Get Lucky

by Lorie O'Clare

  It was an odd thought and Marc had a hard time not smiling over the image of Claude blessing their meeting before beginning.

  “Take your seats, gentlemen,” Blondie told them, walking over to Claude’s desk and leaning against the front of it.

  The other men in the room found chairs and sat. Marc started toward the chair that was still empty and forced himself to stop. For a moment the sensation gripped him that he needed to sit. Blondie told him to sit and he had to sit.

  He forced himself not to move. It took more effort than it should to listen to his own thoughts and not Blondie’s instructions. Suddenly his mind raced back. She’d given him coffee and the meal last night. She’d drugged him. Snapping his attention to her, then to Claude sitting behind her at his desk, Marc caught both of them watching him curiously. A moment ago he’d found it humorous that Claude appeared to be praying. Those weren’t normal thoughts. That wasn’t how a man behaved when he’d been abducted. They were thoughts of a passive person, indifferent to the world around him and simply existing until given instruction.

  What the hell was going on here?

  “You need to take your seat, Marc.” Blondie spoke quietly, almost too quietly, and watched him as if waiting to see if he’d perform the trick she’d just taught him.

  “I think I’ll stand.” He really wanted to sit.

  Blondie looked down at the floor, scowling, at the same time Claude’s attention shot from his computer to Marc. Claude stood slowly, tugging on his pullover shirt, and walked around his computer.

  “Does it matter to you that much if you sit, or stand?” he asked. “We’re simply offering a courtesy by offering chairs. If you wish to stand, by all means, stand.”

  Marc didn’t know what to do, sit or stand. He looked at Blondie and she straightened, then nodded to the chair. Marc looked away first, still struggling with the decision. Some odd sensation pushed forward from the back of his brain. He focused on it and felt a headache coming on. All of his thoughts were trained on whether to sit or stand. It hadn’t crossed his mind to determine if anyone else in the room was armed or where the nearest exits were. He wasn’t even thinking about escaping but simply whether he should sit or stand.

  “Today is the beginning of the rest of your life,” Claude said, straightening and sobering as he studied each man before him. “It can be a long and prosperous life.” He looked pointedly at Marc. “Or it can be a very short, painful life.”

  Marc looked away first, doing his best to ignore the growing headache as he forced himself to take in the layout of the room. Other than paintings hanging on the walls, the plush carpet under their shoes, and several bookshelves that appeared to be stocked with a variety of fiction and nonfiction books, there wasn’t a lot to give away the nature of the man in this room.

  “The four of you are here because you are the best in your field.” Claude rocked up on his heels. “I guess I could say the best of the best.”

  Blondie rolled her eyes behind him and winked at one of the men sitting.

  “You’ve all proved yourself as bounty hunters and, I will say, your reputations are impeccable and very impressive.” Claude grinned as if his praise would mean something to them.

  Marc took in the three men sitting in the folding chairs alongside him. They didn’t look at him but continued focusing on Claude. Marc didn’t recognize any of them and he knew quite a few of the bounty hunters in the country. Some whom he would dub as the best weren’t in the room, his father being one of them. What Marc did find interesting was these men’s blank stares.

  “We need top-of-the-line here. And I’m proud to say that is what I now have. Over the next few weeks you’ll be trained to perform.”

  “Perform what?” Marc asked, wanting Claude to cut to the chase.

  Blondie chewed her nails, looking at the backside of Claude warily. Claude studied Marc as if he’d just grown a third eye. When Claude looked over his shoulder at Blondie, his expression disgusted, if not pissed, she shrugged.

  “He’s been prepared just like the rest of them,” she said, arguing with Claude before he said anything.

  “Then why is he behaving like this?” Claude whispered, although Marc heard him easily.

  “A man performs better if he knows his motivation,” Marc offered, and did his best to master an innocent expression when both stared at him. He was also acutely aware how the other three men continued staring ahead, as if they weren’t interested in this side conversation.

  “A man performs better when he behaves and follows orders,” Claude hissed at Marc through clenched teeth. “You are part of the winning team now. You’ll do as you’re told, when you’re told, and how you’re told to do it.”

  Marc stared at him, waiting for him to continue. His headache seemed to fade as he continued watching Claude. The moment Marc diverted his attention, glancing at the door that he supposed led to his family, the headache returned.

  Claude exhaled slowly, staring at the ground, “We’ll start with the basics, making sure the four of you know everything there is to know about being a soldier. Once I believe you’ve reached my level of expectation, we’ll see how you do out on the field.” Claude glanced at Marc as if he was ready for him to interject some comment. “All that matters is we win. We conquer and win and we’re triumphant.” Claude walked over to Blondie, gripping her shoulder. “We’re going to do it, Evelyn,” he said quietly. “I can feel it. These are the best of the best. We’ll show the rest of those bastards who can play war games, and win the game, better than any of them. We’re going to win.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marc spent the rest of the afternoon in a gym. It amazed the crap out of him how elaborate of a facility Claude and Evelyn had underground. And under a ghost town that was once known as one of the most ruthless and lawless towns in the U.S. How was that for warped irony?

  Jake and his parents were nowhere to be seen. Something told Marc that was intentional. The King family had proved that the moment they were together they could plan an escape with minimal discussion. He was also acutely aware of how compelled he was to obey Claude’s orders. Although all Claude told Marc and the other men to do, once they entered the gym, was run. If he did another lap around this godforsaken gym he would collapse.

  Claude’s words to Blondie, or Evelyn, before they were escorted out of the office to this gym bothered Marc. “War games” was an oxymoron in itself. When men like Claude, who showed signs of an unstable personality, started boasting about such activities, Marc got scared.

  By “war games” did Claude mean they would practice attacking before they participated as part of the game? And if so, what, or whom, was their target during practice? Marc would kill Claude before killing an innocent person. But they hadn’t ended the game when Marty Byrd was killed a year ago. Marc needed to keep Claude alive long enough to learn who the other players in the game were. His father wasn’t going to blow the whole damn place up this time.

  Marc had his work cut out for him. He hoped London would give him a chance once all of this was over with.

  Blondie entered the gym, pausing just inside the door and letting it close behind her with a bang that echoed throughout the gym. She crossed her arms across her chest and smiled. Marc had been determined at first to not let the other three men show him up. None of them wanted to talk to him. He’d tried several times to start conversations with each of them and been ignored. Blondie smiled at each man as he passed her and didn’t seem bothered when they continued running without acknowledging her.

  Marc had never considered himself much of a conformist. He’d had enough of running around in circles anyway. Slowing, Marc stopped in front of Blondie. He rested his hands against his thighs, leaned forward, and caught his breath.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, remaining bent over but cocking his head and looking at her.

  She’d changed clothes and wore a business suit, with a skirt cut straight and ending just above her knees. Her
suit jacket matched her skirt and was unbuttoned to reveal a silky-looking blouse, tailored to show off her decent-sized breasts. Her bleached-blonde hair was down and fell in soft curls just past her shoulders. The makeup she’d put on seemed to highlight the lines at the edges of her eyes, though, instead of hide them. Blondie was older than she wanted the world to know.

  “Do you realize these men will run laps until I tell them to stop?” Her soft voice was full of awe as she watched the three men run alongside one another as they came around once again. “They will run until their hearts quit beating.”

  “How nice for them,” Marc grumbled, feeling his own heart pound in his chest.

  “Nice?” Her tone hardened as she stared at him with cold eyes. Flirtatious Blondie was nowhere in sight. “Try more like Pulitzer Prize, darling. And do you think I’ll get any credit for it?” Already she was shaking her head.

  Marc straightened slowly. He’d kill for a bottle of water but had a feeling changing the subject would piss her off. Instead he studied her aggravated expression, trying to piece together what she’d just said to him. That damnable headache got in the way any time he tried focusing on anything other than what he was told to do.

  “That sucks,” he said slowly, watching her expression. Blondie, or Evelyn as Claude had called her, might give him more information if he worked her right. Say the wrong thing, though, and she would clam up on him in a second.

  “I’ve been conducting experiments for years.” She dropped her arms to her sides and looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “My results have been published time and time again. I’m going to get credit for this. Mark my words. I’ll see to it.”

  She turned to storm out of the gym before he could think of what to say next, but then she spun back around. “Take five, gentlemen!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the gym walls. “You’re all doing fabulous. Cool off and we’ll get you some refreshments.”

  Marc didn’t doubt the refreshments would contain more of whatever drug it was she and Claude were using to turn them all into spineless, submissive robots. He watched the men stop running, all of them breathing so hard they looked ready to collapse. He’d dodged two doses of whatever drug Blondie was using to make them submissive. But apparently that was all it took to wipe out the part of their brains where common sense would tell them to stop before hurting themselves. They responded only to orders.

  “You should get credit for this.” Marc decided to pick up the conversation again when Evelyn led the four of them out of the gym.

  “Not right now,” she said under her breath, and pushed open double doors, which brought them into the laboratory with the cement cells around it.

  It took Marc a moment to notice this wasn’t the same lab and they weren’t the same cement cells where he’d been since arriving. Not only was this place a fucking maze, but it was a lot larger than he first thought.

  “There you are!” Claude came in through another door, barely giving Marc and the other men around him a second glance. He focused on Evelyn. “I’ve exhausted all names off all of the cell phones,” he began.

  She held up a hand, and he snapped his mouth shut, looking more than a little annoyed that she would silence him.

  “Gentlemen, please head to the showers.”

  When Marc didn’t move along with the others, she took his arm and guided him into one of the cells, then closed the door behind him. He heard the lock click and turned to watch her secure the locks on the other cell doors, too.

  “Is he still not cooperating?” Claude demanded.

  “Actually, he’s improved immensely. They are all working above my expectations. Now, you were saying?” she asked, leaning against the large lab table so she faced Marc. Claude faced her with his back to Marc.

  Marc took in his cement prison, everything looking identical to the one he’d been in earlier. That’s when he noticed the narrow door in the corner. When he opened it, there was a full bathroom, complete with toilet, sink, and shower stall. He’d just moved up in the world.

  “I went through everyone’s cell phone,” Claude said.

  Marc entered the bathroom and stood just inside the door, not closing it but listening.

  “I needed to know who some of these names are.”

  “I’m sure a lot of them are friends.”

  “You know as well as I do they’re going to have access to some prominent names in California. Hell, he was a goddamn cop for years before becoming a bounty hunter.”

  Marc didn’t dare move as he strained to listen and ignore the dull headache that throbbed at his temples.

  “While I was trying to go through their phones, suddenly all of them went blank. Everything on them erased as if there was nothing ever loaded on them,” he continued, growing excited and raising his voice loud enough that Marc probably could have heard him if he’d gotten in the shower.

  “All of the phones cleared at the same time?” Evelyn asked. “They’ve got them booby-trapped. Damn it. I should have known or at least thought through that they’d have some kind of setup like that.”

  Marc peered around the door. Evelyn began pacing and tapping her lips with her finger. Claude scowled, not watching her but staring at the ground in front of him.

  “You might be right,” he said, but then glanced around them. “We had some visitors up above last night.”

  “Who? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t answer to you,” Claude informed her, his tone turning cruel.

  Marc dared move enough to see out the bathroom door better. Evelyn came into his view, her back now to him as she stood in front of Claude.

  “Maybe not. But if you want these men to be submissive and do whatever the hell you say, then you better keep me informed. I won’t risk all my work here falling into the wrong hands.”

  “This isn’t just about your work.”

  “Of course not. The game. It’s all about the game,” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  “You still don’t get it, Evelyn. It’s not about your work. It’s not about the game. It is about winning. Winning, damn it! Once we blow everyone else off the map the entire world will respect us. You’ll have people begging to kiss your feet, do whatever you say. It’s all about winning,” he emphasized.

  “So who were our visitors?” she asked, not commenting on what he’d just said.

  “Two women.”

  “Two women? Were they up there to see the ruins?”

  “I don’t think so.” Claude moved around her to the door.

  “What do you mean, you don’t think so?” Evelyn followed him.

  Marc worried they’d take their conversation out of earshot and really needed to know who those two women were.

  “They took off after I sent a couple of the men up there to investigate. But we found something.”

  “What?”

  “Some kind of device. I didn’t want to bother you with it until our meeting was over today.”

  “Show it to me.”

  The door slammed closed behind them and Marc was left alone with the drugged men nearby as his only companions.

  *

  London could barely hold on to the steering wheel. Her palms were soaked as her nerves twisted in a frenzy.

  “Slow down. We’re almost there.” Natasha was focused on the screen in front of her, as always. The woman had some kind of contraption in her hands at all times.

  London could appreciate a good computer geek as well as the next person, but Natasha was in a class all by herself. There didn’t seem to be anything she couldn’t figure out.

  “I see the ruins.” London hit the brake, slowing on the dark highway. There weren’t any stars out tonight. It was as overcast as it had been all day. The headlights offered a narrow view of everything in front of them. “Tell me again what we’re going to do?”

  “We’re going to get our families out of there.” Natasha flashed her a grin before focusing again at the screen on the small laptop. “Okay. It’s at thos
e rocks.”

  “An entrance.” London refused to feel foolish for asking the same questions over and over again. None of this made any sense. “You’re sure there is an entrance that goes underground at those rocks?”

  “Positive.” Natasha finally looked out the front windshield. “Pull off the road here. The only thing I’m not positive about is how to open it, but I have a hunch.”

  “Hunches are always good,” London mumbled, praying they wouldn’t end up dead tonight, or worse.

  Marc’s Mustang wasn’t designed to drive off-road. Fortunately, the ground was frozen and there wasn’t too much ice. She cranked the wheel, watching until the rocks came into view, then straightened and drove forward.

  “What do I do now?” she asked, glancing up and down the highway, nervous someone would come along and stop, thinking they were in trouble. She didn’t have a clue what they would say if someone confronted them.

  “Pull forward slowly.” Natasha wasn’t watching her screen any longer. She stared ahead, her eyes wide and her mouth pressed into a thin line. She looked as terrified as London felt.

  It occurred to London that Natasha might work in this business and was a master at gadgets and anything computer-related, but that didn’t mean she’d willingly walked into what had to be a deadly situation before.

  Natasha was as terrified as she was. When Natasha looked at London it showed in her eyes. London reached for her hand, oddly enough finding strength in Natasha’s fear.

  “We can do this,” London whispered.

  Natasha’s laughter was strained and she sobered quickly. “We’re going to do this,” she said with determination.

  London nodded, focusing ahead as they pulled up alongside the wall of rocks and stared at a field of nothing ahead of them. They hadn’t driven off the road when they’d come here the night before. Instead they’d walked around the rocks. There wasn’t anything to see and there was no one for miles. Natasha had spent all day poring over her laptop and jotting down notes. London wished Natasha had brainstormed out loud, but as it was, Natasha was positive she’d figured out where Marc, Jake and her parents were and was incredibly excited about driving back out to the ruins.