Imminent Danger (Adrenaline Highs)

by Unknown

  Fresh tears slid down her cheeks as she blindly raced for her purse and ran to the front door. “Shit, shit, shit.” She couldn’t call the police because they said they were monitoring the phones somehow. As far as watching her… Maybe they had someone on the street, but no one had eyes inside the estate. She could leave a message for Troy. After sprinting into the kitchen, she scribbled out a note with the Santa Monica address they’d texted to her. Short and sweet. They have Blake. She jotted the address. Told me not to call police or they’d know. I had to go! Hurry. Abbey. She ran for the door again and the walls started spinning. Her erratic breathing made it tough to get oxygen into her lungs. Falling against the door, she forced herself to slow down. She couldn’t help Blake if she passed out or hyperventilated to death.

  “Breathe, girl, breathe,” she told herself as she took in and released measured breaths. Think, think. How could she help Blake? What could she do? Walking into certain death didn’t sound like her best option, but how could she turn this around?

  She needed protection. She needed a weapon. Abbey ran back toward the kitchen.

  Pain roared through Blake with breath-stealing force. His shoulders burned in an ache he’d only dreamed about for almost two years, and his chest was on fire. Even his fingernails hurt. He cracked open his one good eye since the other was swollen shut.

  Jesus. God. The same gray room. The same house in Santa Monica. Built below ground, there was only one window up high and it was boarded up. A lantern on the floor glowed dimly in the dark. He wouldn’t be waking up from this nightmare and be able to shake it and go back to sleep. This was real. The burn in his chest got thicker as he struggled to keep the emotion buried. He would not let these fuckers win. God, what time was it?

  Abbey!

  Was she on her way? Already here?

  He had to get away before she got anywhere near here. Had to get free. He wrestled with the rope binding his wrists. At least they weren’t cuffs this time. He actually had a shot at freedom. He reached for his back pocket. Shit, it was too much to hope that they hadn’t discovered his blade. But maybe… He rotated his right ankle and felt the six-inch blade still there. It had been worth every dollar to have a leathersmith sew the sheath into the lining.

  Yes. The little victory gave him hope.

  With his hands bound behind his back, Blake had to reach backward to get to his boots. Fresh pain arced through his chest and he gritted his teeth. His wrists burned as he fumbled to get his pant leg up to snag his blade. Carefully, he pulled it from its sheath. His hands were nearly numb with the loss of circulation. It took every ounce of strength and concentration he had to keep the knife in his fingers as he worked on the rope binding his wrists. Breathing hard, he felt fresh adrenaline power through his veins. He could do this. Almost there. Finally, he got his blade on it and the tight rope split like cake. Blake’s shoulders throbbed with pain as he eased his arms forward. He lay there, breathing hard, sweat soaking his skin. Focus, focus. He had to get out of here. Next, he freed his ankles.

  Footsteps warned of someone’s approach. Quickly, he retied his ankles together and hid the loose knot between his legs. He sat up and hid his hands behind his back after tucking his knife in the back waistband of his jeans.

  The door swung open and a man came in. Shit. This didn’t bode well, especially if the guy picked him up now or found his knife. His heart thumped along and fresh sweat slicked his palms.

  “How was your nap?” the man asked. His dirty blond hair hung in his eyes. When Blake didn’t answer, he went on. “It’s going to be permanent as soon as your girlfriend shows up. She’s late. But don’t worry, we’re waiting for her. Got everything covered with the guys watching from the top floor. I’ll snatch her when she comes in either entrance.” The guy looked to be in pretty good shape, but Blake beat him in height and weight. He’d need every advantage about now.

  A walkie-talkie—similar to one in his earthquake kit at home—squawked softly at the guy’s belt. “Just got off the phone with the boss. He wants the merchandise out tonight even if it’s not a full load. He’s not happy with the heat coming down. As soon as she gets here, we move it all out.”

  “Copy that.” The guy clicked off the walkie. “Your girlfriend totally fucked up the operation. The boss is never happy when we deliver less than promised.”

  “You don’t need her. Just take your fucking drugs and go,” Blake muttered.

  “Drugs?” The guy shook his head. “We’re not dealing in drugs, asshole.” His dead stare said what his words didn’t. If they waited for Abbey, then she was the merchandise they wanted. “You can be glad you’re not her, fucker. Because if you were, you’d be wishing you were dead already. Damon’s brother is here. Wade can’t wait to meet your girlfriend. He’s got some serious retribution in mind. Did she tell you what she did to Damon?” His cold stare shot daggers. “She fucking took his eye out then put him in a coma.” The man grabbed Blake’s collar and lifted him up. Pain ruptured in his chest, but Blake took the opportunity handed to him. “She used a fucking pe—”

  Blake brought his blade up sharp and hard into the man’s middle. He felt the give of flesh as the tip sank deep and the man’s eyes widened in shock and pain. Blake swung across with his leg and took the man’s legs from beneath him. He pounced and wrapped his hands around the guy’s neck and squeezed. The man fought him, his face turning red as he struggled for air, then his lids fluttered closed and his muscles relaxed. Blake made sure the guy lost consciousness before letting go.

  His stomach clenched. Heaving for air, he rolled off the guy as fresh pain squeezed his chest. His spit-dry mouth made him sick to his stomach and a new round of fear for Abbey snowballed. If she stepped foot in this place, they were both in deep shit.

  With fumbling fingers, Blake tied the guy’s ankles and wrists with the remnants of the rope. He yanked his knife from the man’s gut. It bled, but not enough to kill him. Blake wanted this asshole behind bars. Wanted him to pay for everything he’d done. He stuffed a chunk of T-shirt in his mouth and gagged the asshole, securing it with rope. Then he flipped him over so his front faced the wall. It wouldn’t buy him much time, but it might buy him a few seconds if someone came to check on him.

  Slowly, Blake got to all fours then stood up. The room spun and he leaned against the wall for support until everything settled into place and the pain ebbed a fraction.

  The word merchandise stuck in his head. So did the words we move it all out. Did they have women upstairs? Women who hadn’t been as fortunate as Abbey to get away?

  Blake looked around the room. He had to take this in phases. The last time he escaped this house, he’d gone out the back. That hadn’t worked out too well and now he knew men were watching from above. Time to improvise. He reached down for the man’s walkie-talkie and his gun. Both would come in handy.

  Abbey’s stomach tied in knots as she got closer to the Santa Monica home. Mistake. Mistake. The word flashed in her head like a neon sign warning her to turn back, but she couldn’t. If she didn’t show, they’d hurt Blake and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen.

  Remembering the knife he kept on him, she’d grabbed two kitchen knives from Julie’s place before rushing out to the car. She’d stuffed one in her purse and wrapped the other in a square potholder and slid it in the side of her boot. She’d seen the knife hidden in Blake’s boot as he’d showered and it had given her the idea. Knowing he had the knife tucked away gave her a little bit of hope that he had something to defend himself with if the time came.

  The time was definitely coming.

  Abbey drove past the Santa Monica address, then stopped down the block. The stacked house had a view of the Pacific Ocean from the backend, but the windows in the front were boarded up. White paint peeled from the trim and the overgrown yard had more weeds than lawn. The house looked dark. Deserted.

  The second she walked into the place, she was giving Blake a death sentence. And if she didn’t, they’d to
rture him until he died. So what the hell was she supposed to do? She had to buy him time. Had to barter for his life…but with what? She didn’t have money. She had her body, but they’d take that whether Blake was alive or dead. An involuntary shiver raced through her.

  Knocking on the front door seemed completely ridiculous. Maybe a surprise attack would buy time somehow. What if she snuck in through the backyard? Blake’s sister had done that in the movie based on their kidnapping. “It was just a movie,” she berated herself aloud. Who knew what parts were real and which were fabricated? She hadn’t thought to ask.

  Taking a deep breath, Abbey grabbed her small purse and got out of the car. She put the strap over her head like she always did so she had both hands free, and she made her way to the house. Using cars and bushes, she hid behind anything that would conceal her approach.

  Quietly, she eased open the gate of the neighbor’s yard and closed it behind her. Then she crept along the wall separating the houses. Unlike the estate in Palm Springs, she had no trash bin or boxes to help her scale the wall, so Abbey jumped and barely got her slick palms at the top of the wall. Sweat broke out along her neck and back as she lifted up to peek over the top. The yard was as dark as the front. She would’ve thought she had the wrong place if the address didn’t match what they’d texted her.

  With fresh determination, Abbey heaved herself over the wall, dropped quietly into the yard and ran for cover behind a large dried up hedge. Hold on, Blake. I’m coming.

  The house looked dark everywhere. Not one light shone from the inside. What if she’d gotten the address wrong? What if she was too late? She took a ragged breath and forced herself to take it slow. In and out. Blake needed her. She couldn’t crumble now.

  Carefully making her way to the back door, Abbey took every available cover offered. Hedges, furniture, whatever the yard provided. Finally she made it next to the door and tried the knob. Unlocked.

  Whoa. She hadn’t expected that. Sweat broke out along her spine. Except they wanted her in there, didn’t they? Had they expected her to try and sneak in? Had they thought she’d just knock on the front door and say, “Hi, I’m here. Go ahead and kill my boyfriend now.”

  Boyfriend. The word gave her pause for a few seconds. She had a boyfriend… But only if she managed to keep him alive.

  Abbey stuck her head in the door to listen. Nothing. No lights either. She strained to see the small laundry room as she stepped into the house. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. To the left, a hallway led downstairs, to the right was a bathroom and in front of her were more stairs leading up. She nearly got to the first step when a giant hand closed over her mouth from behind. She sucked in air to scream.

  “It’s me,” Blake whispered. “Abbey, it’s me.”

  She sagged in relief against the heat of his chest then spun in his arms and hugged him tight.

  He gasped and she pulled back. Oh God, they’d beaten the hell out of him. One eye was nearly swollen shut. His lip was cut and swollen, his jaw and forehead bruised. “Shh,” he pulled her close. “I’ll be okay. It’s okay. Shit, Abbey, you shouldn’t have come.”

  “I had to. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” She tugged him toward the door, but he held her back.

  “They’re watching.” Even as he spoke, she heard footsteps upstairs and he pulled her up the short flight of steps and farther into the house. “They’ll catch you before you get out of the yard.” Fear erupted in her chest as he shoved her in the first available room and toward a closet.

  NO! “I can’t,” she whispered, fighting his hold.

  “You have to.” He opened the slatted double doors and tucked her inside. “I’m going to try and distract them both, but if they split up, then one of them is going to find you.” She would’ve freaked out at his words, but he slipped the gun into her sweaty palm and gave her something else to worry about. “As soon as this door opens… Shoot. Don’t hesitate.” Footsteps pounded harder from upstairs. He kissed her quick and hard. “If you’ve got your phone, call 911. I love you.” He closed the doors and disappeared, leaving her alone and terrified and completely out of her element.

  She hadn’t even told him she’d left the address for Troy. Still, the cops could get here quicker. Abbey fumbled for her phone and punched 911.

  “911. What is your emergency?” The operator’s voice sounded like a bullhorn in the quiet space.

  Abbey relayed the address and urgency as quietly as she could, then buried her phone beneath a pile of blankets next to her without cutting the connection.

  Memories from nine years ago seared their way into her brain. The gag, the rope around her wrists and ankles, the pain from the violation of her body, scratches from his jagged fingernails that cut into sensitive tissue. Abbey crouched low into the corner and wrapped her arms around her knees. The gun weighed a ton in her hands. Her muscles trembled out of control as she waited and listened.

  Heavy footsteps sounded deeper in the house. The rumble of low voices frayed her nerves.

  She held her breath and swallowed the urge to run, screaming for help. Blake must have had a plan. He wouldn’t dump her in here and run without her.

  Time to pull her head out of her ass and come up with a plan of her own. Abbey wiped the sweat off her palm and white-knuckled the gun handle. She’d been stashed in a closet before, but this time she had a gun. This time, she wasn’t a child and this time, she wouldn’t let her fears rule her decisions.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blake had a plan. Keep the assholes away from Abbey.

  Granted, it was kind of sketchy at the moment, but he had the element of surprise going for him. At least for a minute or two until they found their friend. He’d known for a fact he and Abbey wouldn’t make it out the backyard, because he seriously doubted his ability to get over any wall in his current condition, and Abbey wouldn’t leave him behind.

  Rolling into a Hummer had given him bruised ribs, but the two-on-one go-round in his apartment garage had done more serious damage. His chest hurt too much to be anything less than a fractured rib or two. When Abbey had hugged him, he’d not only nearly wept in relief, but a boatload of pain as well.

  Right before Abbey had entered through the back door, the walkie had squawked and the men from upstairs warned the downstairs dude where to grab her. Blake had bought an extra minute with a whispered, “Copy” into the mic. But now, as both men ran downstairs, their flashlights bobbing in the darkness, the tiny window of relief vanished in a thick fog of fear. What if they found Abbey and she didn’t get a shot off quick enough? What if, what if? There were too many possibilities to consider.

  Blake squinted into the darkness from his hiding spot behind the sofa. One thing in his favor. The place was mostly boarded up and clearly lacking electricity.

  “What the fuck? Benz? Where are you? Check downstairs,” a guy ordered.

  Yeah, that voice definitely belonged to the man named Kwami. The man who’d sliced off Brendan’s earlobe. He’d kept up a running conversation as he’d cut Bren. Kwami had talked about Bren’s choice of studs and since they looked like shit on Bren, they should just come off. Then he’d laughed. Blake’s stomach rolled as it always did when he thought about that night. It had been the worst night of his life. He’d actually felt the pain in his own ear at the same time. It had been a weird-ass feeling.

  A flashlight beam briefly illuminated another man before he moved out of sight. He was a big-ass son of a bitch. Probably one of the guys he’d tangled with in the garage and most likely the brother of the man Abbey had hurt. He needed to keep this guy miles away from her.

  He didn’t have much time. Once they discovered he wasn’t the one tied and gagged downstairs they’d start searching the house. If he didn’t take them out one at time, he wouldn’t win so he had to work fast.

  Kwami’s walkie squawked and the other man’s voice came over the line. “The kid is gone. Benz is unconscious down here. He’s bleeding.”

  “Find them.
Work your way up. I’ll start here. They won’t get far. He’s too fucked up to go anywhere fast.”

  True words and Blake hated them.

  At least Abbey had a weapon and could protect herself. She had a good chance if she stayed put and kept the gun in position and ready to fire.

  Kwami moved into the next room, it could’ve been an office or den, and Blake eased from behind the sofa, his knife in hand, and stood along the staircase ready for him to come back out.

  A shot rang out from Abbey’s end of the house and Blake’s heart stuttered. Kwami burst through the doorway and Blake didn’t have a chance to do anything other than react. He slammed into him from the side and they both hit the ground, a gun skittering on the hardwood floor. Fire sizzled in Blake’s chest as he slashed up with his knife the same way he’d done with the man downstairs. He came away with the knife and they tussled as he tried to land a second blow.

  Another shot rang out, but this one split the wood floor right next to him. “Don’t move a fucking muscle or she dies,” a voice said.

  Kwami took the moment of Blake’s hesitation to slam him with a fist, and Blake landed hard on his side. Fresh fire ate up his chest and he struggled for air. He still had the knife in his hand underneath him. The other guy had Abbey in front of him, his arm wrapped around her neck and her hands fighting his beefy arm so she could breathe. Kwami swayed as he stood and just then seemed to notice his wound. “What the fuck? I’m bleeding.”

  “Join the fucking club. Bitch shot me in the shoulder,” the second guy said. He kept his gun aimed at Blake. “I won’t miss this time.”

  “No!” Kwami said. “This prick is mine.” A murderous look morphed his face into rage and Abbey screamed as he moved toward Blake. She dropped, dead weight in the guy’s arms and that’s all Blake saw before Kwami came at him. The man grabbed his collar and pulled his fist back and Blake struck out with his blade, nailing him on the same side, deep and hard. Kwami landed the punch and pain exploded in Blake’s head as he hit the floor again, but as Kwami went to grab him a second time, the man teetered and looked down. Blake must have hit something vital because blood gushed out of the wound. Kwami swayed right before something slammed into his head and knocked him sideways. He fell hard, out cold and Blake looked up.