Gabe

by Desiree Lafawn

  “Every number we have on file from Dino, I want you to hammer it, Jeanette. Call then text. Then wait ten seconds and try the next number. I don’t know what phone he’s using, he has like fifteen numbers on file.” A different number for every personality, or part that he played. It worked for Dino, because he was amazing at what he did, an actor of grand talent. He went undercover like no one’s business to get intel, and he made his money that way. Buying, selling, and trading information. Dino had recently fallen from a pretty high place, and he had some serious ties to people with power, but that also made him very dangerous. We worked together on occasion, but I never knew if I could trust him, or if he would sell me out to the highest bidder.

  Well, I was a rich man. I could probably trust him so long as I always had the cash to be the highest bidder.

  “Got it.” Jeannette nodded firmly. “Annoy Dino until he is forced to return the call. What is our intel so far?” She didn’t ask unnecessary questions—that was another thing I liked about Jeannette. She could see me visibly distressed but knew enough not to comment on it. All business, I could respect that.

  So, I laid it out for her. “Who is running around in a black, late model Lincoln with tinted windows that looks straight out of a mob movie? Not cops. There were four people that I counted, but I only saw the two that were in the back because they got out of the vehicle to snag her. One was totally rough looking, probably a low-rank user, the other one looked like someone’s grandpa. No rhyme or reason, but they didn’t even stop to talk, harass or threaten. They just took her. I need to know what kind of underground shit is going on, relatively recently, that might provoke such an occurrence.” I rolled my shoulders back and forth to remove some of the tension that had been building since I opened my office door to see Angel standing there arguing with Jeanette.

  “If you make it through the phone list and he hasn’t responded, start over. Do whatever you have to do to get his attention.”

  “Shall I send nudes, then?” Jeannette asked dryly, voice heavily laced with sarcasm. I couldn’t fault her. One common denominator for all of Dino’s personalities was that he was a colossal flirt. It was like he lived to ignite panties. He didn’t even need to follow through with sleeping with women, it was just like some amusing game to him, to say shocking things or work women up. It irritated Jeanette beyond reason when he turned that charm on her, but I had never had enough interest to look more deeply into why that was.

  “I doubt that will be necessary, but thanks for offering. You keep trying to get ahold of Dino however you can. I’m going see what I can turn up as well.” I disappeared into my office, confident Jeannette would complete her task. She always did. I cracked my knuckles and stared at my computer screen before I started typing away. This was the work I was good at. This shit was my bread and butter. Protection. Reconnaissance. Retrieval. I was a badass mercenary, and I could do anything, so why were my hands shaking as they moved across the keys? I knew. I was pissed. Regardless of what had happened since we had become adults, at one point in time, Angel Jax had been one of the most important people in the world to me. We may have been out of touch, but time wasn’t going to change that. Someone had taken something that belonged to me, and I would turn the streets upside down to find her.

  Goddamnit, Angel, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

  4

  Angel

  The snatch may have happened quickly, but we were in the car for a long time. It felt like forever, and I had to lie across the laps of two grown men the entire way. After they had slung me into the car, I had my hands pulled behind my back and what felt like a roll of duct tape wound around them. Whatever it was, it was strong, and even pulling as hard as I could, I could not get my hands free. Not that I had a lot of options to move. My face was smashed onto the knees of one person, and after placing a loose canvas bag over my head, he placed a hand on the back of my neck, keeping my head down. That was fine by me—I would rather have my head held immobile on his knees than bouncing around anywhere else—like his lap. The rest of my body was free, but I still couldn’t move. To fit in the backseat of the vehicle I had my legs curled up under me. Lackey number two had his arms across my knees to keep me from moving.

  “If you can promise not to kick around, miss,” he said in an absurdly polite tone, “I won’t tie your legs together. You will need to walk as soon as we get out of the car anyway.” There were four people in the car that I could tell, the two in the back with me, a driver, and then someone in the passenger seat. I didn’t get a look at any faces, but I saw bodies and arms, so I knew that there were four of them. Why there were four of them in the car when it only took about ten seconds to yank me right out of the parking lot mid conversation, I didn’t know. But then again, maybe they were prepared for me to be a tougher catch than I was. I sure showed them.

  “Who are you guys? Where are you taking me?” I aimed the question at the man who seemed the nicest, but he didn’t answer. No one did. As a matter of fact, no one said another word the entire drive, which could have lasted hours for all I knew. I was stuck in a tomb of silence, listening to nothing but road noises and the sound of the local oldies station on the radio the entire way, strung across the laps of two strangers with my head covered and my hands bound behind my back. Terrified wasn’t even a word that could begin to describe what I was feeling, but it was the only word that came to mind.

  When the car did finally come to a halt for the last time, the silence of the ride had permeated my consciousness and the sound of the doors opening was deafening. I don’t know if not speaking during the ride had been a terror tactic, but whether or not that was the desired effect was irrelevant. My knees were weak and I could barely stand, even after being hauled to my feet and led like a pony through a maze of rooms. I knew the floor was concrete because I could feel it underneath my shoes, and also underneath my face when the toe of my Chucks dragged against the ground and I tripped forward, breaking my fall with the front of my body. I couldn’t stop the cry of pain as my shoulder made contact with the ground first. Yep, definitely concrete.

  “This isn’t going to work, guys,” a nasally male voice rang out above me. “Unless one of you wants to carry her, just cut her loose. She isn’t going to go anywhere, and if we bring her to Chaz with bruises on her, he is gonna be pissed.”

  Large hands grabbed me from under my armpits and hauled me to my feet. The bag was removed from my head first and the kind voice from earlier said, “We’ll free your hands so you have better balance, but I’m going to need you to follow orders and stay in line. Nobody here wants to hurt you.” The face in front of me was the owner of the words just now and in the car. He looked just like he sounded, like a kindly uncle next door. He had salt and pepper hair and was wearing khaki slacks and a green zippered cardigan. I had apparently been kidnapped by Mr. Rogers. Definitely not thug material.

  “Speak for yourself. I wouldn’t mind taking a crack at her.” Another voice this time, and I could tell by sound alone he was a nasty piece of work. A new face appeared in front of me and I felt someone from behind me cut through the tape holding my hands behind my back. They weren’t gentle, but they were precise as the bonds were removed quickly. I rubbed my sore wrists and rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the ache that bloomed in the center of my back.

  The new face of Mr. Nasty, as I had decided to call him, was too close to me, and I stepped back to put some more distance between us, bringing myself up against a hard body directly behind me. Two hands reached out to steady me, but they were firm. I got the message. That was as far as I went in that direction, but hell if I wanted the gaunt face of the creeper in front of me to get any closer.

  The color of his hair was impossible to determine as it was so greasy it hung in dark matted strands around his scab-covered face. Seeing my obvious discomfort, he grinned, and stepping even closer to me, laughed directly in my face.

  Oh God, the smell.

  The few teeth that we
re left in his mouth were grey or black, with shriveled up gums that pulled away at the roots. His fetid breath hit me square in the nose and I gagged. Screw being held in place. I pushed myself as far back against the body behind me as I could. That man had the mouth of a corpse and I wanted him nowhere near me.

  “Back off, Tweaker,” the smooth voice said from behind me. “I don’t know why Chaz keeps you around, but you aren’t in charge here. Also, I doubt you would know what to do with her if you had her. So don’t embarrass yourself, and back the fuck up.” One hand shot from behind me and shoved Mr. Nasty in the chest, not hard, but enough to move him to the side. The same hand then grabbed me by the shoulder, directing me to move. “Let’s go,” the voice said. I had no choice but to move in the direction I was being guided. The voice behind me had called that man tweaker. It made sense. That was a meth mouth like I had only seen in pictures on the internet.

  With my face and hands free I able to maintain my balance on my own, but that hand stayed on my shoulder, steering me through various warehouse rooms. I had no idea where I was, but it was dark, and there were huge metal shelving units full of boxes all around. I had no idea what was in them, and I didn’t get a chance to even ask before I was led into a clean, better lit area.

  This area looked like a section of offices, and as we walked down a carpeted hallway, I tried to get a grip on my scattered emotions. Calm down, I thought to myself. I can see getting murdered in a dirty warehouse, but this is an office area. With carpet. Nobody wants to clean blood out of the carpet. I don’t know why I think the weird shit I do, it just happens. It had about zero percent effectiveness in calming my nerves as well. I had just been kidnapped in broad daylight, I doubt these guys were above killing me and dumping my body wherever. Or not. I didn’t really have any experience with thugs, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, and it was that fear—that not knowing—that made things all the worse.

  Our destination was apparently an office at the end of the hallway, neither to the right nor the left, but the hallway actually stopped outside of the office door. The person who I had come to know as just “the hand” on my shoulder actually stepped in front me to open the door, and I saw him for the first time. It almost made me forget that I was kidnapped, he was that good looking.

  A plain leather blazer hung on broad shoulders but narrowed at the waist. He wore a black shirt as a first layer, the kind that was probably a size too small and accentuated every muscle underneath it. It left pretty much nothing to the imagination. This guy had a body that sold product on magazine pages, and a face to match. Olive complexion, just a touch exotic, and a sensual mouth. I don’t know another word for lips like that; they looked like they were made for loving.

  He caught me staring at his mouth, and I felt a blush burning my cheeks as he threw me a wink before turning back to the still unopened door. “Gordon, Eddie, you come in with me. Tweak, you stay outside, your job is done.” The greasy, bad-breathed dirtball behind me was outraged at the exclusion. Apparently he was getting kicked out of the boys club? He could take my place if he wanted. I didn’t ask to be invited to this party.

  “Bullshit, D, I did the work too, I’m coming in. It isn’t fair,” he whined pitifully from behind me. Even from my spot in front of him, I could smell the foul odor coming from his mouth when he talked. He was probably a walking infection, and I gagged a little at the thought. A hand grabbed my hair, painfully yanking back and causing me to let out an agonizing yelp.

  “I’m gonna ask the boss to let me keep her when he’s done. She’s thick. I like it.” As he said the words while wrenching me back against him by my hair, I felt his other hand come up and squeeze my breast. Hard.

  Fuck this.

  Yeah, I was scared, but I was also grossed out, and if I was going to die today, I was for sure going to go out fighting. Before anyone else could move I brought my head back quick and hard, and heard, as much as felt, the bones crunch as I connected with his nose. He screamed and let go immediately, so I whirled around and planted my foot straight in his groin.

  “The hell you say,” I spat as he howled in pain. He’d been too busy clutching his broken nose when I kicked him, and had no time to protect his vulnerable parts, so he dropped like a hot rock when I jacked him in the nuts. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.” It was an empty threat, of course, I had no means with which to do such a thing, and I was absolutely outnumbered in that cramped hallway in front of the scary office door. But no fucking way was I letting that greasy meth head put his hands on me again. That was some nightmare shit right there.

  “You deserved that, Tweak,” the handsome bad guy said to the crying ball on the floor. “You settle down,” he said to me as he put his hand on the doorknob. “If you can be calm, you can walk in and sit on the couch. If you’re going to stay riled up, I can throw you over my shoulder and toss you in there. Your choice, Angel.” I didn’t like that he knew my name. I also didn’t like that he was threatening me after I was just assaulted by the other guy. I narrowed my eyes at him but said nothing. He had just lost handsome points in my book.

  “All right, guys that’s enough. Boss is waiting,” the nasal guy said, and as he walked up next to me I got my first look at him. Fire engine red. That was the color of his hair. I had never seen hair that red on a human in real life. His eyes were green and his pale face was covered with a spray of freckles. It had been a background noise all this time, but I finally figured it out. He whistled when he breathed. It was difficult keeping track of all of these people when I didn’t know their names. The guy called D had said the names Gordon and Eddie. I had no idea who was who, and my brain demanded I identify my attackers, so I decided to call the red-headed heathen next to me, “Whistler,” after the sound he made when he breathed.

  “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. You know that,” the man I now referred to as Mr. Rogers said as he gently pressed me towards the door. “Everyone off the boat.” Then the door opened and we walked in single file, D first, then the Whistler, me, and Mr. Rodgers. A regular fucking cast of characters on a shit show television program.

  5

  Angel

  I have never been so scared in my entire fucking life. He sat there, calmly waiting as we filed in and took our seats. I sat on the couch like I was instructed. D and Mr. Rogers sat on either side of me. It was a small couch, more of a loveseat, really, and our thighs touched, we were so cramped. The Whistler took up his position next to the man at the big desk against the far wall. I couldn’t stop my legs from trembling from the nerves, and I hated that my legs were touching the two men next to me, because surely they could feel how afraid I was. I knew what this was about. The fucking bag of money Melody had taken off with.

  The man at the desk was clearly in charge, his entire aura screamed bad man. He was a handsome man, but in a clean cut ordinary way. He had dark wavy hair and a strong jawline. His burgundy dress shirt was open at the neck, and I could see several thin gold chains hanging there. Appropriate crime boss accessories. There was nothing about him that stuck out as particularly intimidating except for his eyes. They were expressionless, cold, and hard. Those were dead eyes. The eyes of a sociopath.

  He just sat there silently, not saying a word. The silence became so uncomfortable I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, he uttered his first words.

  “Why was Bernard screaming in the hallway?” he asked softly. There was no anger in his voice, but I saw Whistler’s posture straighten and he looked nervously at the door like he was getting in trouble for allowing the noise to disturb the master in his office. It was D who spoke first.

  “Your boy put his hands on the merchandise. She didn’t like it so she dropped him.”

  He rubbed his finger against his mouth in apparent thought and inhaled deeply, then exhaled and rolled his head from side to side, cracking his neck in the process. “Bernard should know better than to put his hands on anything of mine,” he said, and the words chilled me to my bones. He was
calling me his like I was a thing. Property. An inanimate object without the means to think or speak. Knowing that was terrifying.

  “Do you know why you are here?” He looked at me and nodded, like he was giving me permission to speak. Words are something I am normally never short on, but this time they seemed to be failing me, because I opened my mouth but nothing would come out. I was too afraid. A sharp elbow hit me in my ribs on the left hand side. Mr. Fucking Handsome jabbed me to get me to talk and the breath left my lungs in a whoosh.

  “I think I’m here because I saw something I shouldn’t have.” The words came out with a wheeze. I shot Sexy lips bad man a glare but he refused to look at me. He would only look ahead at the man behind the desk. Everyone in the room was looking at him.

  “Oh, Angel, if only that were the case. You see, you didn’t just see something you shouldn’t have, you interrupted something you shouldn’t have.” The man drummed his fingers on the top of the desk for a moment, then pinned me with an icy stare. “Do you know who I am?”

  My legs were trembling violently now. I was afraid to answer. I had no idea who he was but for some reason I was terrified to give the wrong answer. Like my survival depended on whether or not I knew the name of the man sitting in front of me.

  “My name is Chaz Malone, it’s nice to meet you, Angel.”

  Dear God, I was going to die in this warehouse. Chaz Malone was as close to mafia as we got out here in the Glass City. We weren’t a big enough metropolis to have syndicates or anything, but we were right on the banks of Lake Erie, one of the five great lakes of the US of A. A lot of stuff came in and out of our harbor, and brought some nefarious shit around. One common denominator through all of that, though, was Chaz Malone. I only knew the name, not what he looked like. I had always pictured him as a tubby crime boss with a receding hairline and a mustache. This younger than middle-aged man in front of me with the expressionless eyes was somehow more terrifying.