by Ashley Beale
We start driving as soon as he places the phone back down. "Mind if I fuel up first? The store is right here, and I'm lower than I thought."
"By all means," I tell him, "you're the one offering the ride after all."
He smiles at me through the rearview. "Not that it’s any of my business, but I'm surprised Wes would let you walk to his house without even a purse on you."
I just shrug, sinking a little lower in the seat. "I didn't tell him I was coming. We sort of got in a fight tonight. I was headed there to try to work things out."
"So you two... you're pretty serious? I hadn't ever known Mr. Styles to get close to anyone."
He pulls into the gas station and slows to the pump. It takes me a second to answer, because I'm not even sure how to answer. "I... I think."
"He'll come around." He opens the door and climbs out of the SUV, giving me that extra minute alone to gather myself.
The same time he climbs back into the vehicle, the other back door opens and in climbs a tall, angular man covered in tattoos. The front door opens and in climbs a rigid man, probably over three hundred pounds. I reach for the door handle without a second thought, not liking this scenario, but it doesn't budge.
"Sorry to do this, Ms. Manson," the driver says, pulling away from the pump. "Nothing to take personal."
"What are you talking about?" He doesn't answer me but I can see the broken look on his face. I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to climb into the very back, ready to jump out the trunk if need be.
The man next to me grabs at my arm, squeezing harder than miscarry. "Sit."
My body freezes in place. I thought I knew fear before now. How wrong I was.
"I said sit." His voice sounds raspy, as if he smokes two packs a day. His words also have a sharp warning. I know I have to listen, because I've heard about men like this. They're ruthless and careless.
Nodding my head, I turn back to sit on my butt, just not buckling. If given a chance, I'll run as fast as I can. I keep my eyes focused on all my surroundings, doing my best to memorize the path we're taking in case I get the chance to escape from them at some point.
I don't understand why Wes would do this to me! I may have lied to him about who I am, but I don't deserve this. He could have done anything but this. I gather my wits, not allowing myself to show fear around these terrifying men. I will not cry. I will not tremble. I'm just going to breathe... relax... and wait. Wait until I can run.
We head entirely out of the city of Raleigh towards Umstead. I don't like that idea, but I remain calm.
The driver's phone chimes and he answers it. "Yes... ETA is twenty-three hundred... Got it."
Thankfully prison taught me some things; such as ETA means 'estimated time of arrival', and twenty-three hundred hours means eleven at night. I take a glance at the clock, trying to be nonchalant, but the guy next to me catches on. He grins at me, showing me his crocked yellow teeth, some of them decaying, others missing.
He pulls up the front of his shirt, baring his abdomen to me, except, it’s not his stomach he wants me to see. It’s the pistol tucked into the front of his jeans, warning me I have no choice but to stay and obey. My stomach becomes unsettled and the need to throw up hits me hard. I swallow back the vomit that starts to rise, willing myself not to throw up. Not right yet. Not in here.
"Its time," the driver says. I look at him through the rear view, knowing I'm not hiding my panic enough. He sees it. He also looks saddened by something...
A sac goes over my head. I don't see it happening until I'm surrounding in black. My fight or flight kicks in, but since I only have one of those options, I start trashing around, fighting off the man who is holding my arms securely in my lap. The vehicles bounces around momentarily before something is pressed at my neck, pushing up on my chin. It’s no doubt it’s the barrel of a gun.
I do one thing I haven't done nearly enough... I pray.
I know I don't exactly deserve to live, not after what I did to Jenny, but I want to. I do. I want to live.
Tears spring from my eyes. The trigger isn't pulled, but I also stop trying to fight anyone off me. My wrists become wrapped in what is possibly a thick rope. It’s tight against my wrists, causing them to numb.
When I looked at the clock, there was less than twenty minutes until his ETA, so I know we're not horribly far from where we're going. I still don't like not knowing the direction. At any point he could take a main route, getting us the hell out of dodge.
I rest my head back and close my eyes. My lack of oxygen is starting to get to me, exhausting me beyond belief. With the amount of fear and adrenaline, you'd think I could fight off the exhaustion, but I can't seem to do it. The world under my lids become fuzzy. Black ink blots take over the dark vision, as my world swirls around me, causing me to pass out.
My neck hurts. My head feels groggy. My arms are sore. My back needs to be adjusted. My ass has gone numb.
Cracking my eyes open, I look around. It only takes a second to remember I was abducted.
To remember Wes hates me so much, he has found an entirely new way to punish me.
My arms are wrapped around a pole on the backside of me, secured with a thick, white rope. I'm in a sitting position, leaned against the metal pole, on a dirty cement basement. There are crates and pallets all around, stacked in different areas throughout the warehouse, creating different paths. It’s entirely too hot in here, even with the vent fans running.
No one is in sight but I can hear talking around the corner. It sounds as though people are arguing. I pull at the ropes behind me but my body is too weak. I feel the blood trickle down my hand where the rope is slicing into me, even by the slightest movement.
"Ah, you're going to finally join us I see."
I look over toward the voice. It’s the guy... the one with the gold tooth. He isn't in the same expensive suit, instead he wears baggy wind pants and a beater. It gives him an entirely new level of creepiness. Slapping a rolled newspaper against his leg, he walks in my direction grinning. Two guys follow behind him, and it isn't long before I realize it’s the two guys from the SUV, the ones that climbed in at the gas station.
He has to be the leader and the other two his pathetic minions.
Squatting in front of me, the leader of the pack tilts his head, watching me intently. "We're not here to hurt you, we're just using you as a little... collateral. You're like a bright shiny key to our new home."
I pinch my brows at him but don't respond. Collateral? For what?
He smiles wider, disgusting me with his lack of hygiene. "You're worth a pretty penny. You know that?"
I shake my head back and forth.
"You not going to talk with me?"
I shake my head once more.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocket knife. Letting the blade spring free, he brings it closer to me. The edge of the blade runs along my jaw line, making me nervous to even blink. How could Wes do this to me? How could he put me here? It just doesn't make sense.
"Hope... Hope... Hope." He continues running the blade along my jaw line, slowly gliding to one ear, then back to another. His eyes like a cat, watching each motion. Quickly he pulls the knife back and folds it back up, allowing me to take a large breath of relief.
He tosses the newspaper down on my lap before standing up. Pointing to me, but looking at his two accomplices, he orders them to untie me. His eyes dart down in my direction. "You run, I shoot."
I nod my head at him. When my arms are untied, the dead weight of them fall to the cement, not that I can even feel anything more than a few tingles. I slide my hands forward to my lap, then massage at each wrist while turning them about, giving them feeling again.
"Hold the paper," he orders. I look up at him perplexed. He nods his head at the paper on my lap. "Hold it up in front of you. I need him to see the date."
Speaking for the first time, I ask him, "Who?"
One of the guys hand him a phone, which he fiddles with before
pointing in my direction, obviously taking a picture of me holding the paper. He doesn't answer me until after he snaps the picture and views it. With a smug face, he finally answers, "Wes."
"What is he going to do to me?" I know I probably shouldn't ask but the fear of not knowing is really doing a number to my anxiety.
"Tie her back up," he orders one of the minions. Walking back in front of me, he kneels back down one more time, looking me dead in the eye with a seriousness unlike any other. "Wes is going to try to save you, my dear Hope. And when he does, I'll get both him and Paul. That is fifty g's in my pocket."
"You mean, Wes isn't the one who planned this?"
He cocks his head off to the side. "Why the fuck would Wes have you taken for ransom?"
"Because... he hates me." The emotion in my voice over saying that is almost embarrassing, but I don't think it matters in this moment. Being tied to pole is a hell of a lot more embarrassing than anything else.
The phone in his hand pings, so he looks down at me, a smile spreading across his face. "Funny." He points the text message in my face, allowing me to read the words. "It sure as fuck looks like he’s willing to do just about anything for you."
Let her go. You can have Paul and me both. Tell me where to go and I'll be there. Just let her go... unharmed.
I read the words but they don't make sense. He is willing to risk his life for me? After everything I told him. After I admitted my feelings and he walked away. My heart aches in the worst known pain imaginable. "No," I beg him. "I'll find you a way to get double that, just please."
Tears fall immediately from my eye. I fight against the rope, ignoring the sting around my wrists. "Please!"
His hand comes to my cheek, cupping it roughly in his palm. Bringing his face closer, he gives me a pointed look. "Don't worry, I'll let you say your sweet goodbyes." Pulling his hand back slightly, he uses force against my cheek, bringing a burning pain to it. "Behave."
Standing up, he walks away from me, following after the two other guys. I can't control the emotions coursing through my body. My screams echo through the warehouse as I beg and plead.
Wes
"I can't ask him to do this for me, dad." I shake my head at him, pacing back and forth.
"Its Hope or Paul. They'll kill her, you know damn well they will. Paul has a chance."
I snap my head in his direction. "A chance to become a drug slum. A worthless piece of shit."
"A living piece of shit," he adds.
I throw myself down on the couch. "I don't know what the fuck to do."
"I'll call Paul. I'll talk to him."
I look up at him but I don't argue with him. I want to, Paul is family, but they will kill Hope. I imagine they've already done some ruthless things to her.
I will never forgive myself for this bullshit. I shouldn't have walked away from her. I should have kept a better eye on her. I should have known they'd do something like this to get to Paul. To get to dad and I. For some damn reason, I just thought she'd be safe.
Dad manages to get a hold of Paul finally, and talks to him on the phone in front of me, explaining everything that has been happening in the last twenty four hours. We had tried numerous times to get in contact with him earlier, but his phone had been dead. We really thought he had been found, until the news of Hope came in tonight.
Nothing he says to Paul registers through my head, because I'm too busy beating myself up mentally right now. When he hangs up the phone, he attempts to smile at me- failing miserably. "He'll be here by morning."
"Dad, I just can't let him..."
"There is no stopping him. He'll be found regardless, whether its tomorrow or next year, he'll be found. By turning himself in this way, falling into their trap, it’s for the best. They'll work with him."
"What if they don't?"
He looks down instead of at me. "He hasn't been living any kind of life for over a year now, he’s been too busy looking over his shoulder at every turn. He isn't Paul anymore. He hasn't been. He gone and fucked that up. It kills me as much as you, but... but its happening whether we like it or not."
My phone vibrates in my hand and I look to the screen. It’s a picture message from a number I don't recognize. Clicking on the image, it enlarges to show me Hope sitting against a pole. Her eyes weak with bags underneath, hair tousled about, holding a newspaper in her hand with today's headline. A message is attached with it, telling me that it’s Paul and I both, or Hope. With a threat that things will not end well for any of us if I chose the latter.
It doesn't take me more than a second to know my answer to that. I type out a quick response, letting him know that I'll met him whenever and wherever, Paul included, so long as Hope isn't harmed. Knowing how these scums work, I can't imagine she'll come out of this unscathed, but I had to put that in there.
Waiting on a response of a place and time seems to take forever. Dad went into his at home office with his pack of smokes, leaving me here to fight the demons off in my head alone. The phone finally chimes with the information. Tomorrow morning at ten, at a warehouse up in Umstead. The address is given. I send a message back, confirming I'll be there. I just pray to hell that Paul can be here by then and everything goes smoothly.
Paul called late last night, giving us the information of where the private plane was going to land. Thankfully it isn't far out of town and approximately six this morning. Neither of us got much sleep. My adrenaline has kept me right on edge.
We pull in after the plane has already landed. Paul throws his bag over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the car. I shake my head at him when I climb out of the front seat. "Man, I don't even know what to say."
He lifts the side of his lips into a small, gloomy smile. "I'm sorry."
"I'm the sorry one. I failed you."
Throwing his bag down on the ground where the tire of the car is, he shakes his head at me. "Let’s just get Hope back." He pulls me to him, giving me a tight hug. Not something I expected, nor am I used to it, however it’s exactly what I need right now.
"Thanks," I say, tapping my hand on his back.
Dad doesn't say much of anything when we head out. None of us do actually. That is... until we get closer to the warehouse. We're early but there was no use in heading back home. "We need a plan," Paul states.
"We have one. We turn ourselves in, free Hope, and try to work shit out with Trapp."
"Trapp isn't here," he says. I turn to look back him. "He won't come down this way. She’s most likely with Crews. He does the dirty work, Trapp sets the orders and only steps in when necessary. He knows they have what you want most, and that you're willing to give anything for her, so Trapp won't be here."
"You sure?" Dad chimes in. He pulls off the road into a Burger King parking lot, placing the car in park so we can work out the details together.
"Positive. Crews is his right hand and typically does the biggest jobs. There is Grayson and Flint, too. They're more hands on than Crews. He sets the details in motion, makes sure everything is going accordingly, then collects the money. When things get ugly, he’s usually heavily guarded by Grayson and Flint, and those boys play dirty... but we can get around them."
"How?" I ask.
"Killing his best men is going to put in an even larger hit... on all of us, Hope included. We're here to get the girl out safely, not get us all killed." I look over to dad when he speaks and he makes valid point.
"That’s why when we get out of there with Hope, we make sure all three of them are dead. You three will head home, and I'll take a car up to see Trapp myself. I'll walk straight into his office and put a bullet through his head, ending this sickening game once and for all."
"You put a bullet through his head... you'll get one put through yours."
Paul nods his head, looking down at his hands instead of at me. "I know. But the focus will be taken off of you all with the four of them dead."
"No," I argue quickly. "I won't let it happen. I'm the hero of this stor
y, I don't need to be saved."
"Wes, I'm dead regardless. They're not letting Hope go without hurting her. They got to make sure she is scared enough not to tell anyone about what happened. Then they'll bring you and me both to Trapp. There is no working this out. The minute we walk into his office, we're both dead. He hates you for hiding me and hates me for escaping for this long. He’s a drug lord, not a negotiator."
I still can't believe what I'm hearing.
"How we killing them?" Dad asks.
Paul unzips his bag, pulling out three guns. He hands me a caliber, dad a pistol, and holds onto a beautiful revolver. If not for the fact we're about to kill a few fuckers with these guys, I'd appreciate their beauty. "Where did you get these?" I ask him, examining the handgun I'm currently holding onto.
"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to. I'm ready when you two are."
Dad pulls out of the parking lot to head towards the warehouse once more. On the ride there, Paul briefs us on a plan he's come up with, and I just listen.
I'm ready to get Hope back, but even seeing her face again doesn't take from the pain of losing Paul forever. He isn't even going to have time to say much of a goodbye.
Pulling up outside the warehouse, the three of us finalize the plans. Once we get out of the car, before we have time to head into the warehouse, guns blazing, I pull Paul to me. "I love you brother," I tell him. I don't care if it makes me sound gay or not. I owe him everything.
He pats my shoulder, gripping it hard when we back away. "You know I love you, too. Now let’s go get your girl."
He gives my dad a small hug as well, and the three of head towards the side entrance to the building. It’s still over an hour before we actually have to be here, so we have the shock factor in our favor as well. I just keep begging that Hope won’t get caught up in the line of fire.
