by SJD Peterson
He slammed into a woman as he rushed through the double doors, cursing as she went tumbling. “Sorry,” he shouted without slowing down. The traffic outside the hotel was at a standstill, and he made his way around cars, then across the road to the parking deck on the other side.
“We’ll never get there in this traffic,” Granite ground out.
Hutch jerked to a halt. “Fuck!” he growled as he wildly scanned the streets.
Granite stood next to him, panting harshly. “It will take forever in this traffic, and it’s too far to run.”
Hutch spun in a circle, desperately looking for an option. “Goddammit!” he howled.
“You got your badge?” Granite asked.
“No!”
“Me neither, guess I’ll have to use this,” he said gleefully and pulled his service revolver. He rushed ahead, tossing over his shoulder, “What the hell are you waiting for?”
Hutch had no idea what Granite was up to, but it had to be better than standing with his dick in his hand doing nothing, so he followed.
“FBI,” Granite shouted at a rider on a motorcycle. “I’m commandeering your vehicle.”
Oh, he was so going to kiss Granite, right after he got Noah back and kicked Byte’s ass.
The rider turned his head, his face hidden by the dark shield on his helmet, but didn’t step off the bike.
“I said, motherfucking FBI, asshole,” Granite growled and pressed the barrel of his gun against the stunned rider’s chest.
Hutch didn’t wait for the man to comply; he grabbed the guy’s jacket in both hands and slung him from the bike.
Hutch hopped on the bike, and as soon as Granite threw his leg over the back of the seat, Hutch took off. Granite said something, but Hutch couldn’t hear him over the roar of the cycle’s engine and the blaring horns.
NOAH SWALLOWED down the cold fear that settled in his throat and robbed him of his voice. He swallowed again painfully, but still he couldn’t force the words up past his dry throat. He cleared his throat again and again as he was forced to keep walking by means of a barrel pressed against his spine, opposite his heart.
“Well….” Noah cleared his throat again when his voice came out more like a squeak, refusing to show fear. “Now we know how he got in without being seen on video.” Noah commented, voice stronger as anger began to bubble up brighter than the fear.
“Just keep walking,” Drew McCormick demanded and shoved the gun harder against Noah’s back.
“One of the perks of being head of security, huh?”
“Mr. Walker, please don’t make me shoot you. You’ll spoil all the fun,” Drew said sarcastically.
Noah snapped his mouth shut when he wanted nothing more to tell the bastard to go fuck himself. The anger was definitely taking the forefront now, but he held his tongue. Any minute someone would come rushing out of a room, and he could use it as a distraction to get away or, at the very least, get someone to call for help. But after passing several doors, no one appeared. It didn’t make sense; the halls were normally busy this time of morning. He was still pondering it when Drew led him to the door to the stairs at the end of the hall.
“Open it,” Drew ordered.
Noah shoved the door release with both hands, his heart leaping when he spotted Byte rush through the door at the bottom of the stairs. Byte looked up, his eyes going wide in apparent shock, followed by two muffled popping sounds.
“No!” Noah cried out in horror as Byte stumbled back, blood spreading out across the front of his shirt as he slumped to the ground.
Noah started to rush forward, but Drew threw an arm around him, jerking Noah back by the throat. Noah stopped struggling when cold steel was pressed against his temple. “Slowly walk down the stairs, or we will sit right here to wait for Hutch to walk through that door, and you can watch him die,” Drew sneered against Noah’s ear.
The fight drained out of Noah. He didn’t give a shit about what happened to him, but he couldn’t let this bastard kill Hutch. Noah did as he was told, gaze fixed on Byte, hoping, praying to see his chest rise and fall. Tears burned at the back of Noah’s eyes when he passed Byte slumped against the wall on the landing, the front of his gray shirt stained red, his chest dead still.
No! No! No! He can’t be dead. Please God, no, he silently begged and pleaded as he walked sluggishly down the stairs toward the basement.
The scent of musk and mildew was strong when they finally made it to the basement. The sound of machinery echoing off the concrete walls, muffled by the roar of rushing blood in Noah’s ears, was disorienting, dazing him further. He needed to think, somehow had to figure out how to get away, warn Hutch, but it was difficult, the sight of Byte’s lifeless and bloodied body flashing in his mind, consuming his thoughts.
Focus, Noah.
Drew steered him through a maze of concrete walls and steel doors, only adding to the feeling of bewilderment. His legs felt heavier with each step, his head clouded, it all seemed surreal.
Drew brought them to a stop at an unmarked metal door. “If you would please put your forehead against the door, please, Mr. Walker.”
“Well aren’t you just polite as hell,” Noah spat angrily, glaring back at his captor.
“No reason to act like animals,” Drew responded with a small smile.
“You’re worse than an animal, nothing but a cowardly piece of shit.” Noah’s nerve and anger were growing in leaps and bounds as the realization of the mayhem and death this man had caused settled in. Intensifying it further was the fact that this son of a bitch had shot Byte. Noah began to tremble with the force of his rage.
Drew’s face contorted into an ugly sneer, a flash of the madman shining briefly through cold, dead eyes, before he seemed to regain control of himself. He slid the barrel of the gun up from Noah’s back to press it against his temple, pushing it hard enough to send jolts of pain down Noah’s neck. He clenched his teeth, refusing to show fear or pain.
“Now, now, Mr. Walker, let’s not be reduced to name-calling. Now I’m going to ask you again: put your forehead against the door, or I’ll be forced to blow your intelligence all over it,” he said with a chilling grin.
Noah knew he’d be no good to Hutch and Granite if he were dead. He’d bide his time, wait for his chance. If he could keep Drew’s attention on him, the killer wouldn’t be able to go after his ultimate goal: Hutch. Noah laid his forehead against the door as ordered and went passive as he waited for further instructions.
A BLOODCURDLING scream met Hutch and Granite as they raced through the door of Noah’s apartment building. A woman rushed out from a side hall, hands in the air, drawing a small crowd.
As Hutch got closer, the blood in his veins turned to ice when he heard the woman sob, “He’s dead.”
“Where,” Hutch demanded, shoving through the crowd.
“In… in…. Oh God, so much blood. Stairway,” she got out between hysterical sobs.
Some of the people started to move toward the door, wanting a glimpse of death, turning the ice in Hutch’s veins into a raging fire. “FBI! Everyone get the fuck back,” Hutch bellowed, holding up his gun.
There were gasps and shrieks, but thankfully they had enough sense to know he’d run them down if they didn’t move. Hutch made it to the door first, Granite right on his heels, both experiencing the gut-wrenching shock simultaneously when they spotted Byte sprawled out on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out around him.
Hutch swept his weapon up and down the stairs as Granite fell to his knees near Byte.
“Oh Jesus Christ, Byte!” Granite shouted, his agonized voice echoing along the stairwell, loud enough to cause Hutch’s ears to ring.
“Is he dead?” Hutch demanded as he continued to scan the area with his gun, while with his other hand he pulled out his phone and dialed 911.
“I got a pulse. Byte!” Granite dropped his gun and pulled his shirt over his head. He balled it up and pressed it against Byte’s chest in an attempt to stem the blood
flow. “Byte, c’mon, buddy, wake up!”
“Officer down, officer down! Ambulance needed at Belleview apartments, lobby stairwell,” Hutch gritted out into the phone and then added, “Area secure,” to save time before ending the call. The last thing he needed was the fucking SWAT team showing up and slowing down the help Byte so desperately needed.
Hutch heard Granite groan, and he looked down in time to see Byte’s eyes flutter open. “I… I….”
“Don’t try to talk. Help’s on the way,” Granite implored. “Just keep those peepers on me, buddy.”
“Heard a bang,” he rasped. “Went down.”
“Yeah, you got shot, buddy, but you’re going to be fine,” Granite assured him, although from the amount of blood and the aggrieved look on Granite’s face, Hutch wasn’t so sure.
“No… stairs… down….” Byte pointed a finger toward the stairs, coughed, and then his eyes fluttered closed.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Granite yelled. “Open those eyes. C’mon, look at me, damn you.”
“Stay with him. I’m going after Noah,” Hutch informed Granite, already moving down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Hutch’s heart was hammering so hard he thought it would jump out of his chest. He had to believe that Granite would take care of Byte, that he’d get him to the hospital and everything would be okay. He held tight to that thought, needing all his energy and attention on getting Noah back safe and sound. It was the only option; he wouldn’t even consider any other outcome.
At the end of the stairs, he cautiously checked the corner, leading the way with his gun as he proceeded down the corridor, checking each door and finding them locked. So many, too fucking many locked doors and Noah could be behind any one of them. Something kept tugging him along farther into the maze, however, as if being pulled by an invisible string.
Hutch rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “You, let me see your hands,” he shouted, training his weapon on the back of the man’s head.
“Whoa, take it easy,” the stranger replied, raising his hands and starting to turn.
“Stop right there, keep your back to me, and lift your hands over your head.”
“The hell I will,” the man responded, sounding offended, but he raised his hands, a set of keys dangling from his fingers as he turned to face Hutch. “Who are you?”
“FBI,” Hutch gritted out, forcing himself to stay calm, but he felt anything but.
“Oh thank goodness.” The man sighed. “I could have sworn I heard someone scream from down this way. I was just checking the doors.” He rattled the keys for emphasis.
“Who are you?” Hutch demanded, moving cautiously closer, the barrel of his gun aimed between the man’s eyes.
“Drew McCormick, head of LaGarda Security.” Drew flashed his badge. “What the hell is going on?”
Hutch kept the gun on Drew as the uneasy feeling in his gut continued to boil. “Did you see anyone down here? Anyone who doesn’t belong?”
Drew shook his head. “No, but I could have sworn I heard a man screaming.”
Hutch’s gut plummeted to his feet. No! Screaming means alive, he reminded himself. He looked farther down the hall, seeing five doors, two on each side and the fifth with an exit sign illuminated above it.
“Could they have gone through that exit?”
“Nope. It would have sounded an alarm if they had.” Drew cocked his head to the side. “Do you mind not pointing that at me? You look a little tense, and I’d hate to lose an eye, or worse, if you start shaking any harder.”
Hutch didn’t quite trust the guy, but he didn’t trust anyone he didn’t know. He lowered the gun but kept his finger near the trigger. “Check the next one. I’ll cover you,” Hutch instructed.
“Okay, going to lower my hands now.” He did so slowly and then turned his back on Hutch as he inserted a key into the look. He moved to the side, hand on the knob, and looked at Hutch. “Ready?”
“What is this room?” he muttered.
“Storage closet,” Drew responded.
“Okay, open it,” Hutch told him, keeping his voice low, and raised his gun again, this time pointing it toward the door at eye level. Drew turned the knob and shoved the door open, then moved back, giving Hutch room to check out what was inside.
The small six-by-four room had shelves constructed on three sides full of what appeared to be cleaning supplies, rolls of toilet paper, and little else.
The next two rooms yielded the same, nothing out of the ordinary. Noah was either behind the last door, or somehow his abductor had been able to get them out the exit without tripping the alarm.
Drew slid the key into the lock on the final door. “Last one. If he’s not in here, I’m making an appointment to have my ears checked.” He tilted his head and smiled eerily at Hutch. “Should we call for backup?”
Hutch shook his head. Noah could be in there, the son of a bitch doing god knows what to him. He could already be…. No, he wasn’t going to allow his imagination to go there, and he damn sure wasn’t waiting another second for backup.
“Open it,” Hutch demanded as he raised his gun, forcing the fear and anticipation down, stubbornly willing his hand to still.
Drew slowly turned the knob. Hutch could feel Drew’s gaze boring into him, but Hutch couldn’t—didn’t dare—take his eyes from the crack in the door, following it with his gaze as the door opened farther. He was here, Hutch was sure of it, could feel it. Somewhere in this dark room, Noah waited.
Dancing shadows like that from small candles were the only light in the room. Hutch eased around the door, gun leading the way, and there, tied to a chair with heavy rope and duct tape across his mouth, was Noah. The candles on the floor surrounded the chair, enough to illuminate Noah’s features, and Hutch could clearly see Noah’s eyes go wide in recognition, a look of sheer terror on his face just as pain exploded along the back of Hutch’s head and darkness took him.
Chapter 26
BOUND, GAGGED, helpless, Noah watched in horror as Hutch fell heavily to the ground. He tried to scream, tried to warn Hutch, but it came out as a muffled whimpering sound. He struggled against his bonds, doing nothing more than abrading skin and straining muscles. Tears poured from Noah’s eyes as he fell limp, exhausted, beaten.
This was his fault. He hadn’t listened to Byte, had been too damn stubborn and prideful, and now look what had happened. He’d ignored Hutch’s warnings and, in doing so, led him straight into the hands of a killer. Now the man who had done his best to protect Noah lay on the floor, helpless at the feet of a madman.
Blinding light filled the room, and Noah blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust his eyes.
Drew stretched his arms wide and tilted his head back. “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.” He then pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket and gagged Hutch, before rolling him over. “I know how weak you are, so this will help you keep that mouth shut.”
Hutch made a kind of mewling sound, but stayed limp, his eyes shut. Drew ran a single finger along Hutch’s cheek. Noah couldn’t stand to watch this monster, this piece of shit touch Hutch, and he renewed his fight against his bonds, ignoring the fire of pain along his wrist, and screamed.
Drew tilted his head, looking up at Noah with an amused smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t quite make out what you’re saying,” he mocked as he slowly rose to his full height. “No matter, I am really not interested in what you have to say anyway.”
Drew went to the door and pulled a wide metal beam down across it, a clanking sound echoing its finality loudly around the room. It would be nearly impossible for anyone to get into the room, nor out. Despair and hopelessness began to settle into Noah’s gut, a feeling that intensified when Drew quickly and methodically bound Hutch’s hands and wrists, then slipped a wide black belt with an O-ring on the back around Hutch’s chest. Eerily, he hummed “Amazing Grace” as he worked.
Dre
w took the ends of the ropes he’d secured to Hutch’s wrists as well as one he’d run through the ring on the belt and ran them through an elaborate system of pulleys that hung from the ceiling and walls. Noah continued to work at the rope around his wrists. They didn’t budge, each movement causing excruciating pain, but he had to keep trying to escape, had to help Hutch.
Once Hutch was secured to the wall, arms spread out, feet bound as if he were on a cross, crucified, Drew exaggeratedly dusted off his hands as he smiled up at his handiwork. “Pretty impressive, huh? He will be my salvation. The ultimate sacrifice.”
After a long moment, Drew looked over his shoulder with a frown that quickly turned into a wide smile. “In the excitement I forgot you were gagged. I thought you were ignoring me, but you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Drew asked.
He came to stand before Noah, looking down at him with that scary fucking happy smile that made Noah’s skin crawl. He then cocked his head, the smile falling into a deep scowl as if he’d just remembered something.
“I didn’t appreciate your last lecture.” He fisted his hand in the hair on top of Noah’s head, shoving his head back. “You think you’re so much smarter than I am, don’t you? But who is standing in the light of God, and who is bound and on his way to hell? Huh? Huh? Huh?”
Drew’s rage grew with each question until he was screaming it over and over and over, spit spraying Noah’s face. Noah clenched his jaw against the sickening pain as hair was ripped from its roots. Drew’s rage reached a crescendo, and he drew back and landed a solid punch to Noah’s right eye.
Noah’s head snapped back as pain exploded in his head. The blow was hard enough he saw stars dance in front of his watery vision. He breathed heavily through his nose as he fought down the bile that rose up in his throat.
“Why must you taunt me? Push, push, push, push until I am forced to lash out? Why? Why do you continue to test me? Haven’t I proved myself worthy? Haven’t I tried hard enough? Given enough?”
