by Tabatha Kiss
I pause, thinking quickly as I lower the bat and step out into the doorway.
He stands a few feet away. His face is bruised and his nose is swollen, held together with tiny, white, butterfly bandages.
I feign a wince. “Oh, did I do that? I’m sorry.”
“Not yet. But you will be,” he says, cracking his knuckles.
“Hey, in my defense, you hit me first.”
He stares back at me, unamused. “Where’s the girl?”
“What girl?” His face crunches. “Oh, that girl? The one that lives here?”
“Yes.”
“She’s hiding in the closet.”
“She’s hiding in the closet?” He peeks over my shoulder towards the corner.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Why would you tell me that?”
“Because there’s no chance of you getting close enough to be a threat to her.”
He smirks. “Is that so?”
“It really is.”
His shoulders roll back as he stiffens his posture, putting as many extra inches he can onto his towering height. Not that it matters much. The taller they are, the harder they hit the floor when they get knocked down.
“How about you step out of the way,” he says, “and I won’t snap your back like a fucking twig in front of her?”
I pretend to consider it. “Nah.”
Steam practically shoots out of his nose.
“Come on, man,” I say. “I’ve already kicked your ass once before. Just turn around, run back home to daddy, and next time, maybe bring a few more friends with—”
He reaches behind him and pulls out a pistol. “I brought sixteen friends with me, actually,” he says, raising it and pointing it at my face.
I bite my lip as I stare into the barrel. It’s a 9mm Glock. Loud and unpleasant, but I can take it apart if I get him close enough. “Overcompensating a little, aren’t you?”
He steps forward but still not close enough for me to get a grip on him. “Last chance, dog. You brought a baseball bat to a gunfight. Think about it.”
I chuckle as he comes within my reach. “You know what? You’re right.” I slide the bat down and it clatters against the floor. “I won’t even need to use it.”
His finger twitches, moving for the trigger and my life flashes before my eyes. Another moment’s hesitation and I’ll be dead but I’m not about to let that happen.
I jut forward, knocking his wrist to the side. His finger brushes the trigger and a shot rings out, passing by to connect with the wall beyond me. He tries to keep his grip but I take hold of his wrist, finding the necessary pressure points and twisting it until he shouts with agony.
He balls his free fist and fires it towards my jaw. I duck my head, letting it connect with my ear instead. Pain shoots down my neck but at least I won’t be eating through a straw.
I raise my knee, pulling him in to kick him repeatedly in the groin while trying to pry the gun from his stiff, strong fingers.
Finally, it slips into my hand and I release the ammo clip. It falls to the floor and I slip away from him, all the while sliding the pistol apart and rendering it useless.
“Guns,” I say, dropping the pieces to his feet, “are overrated. You can do better than this.”
He growls and rushes at me, slamming hard into my torso. It tips me off-balance and I fall back against the bedroom door frame. It splinters from the force, knocking the wind out of me and I tumble to my knees.
“Okay…” I wheeze, “that wasn’t bad.”
He lets out a huff. “Don’t you ever shut up, mate?”
I flash a happy grin. “Are we mates now?”
His angry fist charges at me and I shift away to let him punch the wall behind my head. I kick him back into the hall, forcing him as far away from the bedroom as I can. He stumbles back and I climb to my feet to deliver another blow to his stomach — but he grabs my ankle and holds on. I keep my balance, laying one hand against the wall before launching upward with my grounded foot and kicking him in the face.
We both fall, crashing to the floor with heavy gravity. My spine still aches from the slam on the door frame but I breathe through the pain to get up onto my feet first.
I stumble down the hall, keeping my distance as Clive pushes off the floor but I don’t get too far from him. I don’t want him doubling back towards the bedroom after Evey.
“Come on,” I taunt, waving him in. “Come at me.”
He moves fast, faster than I can react, and grabs me. My stomach churns as he nearly raises me over his head and throws me against the refrigerator in the kitchen.
I catch my breath and crawl away from him, quickly scanning my surroundings for a weapon. He reaches for my feet to drag me back but I kick at his broken nose and he leans away as I pull open a bottom cabinet near the stove.
I wrap my fingers around the first piece of metal I can find and hold it up as a weapon.
Clive tilts his head at me and I deflate when I realize it’s a damn pot lid.
I lay it horizontal and launch it at him like a frisbee. He easily dodges it and I grab the next thing I can, this time making sure it’s heavy enough to do some damage.
I stand with the skillet and raise it high to strike him. Clive charges at me and I hit him repeatedly on the head with it. The handle snaps after the third hit and it tumbles to the floor.
“Come on…” I sigh. What the hell kind of dime-store crap is Evey cooking with here?
He chuckles and punches me hard in the nose. I fall backward into the wall and slide down to the floor, seeing stars and lights in my vision.
I shake it off and pull myself up as I hear his boots stomping back to the bedroom.
A weapon. I need a decent weapon. Something — anything — that will take him down.
I throw open the nearest drawer and sift through the crap inside, finding nothing useful beyond a small, partially-melted, spatula.
Dammit, Evey. Don’t you have any good knives?
“Fuck it,” I breathe, reaching for my own belt. I tug it free from my jeans and rush at Clive, leaping onto his back to wrap it around his thick neck. He chokes, reaching up to scratch at me so I squeeze a little tighter, forcing pressure until his strength wanes.
He crashes to his knees, nearly shaking me off, but I tighten my thighs to hold onto him. I count slowly under my breath. I don’t want to kill him but I don’t want him to get up either. A few more seconds of blocked airflow to his brain should shut him down long enough to give me and Evey a head start out of here.
Finally, he tips over; his face blue and pulse faint. I roll off of him, taking one quick moment to catch my breath before rushing back towards the bedroom.
I grip the closet door and pull it open.
Evey lets out a battle cry and swings a closed umbrella at my head.
“Whoa, whoa—” I grab it in mid-air. “It’s just me.”
It falls from her grasp and she sighs. “You couldn’t have announced yourself or something?”
I smile. “Sorry.”
“What the hell happened?”
I take her hand and pull her with me towards the doorway. “No time. We gotta run—”
The baseball bat connects with my cheek, shooting blinding, white fire back through my eyeballs. I bounce from the wall to the floor, dropping Evey’s hand as he strikes me again in the back with my own weapon.
“That’s all right, mate,” Clive growls, standing over me. “I’ll use the bat.”
“Vincent!” Evey screams and moves to help me but I raise my hand.
“Run,” I choke, spitting blood.
Evey listens and shoves past him into the hallway. He reaches out and grabs her hair, yanking her back. She falls into him and knees him hard in the groin, forcing him to release her as he plunges down to his knees.
I can’t help but smile. I’d expect nothing less from a hardened city girl like her.
“Go!”
She takes off like I tell her to and Clive
tries to follow but I reach out and lock my arms around his leg to hold him here.
He slams his boot against my head, knocking me onto my back. I lose my grip as that dull taste of pennies fills my mouth. Everything hurts. I try to look around him, to make sure Evey made it out, but my vision blurs.
Clive spits at me. “Stay down, dog.”
“Aww…” I sit still, staring up at the spinning ceiling. “Are we not mates anymore?”
He ignores the quip and spins around to chase after Evey.
Just keep running, Evey.
I roll over onto my stomach and push up onto my knees, forcing my body to work.
I’m coming…
A scream echoes from outside; distant yet familiar.
“Evey…” I grunt and pull myself up to look out the window.
She’s on the sidewalk below, kicking and screaming in that motherfucker’s arms. Clive drags her towards the curb and my heart sinks as I see the black van tearing down the street in their direction.
I bolt through the apartment, ignoring every painful step and my throbbing head. Evey’s in trouble. If I don’t make it in time…
I can’t even complete the thought.
“Evey!”
The van door slams as I step outside. I hear her muffled, screaming voice from inside the van. It speeds away from the curb, slipping through traffic and blows right through the red light on the corner.
Fuck.
“Sir, are you okay?”
A small crowd lingers nearby. Bulging eyes stare at me. I ignore them, wiping the blood off my mouth as I reach into my pocket for my keys.
My fingers slide over Evey’s phone. I have to find out where they’d take her and I can only think of one person I trust that might know.
I run a search for the number, keeping one eye on the screen as I sprint around the building towards my truck.
“18th Precinct.”
“Sally,” I spit, “put me through to Anna.”
There’s a short pause. “Vincent?”
“Do it now.”
“Excuse me?”
I sigh, taking in a harsh, painful breath. “Sally, please, just do it!”
“You know, Silva, one of these days…”
Her voice fades as I lower the phone and climb into my truck. That van will be too far away for me to chase by now. It’d take a miracle for me to catch up and an even bigger one for me to guess which way they took off in.
I start the truck and put the phone back up to my ear. “Sally, this is an emergency,” I say, cutting off her lecture. “Is my sister there or not?”
She ticks her tongue with disdain. “I’ll put you through to her desk.”
“Thank you.”
I rev the engine, prompting pedestrians to dart backward as I turn hard onto the street. Car horns blare at me but I ignore them, pumping the gas and seething with painful rage as I dodge the slow-moving mid-day traffic.
“Detective Silva.”
“Anna, where does Aiden Shank operate from?”
“What?”
I gun it through the red light, saying a silent prayer to not die, and luckily, I make it through to the other side. “Aiden Shank,” I repeat, scanning the crossing streets for the black van. “He took Evey. I need to know where he’d take her.”
“What do you mean he took Evey?”
“Anna, where would he go?”
“Vincent, let us handle this.”
“There’s no time for that! What does the family use to front their business? Laundromats? A casino? What?”
She hesitates. “Hotels. He spends a lot of time at the north side location. Oak and third.”
I look at the street signs. The van was heading north. It’s not a guarantee but it’s all I’ve got. “Thank you.”
“Vin, wait—”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the seat beside me — the same seat she sat in less than an hour ago. I grit my teeth. If Shank lays a single finger on her, I’ll break them off and shove them down his fucking throat.
Evey. My Evey. My future and salvation.
I’m going to get her back.
I just have to make a quick stop first.
Chapter 14
Evey
The inside of the bag smells like sweat and blood.
Clive threw it over my head after sticking me in this van. The last thing I saw was Vincent racing outside with a bruised face and red pouring from his lips. I can’t get that image out of my head. He took that beating for me.
This is all my fault…
I try to follow the route in my head but after a series of rapid turns, I’m completely lost. My arm burns from Clive’s vise-like grip on my elbow. He hasn’t let up even a little bit since we sat down. How long have I been here? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? I sit still, too scared to move, while the other men in the van chuckle at me.
The van finally stops and Clive yanks me with him outside. I walk with one hand out in front of me, nervous of running into something at the frantic pace and I highly doubt Clive gives a shit about my well-being.
He leads me inside a building and I catch a chill from the sharp air conditioning. Bright lights bleed through the bag but I still can’t tell where I am. Gentle whispers pass us by but no one thinks to stop us and ask if I need help.
Wherever I am, I get the feeling this sight isn’t exactly uncommon.
“Penthouse,” Clive says, pausing his stride for a moment before I hear elevator doors slide open.
“Yes, sir.”
He pushes me in and I catch myself on the wall. The doors close and my guts lurch with the quick, steady ascension. I listen to the mechanical whirring above and below us, dreading the moment when we finally stop and I have to look into Aiden Shank’s cold, dead eyes.
We reach the top and the elevator dings open. Clive snatches my arm and digs his monster grip into my skin as he tugs me along with him.
“Sit down.”
He pushes on my shoulders and I fall onto a wooden chair. My arms knock against a wooden table in front of me. I tap my shoes against the floor. It’s some kind of linoleum, I think.
“Don’t move,” he says, stomping away. I hear him shove a door open across the room and he kicks it closed behind him, leaving me alone in the dark, putrid silence.
After a few moments, I reach up and slide the bag off my head, hoping to fill my lungs with fresher air, but…
I gasp. “Tommy…”
He sits in a chair across the long table from mine, strapped in tight by dirty duct tape. A piece of it rests over his mouth with dried blood coating it from his nose. His eyes are purple and swollen shut. Little cuts scar his chin and forehead. I cringe as my mind flashes with possibilities of what they did to him up here.
Clive throws open the door and walks back out into the main room with several pieces of tissue stuffed up his nose and a wet rag to wipe off the rest of the blood on his face and neck. Vincent must have done a real number on him.
Good.
“Did I say you could take the bag off?” he growls at me.
“Did I say you could kidnap me from my apartment?” I fire back.
“Hm.” He passes by the table towards the drink cart in the corner and says nothing more as he pours himself a drink.
I glance around the place. Wall-to-wall windows give a pretty decent view of the Boston skyline. Sleek, white furniture lines the sitting area with a kitchenette just off this dining table.
And yeah, of course, my brother knocked out cold and tied to a damn chair across from me.
“Want anything?”
I look up at Clive. He gestures to the bottles on the cart. “No,” I mutter.
“Suit yourself,” he says, grabbing his own drink and walking over to the table. He sits in one of the middle chairs and pulls out his blood-soaked nostril tissues.
I look away in disgust. “So, what are we doing here?”
“We’re waiting,” he says, flicking the tissues onto the table between us.
“For what?”
“For the boss.”
I scoff. “You dragged me all the way up here to wait?”
He holds his cold drink against his bruised eye. “I dragged you up here to sit down and shut up.”
I stare at Tommy, hoping to see the rise and fall of his chest. It’s there but it’s not nearly as strong as it should be.
“When is he supposed to be here?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Clive sips his drink. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Why?” he quips. “You got somewhere else to be?”
“Yes.”
“Tough.”
“This is kidnapping, you know?”
He chuckles into his glass. “‘Cuz I ain’t never done that before.”
“You should let us go,” I say, speaking through quiet panic. “You can still—”
“Don’t make me tie you up and gag you,” he interrupts.
“Why haven’t you?”
“Oh, believe me, kitty,” he smirks, “I’d love nothing more than to make you pay for that shot to my balls you took earlier, but Mr. Shank has other plans for you. So… sit down, shut your fucking trap, and wait.”
Other plans.
I cringe at the thought.
Finally, the elevator dings across the room and the doors slide open. Aiden Shank walks off with his hands in his pockets and his head held high. A victorious man.
Clive sits back. “Thank Christ,” he says under his breath, casting an annoyed glance at me.
Aiden’s smile spreads across his face as he sees me at the table but it fades just as fast. “Clive,” he scolds, “you don’t offer my guest a drink?”
“I did,” Clive says. “She refused.”
“Get her one anyway,” Aiden says, resuming his stride towards the table. He lingers behind my chair and rests a cruel hand on my shoulder. “Whiskey, on the rocks. Just the way she likes it. Isn’t that right, Evey?”
Clive frowns at me as he gets up and walks across the room towards the cart.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” I ask.
“You’re supposed to be thankful,” Aiden answers, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze.
“Thankful?” I gesture across the table at Tommy. “You tortured my brother.”
His hand slides off of me. “Tommy’s fine.”
