by Nora Haley
I get out my binoculars and scan the perimeter. Unless some of Asshole’s henchmen are smarter than him and stay hidden somewhere, there are only four of them. Three hanging out in the living room, lounging about on the gigantic couches while one guy stands in front of the house, staring at his phone. My guess is he’s meant to watch out for me, but he is so wrapped up in whatever he’s doing a bomb could go off next to him and he wouldn’t notice. It’s beyond me how he missed that I practically drove my car up to the front lawn.
There were times when I would have gotten my sniper rifle from the trunk and taken them out from the distance. Simple as that. Shooting them would be the easiest and most effective way to eliminate the threat. But now that I’ve got something to lose or something to hope for, at least – a happily ever after with Emily that is – I’m not exactly keen on picking up a bunch of murder charges. I don’t want to spend the next years of my life behind bars or on the run.
Fortunately, I won’t have to kill them. I’m accomplished enough at hand-to-hand combat to take them out with minimal harm. At least I hope so.
I circle the property to approach the house from behind. Peeking in through the windows I see no other people but the four I’m already aware of. I don’t spot any sign of Asshole or Emily either, but they must be somewhere around here. Maybe on the first floor, holed up in a room?
One thing at a time, I remind myself. I’m going to get her out of there, but first I have to get rid of the hired thugs in the living room.
The guy out front is so easy to take out, it’s almost disappointing. He doesn’t hear me sneaking up to him and I get him in a chokehold on the first attempt. He drops his phone, scrabbling at my arm, trying to get free. When that doesn’t work he starts kicking aimlessly. It’s like immobilizing a toddler. Pretty pathetic. Not too long and the interruption of his brain’s oxygen supply takes its toll. He grows limp in my arms and I let him slump to the ground not too gently.
Lucky for him he gets off so easy.
I immobilize him with a couple of zip ties to make sure he’s out of the game for good. Then I pat him down for the house key. He doesn’t seem to have one on him, so on a whim, I try the front door and find it unlocked.
Fucking Amateurs! If this is a trap it must be the worst trap of all times.
Or the most sophisticated one.
A little weary of what lies in wait for me, I step into the house.
Chapter Nine
Emily
I wake with a splitting headache in the most uncomfortable position imaginable, my arms somehow stretched over my head. What was I thinking, falling asleep like that? All my muscles are stiff. Everything aches. The light hurts my eyes.
Squinting, I have a look around. The room is absolutely unfamiliar. There are trees behind the large windows, lots of trees. Am I in the middle of a forest?
When I try to move I realize I’m tied to a bed. Then the memory of the kidnapping comes back, slowly, in fractured images. Panic surges up inside me, drowning out all the pain and dizziness. I yank at the bonds, tear at them, throw myself against them with all my weight, but all I achieve is to hurt myself more.
“Stop it,” a voice says from the other side of the room.
My kidnapper sits in an armchair, hands on the armrests, looking so smug I’d like to slap him. But then, even without the smug expression, I would like to slap him. He deserves to be slapped. If anyone ever deserved it, then him. He’s taken off his ski mask and I was right, it’s the guy from the club I nicknamed Asshole. Looks like he’s determined to do anything he can to live up to his name.
What the fuck does he want with me?
My brain’s still sluggish. Thinking is harder than usual. He must have drugged me. That’s why I remember nothing after lying in the back of the van in the dark.
But why?
A terrible thought flashes through my mind. I look down at myself, half expecting to find my dress torn, my panties ripped off me. But to my immense relief, I’m still fully clothed and I don’t feel strange or sore either. He didn’t touch me. Not like that at least.
Asshole seems to read my mind. “Don’t flatter yourself, slut. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
Lucky me, my psychopath kidnapper isn’t a rapist. Or just not a rapist of fat women. What a hero.
I press my lips into a thin line. So back to the question of what it is that he wants... I hazard a shot in the dark. “If this is about the ban from the club, I could talk to my boss and–”
My kidnapper only snorts.
So that’s not it. What else could have motivated him to do this?
I do my best to get my drug-muddled brain into gear by recounting everything I already excluded from the list of possible reasons for my kidnapping: He doesn’t want to sexually abuse me. He doesn’t want me to intervene on his behalf with my boss – not that abducting me would have been a great approach to that anyway. He certainly doesn’t need the bit of ransom money I’d be able to scrape together.
Think, I tell myself. Think!
Perhaps it’s futile to try to make sense of such a sick brain, but I can’t help it – trying to guess what he is up to is the only thing I can do right now.
I notice him glancing at his watch. Not once, not twice. All the fucking time. He’s waiting for something. Or someone.
“Pizza delivery taking too long?” I joke. I’ll be damned if I let him know how scared I am.
The asshole clenches his jaw.
“Looks like your boyfriend won’t make good on his word and come pick you up,” he says.
My boyfriend?
It takes a moment until I get it. He’s talking about Jon! What. The. Fuck.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say. It feels like a lie, even though it shouldn’t. Jon’s a guy who kissed me and who wants to go on a date with me. Last time I looked that didn’t constitute a relationship.
Asshole holds up a phone – my phone. “The texts on your phone say otherwise.”
“You went through my messages?!”
It’s probably crazy to be outraged by something like that when you’ve been kidnapped, but the violation of my privacy hits me extra hard under the circumstances.
“You can consider yourself lucky that’s all I did,” he snarls.
I swallow hard. There is again – the threat of violence. I shouldn’t forget he’s dangerous, even if he is also a bit of a joke.
“So you spoke to Jon?”
He only grins, showing the most dazzlingly perfect teeth money can buy.
I don’t get what’s so funny. If it’s true what he said and Jon is on his way here, Asshole is in for a nasty surprise. In his place, I’d piss my pants not think this is all great fun. But then what do I know? I’m not a psychopath.
Nothing about this adds up. You’d think a villain abducting a woman to get back at her lover for some minor insult is something that only happens in movies. This is Joker vs. Batman kind of shit. I’m not gonna lie I like that stuff as much as the next girl, but not in real life, thank you very much.
To think about the whole situation in terms of fiction preferences calms me down though. And what calms me down even more is thinking of Jon. Even though I hardly know him I’ve got such a bone-deep trust in him and his abilities, I can’t even imagine he’d leave me here. Not when he said he’d come and get me.
I conjure up his face in my mind, his dark eyes and soft gaze and the curve of his mouth when he smiles. But I also picture the hard set of his jaw, his boxer’s nose, his bulging muscles. He’s no one you’d want to get on the wrong side of, that’s for sure, and Asshole here is out for a beating.
The very moment I’m thinking this, there’s a clatter downstairs. The sound of some item being kicked over. A lamp perhaps?
Then shots are being fired and panic wells up inside me. I hold my breath and pray for Jon to be all right. Promptly more noises echo through the house. There are shouts and dull thuds, then nothing. My heart is racing in my
chest. Asshole has grown pale. I can tell it didn’t go as he expected. But what did he think would happen?
Someone yells. It’s clearly an expression of pain and I can’t suppress a triumphant smile this time. I don’t even care that Asshole decides to stuff a rag into my mouth to gag me. Not now that I know he was right: Jon is coming to get me.
Chapter Ten
Jon
“Where is she?” I growl, twisting the guy’s arm. It’s all it takes for him to spill the beans.
“They’re upstairs,” he wails. “Second room on the right.”
These guys must be the most pathetic henchmen to have ever been hired by a rich dude to do his dirty work. They sure look impressive with their fitness studio-muscles, but all that bulk doesn’t work in their favor. It makes them slow and clumsy. But best of all is that they don’t know how to fight.
Perhaps they thought an intimidating appearance and superior numbers would be enough to get the job done. You could call that a slight miscalculation. Bad for them but definitely good for me. Or rather: good for everyone involved. If they had had a better grip on how to use their guns, it wouldn’t have ended well for them. Not that they would have got me, but I would have shot back and they’d be dead now, not just unconscious.
With a few punches to the head, they’ve gotten off lightly. I knocked number two and three out cold without breaking a sweat and number four was even less of a challenge. I had him on his knees within minutes, whelping like a dog in pain.
“How many of you clowns are still lurking about?” I ask him without letting go of his arm. The bastard’s eyes are watering, but I can’t say I feel sorry for him. Acting as an accomplice in a kidnapping, he made his bed and now he’ll have to lie in it.
“Four, we’re only four,” he groans. “And Mr. Chandler. He’s with the woman upstairs.”
“Is he armed?”
I have to twist his arm a little harder to remind him he’s not off the hook. “He’s got a Glock 17, full cartridge.”
A full cartridge means eighteen rounds max.
I let him slump to the ground and he’s at least smart enough not to resist when I fasten the zip-ties around his wrists and ankles. I tie up his two unconscious colleagues into neat little bundles as well before I climb the stairs to the second floor to go get Emily.
It’s a real nice house he got here, lots of wood, cozy. Shame it’s gonna get smashed up.
For the first time since I came here, I pull the gun from my waistband and make sure it’s loaded. I take a deep breath and kick the door open.
There she is, gagged and tied to the bed, the sleazebag next to her, holding the Glock to her head. Her eyes grow wide when she sees me. I can only guess what I look like, gun at the ready, nostrils flaring, every muscle in my body tense. Basically foaming at the mouth like a savage beast off the leash.
I would have preferred for her not to see me like this, but it can’t be helped now.
“Let her go, Chandler!”
Just as I hoped the damn idiot sees my gun and forgets all about his strategy. Instead of pointing it at Emily he aims it at me and starts shooting. And just as I hoped he’s a poor shot. He pulls the trigger five times and I get away without a scratch. I dive out of the door frame behind the next wall, roll and fire back. Two shots that deliberately miss him by several feet. One of the huge windows shatters into a thousand pieces.
Chandler returns fire. I count the shots. Seven this time. That leaves six to go. I can only pray he won’t remember his original plan of threatening Emily before he’s out of bullets. I’ll have to keep him occupied, so I shoot again and this time I’m aiming closer.
Another window shatters. I can hear the muffled sounds Emily makes around the gag.
Hang in there, sweetheart. It’s almost over.
Chandler fires more shots. One, two, three, four, five. I shoot again to make sure he’ll waste his last bullet too. And there it is. The last round.
I get to my feet.
“You!” I growl as I stride into the room. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Chandler pulls the trigger again but the gun only clicks.
“Gun’s empty, asshole.”
He turns pale as paper as he realizes he’s done for. With his bulging eyes, he looks a little like a frog. I can see he’s afraid. He’s trembling, but he doesn’t move away. If he weren’t such a psychopathic asshole, I’d be impressed. As things stand, I have to assume he just doesn’t know any better.
“I will not say it a fourth time,” I say. “Move!”
And finally – finally – he scrambles off the bed. I knock him out almost casually with a punch to the face without even really looking at him. I’m done paying attention to this asshole. Instead, my eyes are fixed on Emily.
The first thing I do is pull the gag from her mouth. “Are you all right?” I ask her.
She nods, tears in her eyes.
And just like that, all the hardness melts away from me. Seeing her like this breaks my heart.
“Shhh,” I tell her. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”
I draw my knife to cut her loose, and as soon as she’s free her arms come around to hug me. I hold her for a couple of minutes while she sobs into my chest. It feels good to have her this close. I stroke her gently, soothingly. Her hair, her back. I enjoy the warmth and softness of her body against mine. It’s a different kind of intimacy than the one I fantasized about, but it’s still satisfying. She calms down the beast in me, lulls it to sleep.
I’m still inclined to kill that sad little fuck for what he’s done to her, but I know I mustn’t lose control, and it’s easier to remember that with her in my arms.
“We’ll have to call the cops,” I tell her. “Let them do their job.”
She pulls back a little and looks up at me. Her cheeks are wet with tears. I want to kiss them off her face. I want to kiss her all better.
“Okay,” she says at last.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.”
I keep my arm wrapped around her and hold her tight while I talk to the cops. I can only hope the local police department won’t fuck us over. I wish I had someone to call who could help. And then I remember – I do.
I pull out my phone and call Shawn.
“You did what?” he asks when I tell him what just happened. “That little waitress? Chandler? From the club?” Then. “Okay. Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Eleven
Emily
I feel like I haven’t slept for a week when I finally get back to my apartment. It’s late, past midnight, and I’m glad I’ve got Jon to lean on. He offered to carry me, and I think he was dead serious about it, but I’m not quite there yet. As long as I can move on my own, I’m going to.
Only now with every step that takes me closer to my bed, the last of my strength is running out of me. I’m just too relieved to be home. I’m also relieved my roommate Amber seems to be out. I’m too tired for explanations or even small talk.
When I drop my keys on the entryway table I realize Jon is still hovering at the threshold like a vampire waiting for an invitation.
“Don’t you want to come in?”
He furrows his brow. “Should I? I mean… Don’t you want to be alone?”
He rubs the back of his head awkwardly. Of a sudden, he looks lost and confused about what to do. And while that’s somewhat cute for someone as intense and determined as Jon, it’s also puzzling. It takes a second for the penny to drop.
“Oh,” I say, blushing tomato-red. “I didn’t want to imply...”
The frown on his face softens into a concerned expression. “Me neither. I just… wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
God, he’s so sweet. What have I done to deserve him? Ever since he rescued me from that asshole he hasn’t left my side. And now... My eyes water again, exhaustion taking its toll.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
He nods his head. Closing the
distance between us, he wraps his arms around me again. “I’ll stay with you if you want, sweetheart.”
That instantly calms me down, the words, his deep voice. I realize I haven’t been breathing properly when I exhale.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say. “Do you want anything? Food? A drink? There’s a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen. I can show you–”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll find my way around.”
“Make yourself at home, okay?”
I hear him rummaging in the kitchen while I step under the shower. Strange how someone can become so familiar in such a short time. It’s only been twenty-four hours that we’ve met, but it feels like weeks crammed into a blender: A kiss; a kidnapping; an hour crying into Jon’s broad chest, his strong arms wrapped around me; more hours at a small-town police station waiting to make a statement, until some city lawyer showed up to get us out of there (Shawn’s doing, Jon said); two hours drive home, interrupted by a stop at a diner.
“You need to eat something,” Jon said.
I didn’t feel hungry, but he insisted. And he was right of course. Watching me closely, he picked at his own food and didn’t start digging in until I also had a couple of bites. Watching him eat was quite inspiring after that. He wolfed down his burger and fries with relish, then went for dessert. I caught myself thinking about how gratifying it must be to cook a meal for him.
I smile at the memory. So that was almost a weird first date. After all, he did reach out for my hand every now and then and he did kiss me on the top of the head more than once over the course of the day. I’m still in awe of how such a tough guy can be so gentle.
