fucking bullshit,” said a younger guy who had a little blonde rat mustache on his face that looked one step above some dirty skin. “You just ran that fucking table like it was nothing, bitch, like you were in the cup or something, some professional bullshit. Fuck you, girlie. I want my money back.”
“What?” I asked, my head pulled back, my eyes squinted. “You want a fucking refund cause you sucked?”
I glanced up towards Kort, who was at the bar talking to the bartender, his back turned to me. The bartender leaned around the ways and pointed my direction. Maybe my handsome thug showing up was actually a blessing in disguise.
“The fuck you just say, bitch?” the guy said, taking a step towards me.
I turned around a little, putting my back to the short set of stairs that led up to the next level. I backed up slowly as I replied, my words equally slow and even paced. “I. Said. You. Suck.”
“Lydia!” Kort called from behind me.
“Look, you want your money back,” I said, jerking my shoulder back over my thumb towards the bar as I took another step towards the exit, “you talk to my man, Kort. He's the one who taught me everything I know. Half of this is going to him, anyways.”
“Yeah?” Rat Mustache asked, his eyes getting small and beady as he came up on me, towering over my much shorter frame. “Let's go talk to your boyfriend, then,” he said as his hand shot out and grabbed my arm, yanking me off balance as he dragged me towards the bar, and Kort.
“Lydia! We need to go!” Kort boomed as he came to the top of the landing and looked down at me and Rat Mustache. Then, I guess, he realized the guy had his hands on me. “What the fuck you doing with her, asshole?”
I wrenched my arm free of the guy's grasp as Kort came down the steps. Now was my chance.
“Kort,” I said as I went to stand by him, “meet asshole. Asshole, meet Kort. He thinks you owe him money.”
“Asshole?” Kort asked. “I owe him fucking money?”
I couldn't answer. I was already up the stairs and out the front door. The guys from the bar were after me a heartbeat later, their boots and shoes pounding loudly on the concrete floor as they came up the stairs after me. I slammed into the exit and took the steps two at a time, not really sure where I was going to go with this. All I knew was that I neede
d to get away, and do it fast. I just hoped none of these guys could move like Kort.
A cacophony arose behind me as the three guys from the pool tables hit the door behind me and chugged up the stairs. I sprinted around the building, down the street. I broke right, knowing that I needed to lose them without somehow alerting the cops. If they saw a young woman getting chased by three guys down the side of the road, they'd definitely stop. And I didn't want to see them anymore than the men chasing me probably did.
I hung a right down a dark alley, praying it would have an exit. I skidded to a halt in front of an old, worn out chain link fence and quickly realized how wrong I was. Feet sounded behind me at the mouth of the alley, and I spun around to see who it was. Rat Mustache and two buddies. No Kort, though.
My mouth tasted sour with fear, my heart beat a wicked, cruel tattoo as I realized this might be it. My flight reaction kicked in and I spun around, leaping on the chain link fence. If I couldn't get through it, I figured, I'd just have to go over it.
The posts holding the fence upright wobbled, and the sheet of linkages fell back away from it, making my legs shake and my grip to become unsure. I had to struggle with making it up and over. I gasped in fear, then screamed, as they grabbed me by the waist and yanked me from the clinking, clanking chain link fence and threw me to the gravel and mud, my body rolling, my shirt climbing up around my back and sides.
“Know what, girlie?” Rat Mustache said as he and his buddies closed in on me. “We got a way of dealing with hustlers and sharks around here, especially pretty ones. Thinking I know a guy who'd give me a cool grand, maybe two, for a fine little piece of ass like yours.”
Realization set in as I scrambled back from them. They were going to fucking sell me off. First, they'd probably rape me, then they were going to sell me like a piece of meat. “Please,” I begged as I crab walked backwards on my hands and feet, the gravel and rocks biting into my skin, “I'll give you your money back, okay? I'll give it back, no problem. My bad, alright? Just let me go, and we're fine, I won't tell anyone.”
Rat Mustache lewdly rubbed the front of his jeans as he laughed with his friends from the bar. “Nah,” he said. “You ain't gonna tell anyone, anyways. Shouldn't have come to Lou's, baby girl. Shouldn't have come into our fucking bar.”
A crunch of gravel behind me, back at the alley's opening to the street.
Please let it be Kort, please let it be Kort. I glanced back, my breath catching in my throat as I realized it was him, chain in hand. “Kort!” I screamed. “Help!”
He just laughed. “Why should I bother? You're nothing but fucking trouble!”
My face sunk as I turned back to the men and tried to scramble away faster.
Chapter Twelve
Kort
“Come on, Kort!” Lydia called again as I walked down the alleyway, chain in hand.
These three guys were all light weights, just a bunch of vultures who were swooping in on her because she screwed them out of their money fair and square. Now they saw what they thought were some easy pickings and some nasty bit of fun. Like I said before, I hate men who beat women, and I hate rapists. But, still, I wanted her to stew in her decision for a moment. Wanted her to suffer contemplating the consequences.
“You know, I don't exactly need you,” I called back as I stopped about fifteen feet from the scene.
The guys, now, were shifting their attention to me as I let the end of the chain with the padlock still attached drop to the alley floor.
“Your daddy probably doesn't trust you worth a damn, anyways. You probably got more reason than anyone to kill him.”
“Kort, you motherfucker!” Lydia spat.
“See?” I asked. “It's that attitude that's gotten you here in the first place. You're a real pain in the ass, even if you're a great lay.”
“Feeling's more than mutual, asshole!” she snapped.
The guys were all looking at each other now, confused by the whole interaction. The blonde skinny kid who seemed to be the one with the most beef, just looked flatly at me. “We gotta fuck you up, dude? Or what?”
I ignored him and moved a step closer.
“Help me get in to the Warehouse,” I said to her. “Warehouse, or whorehouse. Your pick.”
She gritted her teeth and growled in frustration. “Fine,” she finally said, realizing she didn't have any other options left. No real ones, at least.
“Fucking finally,” I growled as I struck out with the chain and whipped it around at the head of the guy on the right, knocking him off his feet. I bared my teeth at the other two as I slinked the chain back into my grip, shortening it into a closer quarter weapon.
They fell on me in a drunken rage, their fists flying at my head. I ducked the first set of fists and danced away, twirling my chain to gather momentum. I swatted the middle one, the tiny blonde guy with a bad mustache, across the knee first, then wrapped it around his neck, the weight of the weapon throwing him completely off balance and knocking him to the alley's floor, gasping, clutching desperately as it closed off his throat.
I turned to the other, dipping my forehead to take his poorly punched fist, then closed in on him as he yelped and shook his hand in surprised pain. I kick-stomped his extended knee, following through with a shattering, satisfying crunch that resounded like a snapped tree limb in a storm, the crackling break bouncing off the brick walls on either side of us. His stunned scream rose above his buddy's gagging as I cut him to the ground with two quick slashes of my fist. One to the chin, the other to the nose.
He went down like a bag of misshapen rocks, blood streaming from his face and pulling beneath his head as he rolled sideways onto a discarded aluminum can.
“Jesus,” Lydia gasped. “Holy shit, what did you just do?”
“Saved your fucking life,” I said as I went over and offered her a hand up.
She looked warily from me to my extended hand, then back again. She grasped it, finally, and I pulled her to her feet.
“Come on,” I said as I yanked her along. “Cars around the side. Let's get out of here.” I stopped in my tracks as I heard the gasp from the man around whose neck I'd wrapped the chain. I bent down next to him and loosened it. He gasped for breath, his face beat red as I slapped his cheek.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” I said as I stood up and coiled the chain back in my hand. “Don't play pool with pretty blondes. They always got an advantage over you types.” Then, I kicked him in the side a couple times to drive my point home. Then a couple more on top of that. Like I said, I hated rapists.
“Kort,” Lydia said, finally grabbing at my arm and tugging me away.
“What?” I growled as I turned and followed after her. “They were going to rape you.”
“Doesn't mean you need to kill them,” she muttered.
As we walked back to the car, I decided I needed to come clean with her. I needed to tell her that I hadn't been working for her father - I was actually trying to get my own revenge. The only question now was, had I been lying so long that she wouldn't believe the truth, even when she finally heard it?
Chapter Thirteen
Lydia
He took me into the motel and made me sit down on the edge of the bed. “Alright,” he said as he tossed the cuffs on the bed next to me. “I've decided I'm going to come clean with you. This isn't exactly what it seems like.”
I turned my head and gave him the side-eyes. “What do you mean?” I asked sarcastically. “Am I on candid camera or some shit?”
He sighed and shook his head. “I don't work for your father,” he replied. “Not yet. My boss wants me to get in good with him so I can figure out a way to start stealing his business.”
I was suddenly pissed. Somehow, this was even worse than what I'd originally thought was going on. I narrowed my eyes at him. “So I'm a fucking pawn? Some piece of bartering? And you've been lying to me this whole time? Why have you been lying? You think it makes a difference to me one way or the other why you'
re taking me back to him?”
“Let me finish,” he said. “I'm not following my boss's plan. I'm just working for him. Do you remember a guy named Milo? Last one, I think, who came after you?”
Yeah, I remembered him. He was kind of goofy. Not as nice as Kort, and a little more timid but in the realm of kidnappers he'd been alright, even if he'd stuffed me in his trunk. I nodded. “Yeah. What about him?”
“Milo was my best friend growing up,” he replied, running a hand back through his short hair. “He and I got into this business together, whatever the fuck you want call it. Know how you got away from him at the last minute?”
I nodded.
“Well, he still went to your daddy, but he went empty-handed.” He paused, licked his lips, seemingly unsure of how to continue. “Joey Banks beat Milo to death and they dumped him in the river.”
