Between gulping breaths, “Have it your way,” he snarled. “We’ll start with ankle straps.”
“No,” Jewels screamed, launching another violent kicking attack. But his strength was mighty and he was skilled in the speedy application of restraints. Only milliseconds passed before she heard the binding crunch of the Velcro strap and felt the bite of the stiff leather belt being brutally fastened on top, painfully engulfing her left ankle in a double restraint cuff.
After clipping a long thin piece of leather onto the D-ring of the restraint like a leash, he rose to his feet. Pulled on it like a towrope. Dragged Jewels farther out from under the queen-sized hideaway.
The leverage he had gained with the leash was close to generating more power than she could resist. Or withstand. With her body stretched painfully long as if on a torture rack, every muscle in her body strained as she hung on to the bedsprings. Her deep groans of torment filled the cabin like a horror sound track playing in a disturbing spook alley.
He persisted. Pulled harder. Used more force. Jewels and the bed shifted six inches closer to him, the big log headboard and footboard grinding heavy into the floor planks, leaving scaring ruts.
Finally, her fingers could endure no more. She lost grip of the coils.
Instantly taking advantage of her weakness, with one mighty jerk he hauled Jewels’ lower legs out from under the bed. The bottom of the gown bunched up near the top of her thighs, exposing her knees.
In a fit of terror she thrashed her body about. Twisting onto her stomach, then back. Rolling to and fro irrationally. Wildly clawing at the underneath of the bed and the uneven floor boards. During the madness the skirt of the gown caught on the edge of a protruding mattress spring, tearing it.
Hearing the material ripping, “You fuckin’ bitch! You’re ruining my mother’s wedding dress,” he angrily shouted. It really wasn’t his mother’s wedding dress, but because he had imagined it so, it was. With the added adrenaline from the rage over the torn dress, he harnessed the surge of energy to powerfully tug on the leather leash.
Though Jewels had waged a valiant defensive effort and even connected with several flesh-pounding blows, Theodore Hines reigned superior.
Hastily, he secured a double restraint cuff around her right ankle then snapped on a leash. With a hand firmly wrapped around the leather leash attached to each ankle, he dragged Jewels out from under the bed. Screaming, kicking and clawing at the air, the floor, the bed, anything, she madly tried to grab something to save herself from his clutches. But failed miserably.
Once Jewels’ body was out in the open Hines smashed his foot onto her neck, applying a fair amount of his body weight.
Eyes bulging, her hands instinctively wrapped around his shoe, pushing with all her might against the leather sole of the wingtip for relief, it was like attempting to bench press a two-hundred-fifty-pound anvil.
Still holding the leashes attached to her legs in one hand, he held a leather wrist restraint in the other, dangling it above her head, “All you have to do is put this on your wrist.”
“Never,” she snarled, quickly tucking her knees up toward her chest and twisting her body, launching a frenzied flurry of kicks at his thighs, groin and torso.
“Bitch,” he hollered, as her assault pulverized various parts his body, though missing his crotch. But rather than deter him, her fight invigorated him. Winding the leashes around his forearm, he gained control of her legs and contained her wild kicking, then repositioned himself to grind his foot deeper into her neck. Breathing hard, he grinned, his eyes dancing with excitement as he watched her.
Intuitively to relieve the crushing pressure on her windpipe, she twisted her body. But in doing so, her carotid artery became more vulnerable, restricting blood flow to her brain. Eyes fluttering, muscles relaxing, Jewels was about to blackout.
Realizing it, Hines released some of the pressure. Didn’t want her to pass out. Sure, she’d be easier to handle unconscious, but he had waited too long for Jewels. For the challenge of making her his own. “One way or the other, you’re mine,” he mumbled, thinking how at one time he had hoped she would agree to be his willingly and submit to whatever he asked. However, since the use of force was plainly necessary, he wasn’t going to allow himself to be denied the thrill of an intense physical battle.
Gulping for air, she slowly blinked, hands still clenched around the expensive leather shoe precariously parked on her throat.
Again he dangled the wrist restraint over her head. “Put this on your wrist,” he said, his tone calm, controlled.
Again, Jewels shook her head in defiance.
Removing his foot from her throat, he turned his back momentarily rubbing his neck, then wheeled back around to face her.
Capitalizing on the relief, she pushed herself into a sitting position and leaned against the bed, massaging her paining throat.
Thrusting his hands on his hips and gazing down at her, “Christ, Woman, aren’t you afraid to die?” he asked, his voice thick with anger, but seasoned with curiosity.
Tilting her head back to look up at his face, “Death? No, I’m not afraid to die,” she quietly confessed, lowering her head to look at her lap while continuing to gently massage her throbbing neck. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t want to die, nor do I have a death wish, but...,” raising her head to look him square in the eyes, “no matter what you threaten to do to me, I refuse to help you restrain me so you can torture me. So you might as well just kill me right now and get it over with.”
• • •
FIVE MINUTES EARLIER. Marshall scurried to the cabin. Flattened his body against the exterior wall.
Inside a woman was screaming.
“Jewels,” he whispered.
A man’s voice bellowed angrily.
Hines, he thought.
Thumping. Pounding. The distinctive sound of physical violence. Flesh walloping flesh. Images of Hines hammering Jewels swarmed his mind.
Fists tightening, Marshall ground his teeth, pumped for a dynamic entry to rescue Jewels. Unfortunately, the sharp spikes of the Klondike boards would prevent crashing the door or one of the windows in this cabin.
With speed and stealth, he circled the cabin, searching for an alternative entrance. Found none. Must improvise. Eyeing the SUV, a sly grin parted his tight face, he knew exactly what to do: create a diversion, draw Hines out of the cabin, then kill the filthy bastard.
• • •
“Kill you, now? Oh no, Sweet Cheeks, I’ve waited too fucking long for this. And I won’t be denied,” Hines fumed, his hands white-knuckled balls.
Gradually, with hopes of not drawing his attention, Jewels scooted on her butt away from him, toward the end of the bed.
Glowering, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he snarled, grabbing the end of the leather leash attached to Jewels’ left leg and jerking it toward him.
Her head snapped back into the side of the mattress and she let out a little groan.
Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhh! The air was filled with a whining, high-pitched siren.
It was the Escalade’s alarm.
• • •
Kneeling behind the trunk of a fat pine tree towering about twenty feet to the front and side of the cabin, Marshall waited. The position afforded him a full view of the cabin door while the angle was perfect for the exterior of the thick log walls to absorb a bullet, in the likely event it passed through the targeted flesh.
Readying the AR, he peered through the iron sights. Even without the luxury of night sights or a scope, Marshall was confident he could snipe Hines.
When Hines came out of the cabin, he’d take the bastard. Blow his damned head off.
• • •
At the sound of the Escalade’s siren, Hines dropped the leather leash and turned to face the door, whipping the
MP-5 forward in a firing position.
Taking advantage of Hines’ preoccupation with the siren and the door, Jewels unsnapped the leash on he
r left ankle, quietly slid it under the bed, then unbuckled the leather strap. Under cover of the nonstop siren, she slowly peeled apart the noisy Velcro, ripped it off her ankle, and flung the cuff under the bed. Repeated the process for her right ankle.
Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhh! The alarm continued to relentlessly blare.
Hines’ attention remained focused on the door, his back to her.
Scurrying to the opposite side of the bed, the one closest to the back wall, she crouched into a deep squat position, hiding behind the edge of the bed. Peering over the mattress at Hines’ back, she wondered what would happen if she were to charge him. Hit him from behind at knee level. Would the force of the blow afford her the opportunity to snatch the gun? Unfortunately, she couldn’t just knock him over then run out the door because he had locked it. However, if she was in control of the gun, she could force him to hand over the keys, then she could escape.
It was a flaky plan at best, but a plan nonetheless. Could it work? Would it work? There was only one way to find out, and at this point, she had nothing to lose by trying.
Balling her hands into clenched fists, slowly she stood up then hunched over, like a defensive lineman primed to tackle. On the count of three, she’d hit him. One. Two....
Suddenly Hines whirled around. A dumbfounded look swallowed up his face as he eyed her up and down. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Shit! Busted! Eyes expanding to half- dollars, slowly she relaxed, surrendering her aggressive stance while inching into an erect position.
Eyebrows knitted, Hines glared.
Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. Dammit! Never any good at lying, she had to think of an explanation. Fast. “Uh, I-I was ... uh ...,” she stammered, nervously unconsciously rubbing the earring on her right ear, “trying ... uh ... to get cover behind you.”
Lips curling into a snarl, “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he warned.
Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhh! The Escalade’s alarm continued to wail. Annoyingly so.
Without warning, Hines slung the MP-5 around his back and charged her. Covering the twenty-foot or less distance between them, Hines was on top of her and had gained a viselike hold of her right arm before she could even turn around to run ... not that she had anywhere to run.
Clenching her fist and tightening her muscles she heaved her entire body backward while fiercely jerking her arm to break free of his grasp. Reactively, he crumpled her hand forward and twisted her arm behind her back, wrenching her into a pain-inducing position. “Stop fighting me.”
Moaning in agony, she continued to resist. Contorting her body. Kicking backward with her heels to pound his shins. And punching rearward with her free hand, hoping to hammer his nuts.
Applying more pressure to cause more pain, “Goddammit! I said stop fighting me!”
“Let go of me,” Jewels begged, continuing to struggle. But the more she fought, the more he cranked her hand and arm upward, twisting it higher up her spine, intensifying the pain until she could withstand no more. Allowing her muscles to relax, she surrendered. “Okay, Theo. You win. Please let go. You’re hurting me,” she pleaded, standing on high tiptoes seeking a reduction in pain.
Without relenting his brutal hold, he roughly pulled her in close to his chest, smashing his mouth next to her ear. “I don’t want to hear a fuckin’ peep from you. And don’t give me any trouble, or so help me God...,” jamming the barrel of the MP-5 in Jewels’ side, “I will kill you.”
Wincing in pain, “Yes. Okay. Whatever you want,” she hastily agreed, hoping for relief from his torturous hold.
Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhh!
“I need to turn off that alarm and you’re gonna help me,” Hines said, giving Jewels’ arm a quick little twist.
Groaning in agony, she swiftly nodded her head in agreement. “Whatever you want,” she flatly repeated.
• • •
Darkness had moved in nearly an hour ago. The cool air smelled of pine needles and dew. Marshall’s rib area was cramping, probably from a fractured bone, but he clenched his teeth and ignored the pain, focusing his thoughts first on Jewels. Was she conscious? In pain? How badly was she hurt? Then on Hines. What was taking him so long to respond? “Come on you bastard,” he mumbled.
As if in an instant response to his mutterings, the cabin door swung open. Brightness spilled from the doorway like the intentional ray of a spotlight.
Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhh! The alarm continued to whine.
Nudging his cheek deep into the stock of the AR, he trained the front sight on the cabin entry. Began to control his breathing. To relax. Concentrate. Become one with the weapon. The plan was simple: when Hines’ head came around the corner he’d slide his finger off the trigger guard onto the trigger and press.
The spotlight was suddenly all but blocked as the doorway was filled with the outline of a blob. Not the human body Marshall was expecting. “Shit,” he whispered.
Hines wasn’t stupid. He had pulled a hostage taker’s move: hostage taker and hostage covered under a blanket. It was a rescuer’s nightmare. Impossible to snipe the hostage taker. Too risky. Might hit the hostage.
Pursing his lips, Marshall knew he wasn’t prepared for this situation. It would take three SWAT-trained men to handle a hostage scenario like this. One to pull the blanket. One to snatch the hostage. One to neutralize the hostage taker: a single contact shot to the head.
Like a giant amoeba on speed, the bundle shimmied and jerked its way toward the Escalade.
The alarm continued to blast its shrill warning.
After cautiously traversing the fifty feet between the cabin door and where the Escalade was parked, which took several minutes, the blanket-covered mass finally reached the SUV. The driver side door slowly opened.
Marshall perked up. Readied the AR. Maybe Hines would show his face.
The alarm went mute. Seconds later the SUV’s door slammed shut. The lumpy blanket began sliding back toward the open cabin door, moaning as it moved. The sounds of misery drowned out by the alarm were now audible. Seemed Jewels was in pain.
If Hines got Jewels back into the cabin, Marshall knew the rescue opportunity would be lost. Had to do something. Fast.
When they were mere steps from the cabin doorway, Marshall slid the AR on his back and bolted from behind the fat pine tree, sprinting toward the blob.
Hines must have heard him coming, because the blanket stopped. Wheeled around, just as Marshall pounced.
Like a drunk, the bundle swayed, but didn’t go down. Angry shouts and fearful screams filled the air as chaos erupted. Light from the cabin shone on the scene like a focused theater spotlight.
Grasping a handful of blanket, Marshall yanked. A head was exposed: Hines.
“You!” Hines yelled, his eyes wide with fury and lips curled into a snarl, glaring at Marshall.
With Jewels still concealed under the blanket, Marshall had to make a split-second decision. Was she rigged to an IED dead man’s switch? Have the tip of knife poised to plunge into her kidney or ribs? Forced to clench a cyanide capsule between her molars? Or was she booby-trapped in one of dozens of other means of leveraging a hostage? The risk was too high to simply engage Hines in hand-to-hand combat, leaving Marshall no alternative other than to lunge back a giant step and reach for the AR on his back.
“Not so fast,” Hines barked, extracting Jewels from under the blanket by her upper arm and jamming the barrel of the MP-5 into the side of her neck.
Shivering uncontrollably, Jewels stood with her arms tightly wrapped around her chest. Her updo looked like it had been teased with electric egg beaters. Her Aphrodite face was tear-streaked and contorted in torment.
“Put the fuckin’ gun down, or I’ll blow her head off,” Hines demanded, tapping the muzzle of the MP-5 against the side of Jewels’ neck.
Pinching her eyes shut, she chewed her lip.
Marshall instantly froze, visually analyzing the rogue agent. Dead like a king cobra, Hines’ eyes were st
eady, void of emotion. Face, the mask of a plotting madman. Body, tense and on edge, primed for action. And his finger was curled around the trigger of the submachine gun.
Concluding Hines really would kill Jewels, not just threaten to do so, he gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Okay, Hines, I’m gonna put the rifle down, but this isn’t over,” he said, slowly lowering the AR to the ground.
Standing motionless, eyes expanded to cartoon proportions, Jewels’ mouth gaped in stunned silence, staring at Marshall.
“Now kick that gun over here,” Hines said to Marshall, waving the MP-5 at him.
Narrowing his eyes, he had no intention of giving up that weapon.
Reading the defiance in his eyes, Hines stabbed the gun into Jewels’ neck again.
She grimaced.
“Kick that fuckin’ rifle over here and get your hands up where I can see ‘em,” he ordered, grinding the barrel deeper into Jewels’ neck.
She let out a childlike whimper.
Marshall knew he had no choice. Setting his jaw, reluctantly he kicked the gun over to Hines’ feet and raised his hands out to the side as if under arrest.
Latching onto Jewels’ wrist, Hines forced her arm behind her back and jerked her to his side, opening a path to the cabin door. To Watters: “Now move it. Into the cabin. And remember, any false move and the coroner won’t find enough of Sweet Cheeks’ head to make a positive ID,” he warned, roughly stuffing the barrel of the gun into Jewels’ neck for the fourth time.
Hesitantly, Marshall marched toward the cabin door.
With the intensity of a cat stalking a mouse, Hines watched Marshall. When he was within the doorway: “Hold it right there. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em and don’t move or turn around unless you want Jewels’ brains scattered all over your back. Understood?”
Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) Page 35
