by K. S. Adkins
And he did.
“What’s it gonna be partner?” Rogan asks me.
“Ready to tear the fucking city apart?”
“Goddamned right I am,” he says. “Let’s get your wife back.”
Venessa and Jules both nod and Jules takes me to the side to remind me she can’t call her people in without more notice. Unless we’re one hundred percent certain and that if I plan to take them all out, she won’t call them out at all because they want the bad guys alive. She also pointed out that if we had to call them in it would draw attention to Macy because it’s her drug the DEA is investigating being used in the trafficking scene. So my answer was not to call for reinforcements. Jules and her team can have whoever may be left standing, if and when they ever show up.
But I make a promise to myself and to my wife that Ben Freeman won’t be one of them.
It takes two fucking days more to track down a single lead about Ben; the guy is a fucking ghost. Until Jules calls a guy who knew a guy and we are given an address. Little do I know the day Macy dropped the program, he did the same two hours later. He had his records destroyed somehow, with no forwarding address. Where he fucked up and we found our in was the plates to his car. The address is currently a rental, the landlord says he rented to the place to a man not named Ben Freeman several months ago. However, when we gave a description, the names may not match, but the face did.
It’s a start.
The first day, when I woke up in strange clothes in a strange room, I was fucking terrified. I was also terribly sick. So sick, in fact, that Ben never left my side, apologizing profusely for causing me so much distress, the fucker. Turns out the little prick tried using my own drug on me, and guess what? It’s never been tested on a pregnant woman, because yeah … Why would it? Needless to say, I didn’t handle it well. For every reaction my body gave, I catalogued it in my brain to analyze later. He kept mumbling about how it worked on the others. What others, I wondered? But I passed out before I could ask.
Day two I threatened to kill him after I castrated him. I refused to eat the food he brought, and I wanted my clothes back. He kept his distance because, on some level, he’s afraid of me. Good, he fucking should be. That night while trying to sleep he decided he needed to be “Closer to me,” and for that I ripped out a large chunk of his hair and split his lips open. Ten minutes later, thug number three showed up and cuffed me to the bed once again, wearing that stupid fucking smirk.
Day three my nausea returned with a vengeance and the only thing that helped me, even a little bit, was a shower. I wanted one so badly I agreed not to go crazy long enough to get clean. Guiding me through the house, I tried taking it all in, but god’s honest, I felt like shit. Everything was fuzzy and it was like I was looking through a tunnel on acid. Like a true pervert he stayed in the bathroom with me “Just in case,” but he made no moves to look or touch me, so I chose to be quiet about it. When I finished he took me to the kitchen, and while I ate some toast, I looked around and saw several pairs of shoes. I was confused. These were women’s shoes, but I didn’t see women’s things. Maybe Ben lied when he said he hadn’t been with a woman since meeting me? Because I was behaving, he let me sit on the couch. Isn’t he sweet? I only acted pleased because I wanted to get a closer look at those shoes.
Pretending to doze, I curl up facing the door. Ben is talking to me, but I’m not listening. I’m still looking at the shoes. There are four pairs of shoes, and each is a different size. What the fuck?
Again, just as I was about to start asking questions, my body decided it would rather sleep, so it did. Curling up with my hands over my belly, I slept as best as I could. Missing my husband, my friends, and wondering if there was a chance of me making it out of here alive.
Day four wasn’t my day. I woke up to yelling. Listening hard, it was thug number three telling Ben if he isn’t going to get the info from me he would do it, that he’s on a deadline. Deadline? For what? Then it shifts to Ben yelling about not hurting me, that he cares about me, and that I’m pregnant. Number three said to use the baby as leverage, and Ben didn’t answer verbally, so I’m not sure which way he went.
Then I hear number three yell “Shut the fuck up,” which made no sense because as he said it Ben was entering my room and wasn’t speaking, so who was he yelling at?
“Macy?” he asks. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Who was he yelling at, Ben?”
“No one,” he says.
“No one?” I repeat. “He just yells ‘Shut the fuck up’ randomly? Ben, what the fuck is going on? What am I doing here?”
“Keep your voice down, all right?”
“I want answers, now,” I tell him.
“I’m running out of time, Macy,” he says. “I need the data, or he’s going to get the information his way, and you don’t want that.”
“His way, huh?” I ask. “All of this was to get my data? It’s to treat cancer patients, Ben. What in the hell are you into? That’s why you always needed my help? To steal it from me? I knew it!”
Smacking me across the face, he grumbles, “Keep your goddamned voice down, Macy. That drug has unlimited potential, but you are to single-minded to see it. There are others, like me, who see it’s potential. Give it to me, I’ll test it, and if you’re telling the truth, I’ll let you go.”
Still shocked he hit me, I lean forward looking him in the eyes “You’re lying,” I tell him. “You’re also not bright enough to do without help. A lot of help.”
“You don’t have a choice here,” he says. “It’s this way or his way. Which will it be?”
No sooner did he finish his speech the door flew open and in walked number three, with a kitchen spoon and a smile. Before I could defend myself he smacked me in the face with it forcing me to cry out. Holy shit, does that hurt.
Grabbing me by the hair he pulls me from the room, down a hallway. He opens a door, then proceeds to pull me down the steps into the basement. I wish I could say I kept up, but I didn’t. My knees took the brunt of it while I protected my belly. When we reached the bottom he says, “Should have done it his way, bitch.” Then punches me in the back of the head, sending me straight forward.
Odd thing was, I swear, just when my body was prepared to meet concrete, I was caught.
Day five was difficult, I think. I woke to a pounding headache and cramping in my belly. Before opening my eyes I gave myself a moment to take in my injuries. I haven’t been eating, my head has taken some abuse, but not my belly yet. Feeling damp between my legs I reach a hand down slowly, bring it back, and because it’s dark I can’t see, so I try to smell instead.
“You’re spotting,” comes a voice next to me. “You started spotting about four hours ago, but we’ve kept your legs elevated, and with extreme stress it’s normal. We’ll check you again soon to make sure.”
“Maybe she has a concussion?” says another.
“He hit her hard,” says another. “But I don’t believe enough to concuss. Besides, we caught her.”
“Why don’t you give her a chance to wake up,” says the fourth. “She’s got to feel like shit right about now.”
“She needs fluids,” says the first. “She’s dehydrated.”
“I’m okay,” I say, sitting up. “Thanks for catching me, and keeping an eye on me.”
“You’re far enough along; you should be fine if you stay still.”
“I like your way of thinking.”
“Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”
“Would you believe me if I told you my friends and I have been looking everywhere for you?”
“I would believe that, yes,” says another.
“I work at Receiving, same as each of you,” I explain, and once I’m finished I hear some sniffles and a deep sigh. When they each took turns telling me how Ben took them to test the drug on them I had to lean over and chuck. Jesus, this is all my fault. These women
were used as guinea pigs because of me.
“We don’t blame you, you know.”
“You don’t have to, I blame myself,” I tell them, curling up in a ball.
“They will use your baby against you. You know that right?”
“I expect as much, which is why I need to find something down here to protect myself with when he comes back.”
“Ben is obsessed with you.”
“I figured that out a few days ago,” I tell them. “I’ll be saving him for last.”
“Last for what?” But before I can answer number three comes back down, this time with a belt.
Steeling myself for impact, I pray my husband’s okay, that he knows that I love him, and that I can get through this. That I will get through this, for us.
Thinking you’re strong and being strong are two different things. I am very strong emotionally, but when a belt is seared into your back the physical strength leaves you and you start to scream; there’s no stopping it. Holding my belly, keeping my baby safe, I scream until I can’t scream anymore.
Grabbing me by my hair, he asks me if I’m ready to talk yet. When I close my eyes the girls come to my defense before he can hit me again, but turns on them instead. Hearing their screams wwas worse than hearing my own. It’s my fault they’re here. If anyone should be screaming, it’s me. The last thought before I lose consciousness again is tomorrow I’m going to fucking kill him. Problem was when tomorrow comes, I can’t move.
For the next several days, maybe even a week, I live in a sea of pain. Never even during my times with Briggs have I felt like this. I don’t know what day it is, and neither do the others. The days are the least of my problems right now; it’s the pain from the belt that consumes me. I can’t breathe without the pain stealing my air. Tonight, though, while I listened to the women encourage each other to last another day, I knew our time is running out. Falling asleep, I make myself a promise and pray that, if I can’t make it happen, Jonas will forgive me for what I am about to do.
Waking up in pain sucks. But I have shit to do; no more waiting. I had two goals today: save my baby and get these women home. They each told me their names, where they’re from, and what they are studying in school. They tended to me when I couldn’t do it myself, and quite frankly, I’ve had enough.
The thing about plans is they change. All day I waited. I was ready, and neither of them came down. No food, no water, nothing. Now I’m pissed. According to the women they were always fed, so now I have to wonder what’s changed and how that affects all of us.
Sometime during the night Ben and number three are yelling again, and from the sounds of it, maybe even fighting. Good, I hope they kill each other. When they don’t, I decided that if they don’t do the deed, I will. Once they quiet down above, I in turn calm the women down promising I’ll keep them safe.
Problem is, as I started to drift again, I wondered if I made a promise I am not going to be able to keep. The pain is excruciating, and every breath feels like someone is peeling the skin from my back. As if my back wasn’t damaged enough already. Two of the girls cry themselves to sleep, while one stays close to me, and the other speaks to herself. Just as sleep is beginning to take over, my husband’s words come back to me, wrapping me up in their meaning. “There’s nothing sporting about survival, Macy.”
I let my husband’s words dull the pain and make a decision. One way or another, tomorrow men are going to die. Whether they came down here or I go up there, it is going to happen.
The next day starts with a bang, literally.
Jolting awake I hear yelling again. The girls are huddled around me as I try to identify the noise. It sounds like someone threw a metal garbage can against a wall. As soon as the noise happens it stops. Minutes later Ben comes down the steps and the light hurts my eyes. Approaching me, he kneels down and looks sad. When he touches my face, I try to bite his hand. You treat me like an animal, I’m going to act like a fucking animal.
“Shit, Macy,” he says. “It didn’t have to be this way.”
“Fuck you, Ben,” I snarl at him. “I haven’t got shit to say, so either finish me off yourself or send number three down to do the job. You’re trying to take something good and taint it. I’m not down with that. We were friends, yet you allow a man to beat me? Have the fucking balls to do it yourself, you fucking pussy.”
“I told your husband his days with you were numbered,” he whispers. “I tried to warn him, but did he keep you safe? No. I even sent you a text to apologize. Could you even bother yourself to forgive me? No. You refuse to do something simple, and because of that, my hands are tied.”
“You’re hands haven’t been tied, bitch,” I growl. “Mine have. You think that piece of shit is going to break me? You don’t know me, Ben. Not even a little bit. Send number three down. I don’t have time for you.”
“Macy, please …” he begs.
“You come any closer, I’ll fucking break your nose. Get the fuck away from me.”
“I tried everything I could to avoid this. I didn’t want you hurt. If you had just given me what I had asked for, none of this would have happened.”
“So this is my fault?” I growl, and yes, deep down I knew its creation and purpose was my fault, but not this. ”I wanted to help people. You can’t even understand that, can you? So, what, you were hoping one day I’d just spill? You can’t even finish your own work without me, let alone your —”
That’s when it hit me, this was never about Ben finishing anything. It was always about my work. Ben showing up, asking for help, following me everywhere.
“I can’t believe all of the time I invested with you was for you to betray me like this, Ben. How could you?”
“I did what I was told to do, Macy,” he whispers. “Falling for you wasn’t in the plan, but how could I not? I tried to keep you safe, but first Briggs, then the fuckwit you hated then married? What about me?”
“What about you?” I snarl at him. “You do what you’re told like a bitch? Who’s the one giving orders, Ben? Was it you that set me up? Give me that, at least. It’s obvious you have no plans to let us out of here, so say it, fucking tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then you are of no further use to me.”
Defeated, he stands up and leaves. Just as he reaches the steps he turns back and seals his fate for good. “I’ve loved you a long time, Macy. Everything that I’ve done, I did for you.”
“Is that right?” I offer. “Sounds to me like you are just like the others, claiming to love me, yet hurting me. You put your hands on me. You left your mark, Ben. You’ll pay for that, too. My husband is coming for me. Think what you want, but it’s your days that are fucking numbered.”
He doesn’t say another word, just climbs the steps and slams the door. With that the girls are crying again, trying to pull me back into the safety of the dark, but I am done hiding. While Ben was standing there staring at me, I subtly cased the basement. So the moment he hangs his head and walks up those steps, I run over to the bench, crawl up onto it, reach high, and grabbed the hammer someone was nice enough to leave out, and then settle back onto the floor to wait for number three.
I tell the girls to stay back and stay quiet. No crying, no screaming, and under no circumstances, do they distract me. Finding that place within myself, I search for Jonas, our baby. I search for Venessa and Rogan, and I search for strength. So when that door opens and the light floods in, I open my eyes and mumble to myself, “Come and get me, motherfucker.” And then I wait.
Pulling up to the house, Rogan and I each take a turn scouting the location and the neighborhood. Once we determine no immediate threat, he pulls further down the road, parks, and we head over on foot. Rogan will have my back while I go in and get Macy. Venessa and Jules are in my truck down the road using satellites and listening for activity. Approaching the house, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The only light is coming from above the kitchen sink like whoever here is already asleep. It’s nine p.
m.; no one is sleeping.
Two cars are in the driveway. One is in fact Ben’s, and the girls are running the second plate now. Rogan meets me around back and tells me we ain’t getting in through the front, so we decide to go in through the back. No motion detectors are present, and all is quiet.
Getting in was too easy. It’s like Ben never even considered the fact he could be found. Rogan whispers in my ear “Stolen plates,” so whoever else is here is an unknown. Making our way through the kitchen the only other light is coming from the basement. Jesus, why is it always the basement?
Nodding to Rogan, I head down while watches for threats coming from the back. As soon as I open the door I hear women yelling, like there’s a cage match in the basement or some shit. The women are cheering, and when I get to the bottom I see why. My wife is bludgeoning the unknown with a goddamn hammer and is so focused on it she doesn’t see Ben approaching from behind. When I push through the women Macy looks up, then down at the unknown, drops the hammer, and runs straight to my arms.
Three maybe four steps before reaching me, time stands fucking still. Just as I reach for her, Rogan reaches me then, Ben screams her name and she turns around, almost shocked to see him so close. Grabbing her right arm to pull her behind me, he raises a pistol, and I raise my own in kind. Needing her out of the line of fire I try to pull her behind me, but he looks right at her and fires just as she says “No.” It is like a sonic boom goes off down here. His flash of light followed by mine. She staggers back, then keels over, holding her stomach. At the same time Rogan tackles Ben, then takes one look at Macy holding her stomach, then at me, and yells “Go!”
The women rush Macy trying to help, but I push them away. Picking her up she tries to scream, but holds it back long enough for me to get her upstairs and on the couch. Tossing my phone to one of the women I yell “Dial 911!”
