by Jade Powers
Hannah was surprised to see a beautiful woman.
This time Scarface held a gun to the back of the woman. She was Hannah’s age, maybe a few years older. She wore a sequined cocktail dress that glittered even in the dim light of the cells. On her index finger was a diamond rock that screamed ‘kept’ wife. “Hannah, this is Courtenay. She has five hours unless her husband bails her out.”
“You are a fool to cross him,” Courtenay spoke with the deep sultry timbre of an enchantress.
When Scarface opened the door to Hannah’s cell, Courtenay tilted her chin up slightly and sniffed. She breezed past Hannah as if she didn’t exist.
“You ladies get along. It’s only for a few hours,” Scarface holstered the gun and locked the gate.
“Is Drake your husband?” Hannah asked quietly. She felt shy in the presence of this super model with the perfect face and sleek body.
“Drake?” Her laugh was deep and mellow, like an aged whiskey. “No, Sweetheart, my husband is Thornton Masterson the third. ”
A name Hannah had never heard. Hannah said, “They kidnapped me because of a statue of a dragon. They say it is missing instructions or something. They said Drake’s name a few times.”
“The poor bastard,” Courtenay said. Sitting on the bed, she carefully unhitched the strap of her two-inch heel.
“Why?” Hannah stayed near the gate, peering into the hall beyond. There wasn’t much to see. Hannah was trying to decide whether someone listened just out of sight.
“The fellow might be as rich as a small country, but he hates the limelight. He’s goody-goody for a corporate military type. It would kill him to have someone kidnapped because of him. We sat together once at a dinner. The poor man didn’t know what to do with his fork.” Courtenay sighed gratefully as she dropped her second shoe, “I hate these things.”
“Why do you wear them then?” Hannah asked.
“Image. Most of society floats on the surface. The sooner you realize that, the better you’ll get along.” Courtenay said.
Hannah wished that Courtenay was lying. Her mom said about the same thing to her two years ago. Back then it was, Hannah, you’re gaining a little weight. You have an image to maintain. No daughter of mine is going to accompany me into society as an elephant.
Those words stung even now with the recollection. Words can break a soul. Hannah asked, “And Drake didn’t fit the image?”
Courtenay laughed and patted the bed beside her, inviting Hannah to sit, “Darling, Drake is hot. He fills his shirt like a god and the women who want to talk to him fill the room. And then he opens his mouth and no one can understand a word.”
Hannah joined Courtenay on the bed. She bit her lip and asked, “So you think he might actually give them what they want?”
Courtenay shrugged, “I’d say you’ve got a better chance than I do...and Drake has never even met you.”
“Don’t say that.” Hannah said softly, “I’m sure your husband will save you.”
“Not for the asking price. These men are powerful and rich. People who are that rich don’t want more money...they want more power. No, my husband will seek another way to get me back.” Courtenay played with a jewel-encrusted bracelet, her tan arms perfect.
Hannah hated herself for feeling so jealous. Here was a society wife with a perfect body, a perfect life who had someone who actually knew she was missing and might do something about it. In Hannah’s world of heroes and romance, no husband would ever leave a wife dangling on a precipice. She knew Courtenay would be saved. She only wished she had a handsome husband to rescue her.
The five hours passed quickly now that Hannah had company. Courtenay even surprised a few laughs out of Hannah when she spoke dryly of her husband’s penchant for key lime pie. “You would think he’d go for chocolate at least once. Not Thorn.” That was Courtenay’s pet name for her husband.
And then Scarface was jangling keys and opening the gate. He stood back, gun drawn. He said, “Courtenay.”
She didn’t hesitate. Her legs pressed tightly together to avoid giving him a show, Courtenay slowly drew the first heel onto her foot. She was precise in her movement and Hannah wondered what it would be like to have such perfection. Courtenay’s heels clicked as she walked to the gate, smiled at Scarface and turned to Hannah, “Good luck. I’m sure Drake will get you out.”
“You too,” Hannah smiled. It was so weird, like they were two sorority sisters parting for summer break or something. Not that Hannah was ever in a sorority or ever would be, but she could imagine it.
Hannah sighed as the clicking heels faded, as a door opened and shut.
The gunshots shook her to her core. From the cell, it sounded like three loud bangs. Hannah stuffed her hand in her mouth to muffle her own scream and started to cry, “Oh, my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.”
She hadn’t really believed that Scarface would kill either of them. I mean, she imagined it might happen and prepared for the worst, but Hannah didn’t really believe they would kill her until that chilling moment when truth and reality collided with hope. Now she was stuck with reality. These men were not just kidnappers. They were cold-blooded murderers.
Sinking down onto the bed, Hannah wiped her tears. She wasn’t prepared for Scarface to come back, to jangle the keys. He said, “Your turn.”
The worst part was the satisfied joy in Scarface’s expression. He actually liked killing. He liked the power of it. He strutted like he was the damn president. Pulling the gate open, he reveled in his power over Hannah. She crumpled in on herself, made herself small. She planned to drive her fist into his throat.
He jammed the gun under her left shoulder and she cringed forward, instead. It was as if she could feel death in that muscle. It actually twitched with the need to escape. He growled, “Move.”
“Why? Are you going to shoot me, too?”
“In another twelve hours. Just now I want to see the expression on your face when you see your friend. Her husband didn’t waste any time. He said no.”
She heard footsteps behind and Hannah realized that there were stairs that led to the hallway. Someone was unlocking a door behind them, also a good thing to know. Hannah turned her face, looking over her shoulder to see who was coming. She got a stiff jab to the soft spot under her shoulder blade. That hurt. From behind, someone growled, “Eyes forward.”
“You’re not supposed to take her yet,” Geek-boy’s voice quavered and Hannah swore he was more nervous than she was.
“I’m just showing her around,” Scarface said. Hannah could do without the tour, but she realized that every piece of information she gathered about the place might help her escape.
“The boss didn’t say to do anything to this one,” Geekboy said.
Hannah felt the tension in the muscles of Scarface as the gun slipped from her shoulder. It was her chance. The quiet place in the depths of Hannah’s soul acknowledged that this was suicide. The intelligent part of her soul also knew that it was her only chance.
With a speed she barely knew she possessed, Hannah rocked back, striking the back of her head against Scarface’s nose. She stepped with all of her might on the instep of his foot and jabbed him with a rear blow to the stomach.
He wasn’t close to down. Had it not been for Geekboy, Hannah would have died. Scarface threw her down, reaching for the gun while she crawled away. Geekboy cried out, “You can’t kill her yet.”
Hannah pushed up from the ground, looking over her shoulder. She was face to face with the barrel of a gun and a pissed off bad guy, but Geekboy was almost on top of him, a strange savior. She threw herself to the right and ran zigzag down the hall, ignoring the sounds of fighting behind her. She dashed around the corner, pushing open the door.
The sight of blood and the smell gagged her. She backed out and shut the door. She was trapped. She pushed open a second door on the other side of the hall. It was a security room with camera feed and a leather chair. This room also had a pair of bunk beds.
She shut the door, throwing the three sets of locks on the door. The gun went off again. Cringing, she ran to the window. Pulling herself up, she looked out, intending to break the glass and climb out. That was when she realized that she was on the third story of a building surrounded by palm trees and manicured gardens, a rich estate belonging to someone who could afford to ‘disappear’ people.
Looking along the outer wall, Hannah noted that the outside wall was a sheer drop down and the fall would be deadly. Her lips pressed tightly together, Hannah returned to the monitors. One monitor displayed the gruesome scene of Courtenay’s death, another the ongoing struggle between Scarface and Geekboy.
Geekboy, whose advantage of surprise was gone, had lost and was now facing his own execution. He was holding a shattered arm, blood pouring around his fingers while he begged for his life. Hannah didn’t need sound to know what was happening. She turned away from the monitor and focused on finding something useful, a weapon that might save her. She had no illusions about her chances once the men outside found a way to break into her safe room.
She hovered, waiting, but never heard the gun shot. Turning, she watched the monitors. Scarface dragged Geekboy into one of the cells. Turning from the monitor, Hannah investigated further and found a storage closet with office supply shelves and reams of paper. There was a trap door on the floor with a knob that someone would have tripped over if it was located anywhere but in a closet.
Someone on the outside would know about the trap door. Gritting her teeth with no idea what to expect, she yanked up the cover. The space below her was absolutely dark, but she could see the top rung of a ladder. A quick scan of the supply closet didn’t yield a flashlight, and Hannah had no time to look. She closed the door to the supply cabinet and carefully set her foot on the top rung.
Swallowing her fear, Hannah searched for the next rung down with her foot while she leaned over the floor. Once she had a firm hold, she went down another rung and another into the darkness. She reached up, finding a handle and drew the cover of the trap door down. After she had gone down seven rungs, there were no more. She stretched her foot toward the ground, but there was nothing below.
Hannah eased her hands down a rung, knowing full well that if this were a great chasm she could in no way depend on her upper body strength to haul herself back up the ladder. As a matter of fact, she would fall and likely die. Hannah didn’t have a choice. There were two ways out of that room, and two ways in. Sooner or later, Scarface would be looking for this very room, and Hannah was determined to be out of it or dead at the bottom.
Hannah gasped and let herself drop. She lost her balance because the floor was just inches from her feet. The floor was thick carpet. Her legs were shaking so hard she could barely stand. Hannah trailed her fingers along the wall hoping to work her way toward a door. At least the wall felt like standard plaster. Until she touched that wall, she thought she might have dropped herself into another concrete cell.
Her thigh bumped into furniture of some sort. Hannah used that as a guide and worked her way around. When she found the wall again, her fingers slid across a light switch. She flicked it on.
Her eyes watered and she squinted for a minute while she adjusted to the light. She was in a bedroom with a king sized bed of cherrywood. The bruise on her leg was caused by a vanity. Hannah ran for the door, putting her ear against the wood in the hopes that she would hear if someone was on the way. After hearing nothing, she carefully turned the knob and pulled it open as softly as possible.
The hallway was carpeted and looked every bit like a regular house. Hannah wondered if house guests even knew that people were caged over their heads. She bet they didn’t. She shut off the lights and slipped into the hall.
Her heart beat double-time as she walked the hallway waiting to be discovered. She heard the sound of a helicopter. It grew louder. Hannah heard a voice on a walkie-talkie, “We have an intruder in the private apartments, over.”
“Arm yourself for more. Drake and his friends just landed on the roof with hostile intent, copy?” The footsteps were coming closer.
Hannah pushed open the door a few spaces down from where she escaped. This was a lovely room open to the sun, light and airy. Carefully shutting the door behind her, she stepped into the room. Not a great place to hide, but then no one would expect her in a room as bright and cheerful as this.
The door muffled the sounds of the walkie-talkie, but she heard the other man say, “She won’t get far. Blue team, get Drake. He’s on the roof. Give him everything you’ve got.”
Stuffed full of shimmering dresses and fur coats, the walk-in closet turned out to be a great place to hide. In one corner of the closet nestled among the coats was a black trunk. Hannah sat on the trunk and then pulled her legs up. She adjusted the coats to hide her from the door. The hardest part was waiting...and knowing how long to wait.
The blare of the walkie-talkie sounded again and again as each room was searched. Hannah held her breath when the guy on the walkie-talkie reached the room she was hiding in. She heard the door to the main room open, and then the door to the bathroom. Hannah hadn’t shut the door to the closet and regretted it. She held her breath and waited, knowing that if he sighted her, she would never know until it was too late.
When the footsteps faded, Hannah nearly sobbed in relief. She listened as he roamed further down the halls. She heard shouts in the distance and gunfire. Her legs itched to run, but Hannah forced herself to stay silent. As long as she could hear that walkie-talkie blaring, Hannah knew she was in danger.
The fight moved into the house, and Hannah regretted her perch in the closet as the sound of boot steps and exchanged gunfire drew itself into the hall where she was hiding. This time when the door, opened, Hannah cringed. The firm footfall was somehow less hesitant than the man who had searched before.
The closet door was pulled further open, and Hannah shivered as the man walked into the closet. A deep voice said, “I know you’re hiding in there.”
Hannah swallowed once, feeling frozen. He might have been bluffing. She waited.
Suddenly, he ripped away the coats, exposing her hiding place. Hannah was looking at a soldier in full gear, helmet, goggles, everything. He held his hand out to her, “We need to go.”
She cringed back, “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going home.”
The warrior pulled off his helmet, and Hannah’s heart stopped. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He said, “I’m not the enemy. I’m here to get you out.”
His hair was reddish gold with silver strands interspersed throughout his hair. His eyes were blue or violet. It was hard to tell in the light because they seemed to change with his movements. He said, “I’m Drake. Let’s go.”
She licked her lips. Drake? That was the name of the man they were after.
The plaster above her head exploded with the rat-a-tat sound of a weapon. Drake grabbed her around the waist and threw her on the ground. She found herself flat on her back, his body above, warming hers. He smelled delicious and she felt a spike of longing, of need.
His breath tickled her ear.
She heard another burst and then a thud. It felt close...very close.
In her short life, Hannah had only kissed two men, well, two teenage boys. Neither time did she ‘go all the way’. With the cancer diagnosis, Hannah felt every moment slipping by. She was alive and intended to stay that way for as long as possible.
And she had an honest-to-goodness hero on top of her. Right this second.
She kissed Drake.
He tasted like cinnamon. His whole body moved against her while he kissed her back, his tongue teasing the edges of her lips.
He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d told him she was a goddess whose mission on Earth was world peace.
She felt his body respond. That was different. Hmmm...she hadn’t ever known really how that part worked. She’d heard her friends talk about wet dreams and ‘their’ experiences, but s
omehow Hannah wasn’t prepared for just how a hard penis felt against her body, even with two layers of clothes between.
Drake whispered, “I don’t even know your name.”
“Hannah,” she breathed. Another burst of static crossed the walkie talkie.
Killing the moment, Drake lifted away, “Do you know how to shoot?”
Rejected. Hannah cleared her mind and took a breath. “Like guns?” Hannah asked.
“Exactly,” Drake said.
“No. Never have,” Hannah said, wishing they weren’t in the middle of a compound fighting for their lives. The silver tips of his hair spiked up in a ridiculously boyish muss. His eyes drilled through hers, driving her thoughts into emptiness. They were blue, vivid, entrancing blue, she could see that now. The pair of worry lines across his forehead and the crinkling laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes gave him a rugged appeal.
Hannah reached up to kiss him again.
Drake rolled off.
The air seemed cold without his body covering hers. He stayed low as he crawled to the door. The shooting had stopped. Hannah couldn’t keep her eyes off the plaster that had showered all over the clothes or the holes in the wall. The bullets had gone right through...seriously all the way through the walls. She had no idea they could do that. It wasn’t like in the movies where you could hide and be reasonably safe.
“Keep down,” Drake ordered, and like a commando, wriggled his way to the door. “Shadow Seven, I have one of the jewels. We’re under fire.” Jewels must be the code word for hostages.
“Go for extraction.”
“Copy that.”
Hannah forced a smile to cover the pain of Drake’s rejection. It shouldn’t hurt. It’s not like she even knew him. Her heart was still sore when he glanced over his shoulder with a bemused expression. Maybe he wasn’t heartless after all.
Shoving his helmet back on his head, he said, “Follow me. Keep low.”
Another burst of gunfire sent Hannah cowering to the floor. Drake’s crawl was so much more professional than hers. She wondered if she would be able to keep up.
