Corrupt Desires

by Jennifer Bene

  “Hello?” Bryant’s tense voice brought tears to her eyes and she sniffled.

  “Bryant?”

  “PHEE! Are you okay? Tell me that you’re okay, please, baby.” His panic was clear and it made her chest hurt just hearing how much he loved her.

  “Tell him you’re fine, but that we will hurt you if he doesn’t meet our demands,” the voice hissed in her ear and she leaned away from him, but he jerked her back towards him. “Do it.”

  “I — I’m fine. They say they will hurt me again if you don’t meet their demands.”

  “AGAIN?” he shouted. A stream of obscenities came through the phone, before Bryant came back to it. “I’m going to fucking kill them. All of them.”

  “Bad move, girl.” The one in charge dug his fingers into the back of her neck, a sharp pain spreading over her shoulder as he found some kind of pressure point. “Tell him that if he wants to see you alive he’ll do what we asked.”

  “Br-Bryant? They say if… if you want to see me alive you’ll do what they asked.” More careful to repeat his words exactly as the bastard said them, she felt a cold pit growing in her stomach.

  “Phee, they want me to cancel the improvement project in the southern district. I’m trying—”

  “Sir, we have a problem.” The driver was trying to keep his voice quiet, but she felt the man next to her tense.

  He moved close to her ear and hissed, “Tell him he has to say, in a press conference, that the NDF is halting all improvement projects in the southern districts until another vote can be taken. He has to apologize for ignoring the results of the Proposition 61 vote. If you say anything else to him before I get back here I’ll make sure you regret it.” With that last threat he gripped her neck hard enough that she felt her bones grinding against each other, and then he released her and moved to speak to the driver in rapid hushed tones.

  “Phee? Phee, are you there?” Bryant was anxious again and she bit her lip to fight back the urge to just fall apart on the phone with him. She swallowed to push those thoughts away and tried to organize her thoughts and remember what the man had told her to say.

  “Yes, I — um, they want you to hold a press conference. They want you to tell everyone that the NDF isn’t going to make any improvements in the southern districts until you hold another vote.”

  “A fucking press conference?” Bryant interrupted her. He sounded exhausted and stressed and angry — none of which was very surprising, but it hit her hard that she’d caused all of this with her stupid plan to save the day.

  “Bryant.” She pulled his attention back and then continued. “That’s not all, they, um, they also want you to apologize.”

  “APOLOGIZE!” he shouted into the phone and she winced. “For what? What the fuck do they want me to apologize for?”

  “They want you to apologize for ignoring the results from the Proposition 61 vote,” she answered softly, but he still exploded on the other end of the phone, shouting something she couldn’t understand through the tinny speaker.

  “And for the lives lost in the uprising. He has to apologize for the lives lost during the uprising too.” The angry man was next to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. His voice dropped lower as he hissed a whisper, “Say it.”

  “They also want an apology for the lives lost during the uprising,” she repeated robotically, and heard him groan.

  “I want to speak to who is in charge, Phee. Can they hear me?” His rage was barely in check, she could hear it in his voice.

  “SHIT!” The driver shouted and then the van swerved sharply to the left and Phee tumbled forward across the van, slamming into the other side with the angry man landing on one of her legs. Her head rang and she suddenly just wanted to throw up and sleep.

  “What the FUCK!”

  “They’re on us!” The driver again. “How the fuck did they find us so fast?”

  “Lose them. Now!” The one in charge was speaking again, and she tried to sit back up against her body’s arguments. She’d dropped the phone, and all she could hear was Bryant shouting in a crackling voice from somewhere nearby. The burner was pressed into her hand again, and the calm man was against her ear. “Tell him that if he doesn’t agree to the press conference and order the police to leave us alone, we’re going to shoot you.”

  A cold feeling filled her stomach, intensifying when the hard barrel of a gun pressed into her temple. “Bryant… Bryant!”

  “Shit! Phee, are you okay?”

  “Yes, there are apparently some police following us. They want you to make them leave us alone, and they want you to commit to the press conference.” The gun dug more sharply into her temple and she whimpered. “Or — or they’re going to shoot me.”

  “If they shoot you, they get nothing.” Bryant’s voice went suddenly quiet and still. All of his emotions neatly locked away like he did during his press conferences; a skill she’d never been able to attain.

  The cell phone was ripped out of her hands, and the angry one shouted, “If we shoot her YOU have nothing! Think about that, asshole! Just do the fucking press conference!”

  There was a struggle, someone’s leg kicked hers and then the world swung hard again. Tires squealed and she heard the engine roar as they straightened out again. She was stuck against two of them as they shoved and cursed at each other. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT! I can’t believe you did that!”

  “Why did you hang up? We need him to—” The van turned again, and now Phee could hear the sirens as they all slid across the metal floor of the van. A chorus of police closing in, getting louder and louder.

  “Get us away from them, we can figure out a way to call again. Here, throw the burner out the window.” The roar of the wind stole what was said next, and Phee’s head was spinning even worse. She was on her back and decided it was easiest to just stay there, which proved to be a smart choice a moment later when the van turned sharply and someone slammed into the wall of the van.

  “Can you give us a damn warning, asshole?”

  “No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.” The driver laughed bitterly. “Am I hallucinating or is that a god damned helicopter?”

  “SHIT!”

  Phee felt a smile slip over her lips as she curled up in a ball on the floor of the van, trying to shield herself as best as possible for the next turn. The sirens were on top of them, an ear-piercing wail from several different vehicles. The men in the van started shouting over one another, but all she could think of was that none of them had thought this through. What did they think was going to happen when they’d kidnapped her? They’d clearly fallen for Bryant’s rich boy downtowner routine like everyone did who didn’t know him. She’d thought the same things when he’d sat down in the Elsinore Café — just a spoiled, rich, weak brat.

  They were so short-sighted.

  They couldn’t see the armor underneath the suit and tie. Couldn’t see the blazing crown on top of his head. Had never seen him rally a room full of scared, unknown people and convince them that they could topple the government. That they could take back their city. That they could make a stand.

  No. They didn’t know who Bryant really was. A warrior. A leader. A king of fire.

  And he was coming for her. He would save her. She knew it at her core.

  She wanted to mock them, but the world was constantly shifting now and there was nothing but a tangle of limbs on the floor of the van. More shouts and curses over the blare of the sirens. The van suddenly shook with an impact and the sound of grinding metal filled her ears. “They rammed us! Do they not know she’s in here? FUCK!”

  “Call him back! Tell him! Where’s the damn phone?” someone shouted and then the whole van shook again, jarring with the shock of another vehicle hitting theirs.

  “They’re going to—” The sentence didn’t finish because they were hit again, but this time it was much, much harder and she felt the van slam to the left. Then they were tilting, the world shifting as gravity rolled and time seemed
to slow down. People were yelling, but in the darkness of her blindfold she couldn’t track them.

  Panicked, screaming people all sort of sound the same when you can’t see.

  There was a moment when she almost thought the van had stopped, but then physics caught up to them and the van rolled the rest of the way. The crash was loud and the impact of elbows and knees slamming into her made her scream over the screech of metal dragging across pavement. The sirens closed in as they settled and Phee was dizzy, dazed, and aching.

  “My arm! My fucking arm!” One of the men was clearly in pain, and she felt him shift away from her. She tried to evaluate herself, but her whole body felt separate. Distant.

  “Oh God, oh man, I can’t believe I agreed to do this. I just wanted to protest the NDF, I didn’t want to kidnap anyone, I didn’t want to—”

  “Shut up, is Michael awake? Michael!”

  “I can’t get out of my seat belt to check, but there’s blood. He’s against the window — hey! Michael! Wake up, man!”

  The metal of the van popped as someone landed above her, and then she heard the door slide open. “HANDS UP! EVERYONE HANDS UP!”

  “My fucking arm…”

  “SHE’S IN HERE! WE NEED PARAMEDICS!” The person above her lowered their voice a little. “None of you move an inch. If you move, I will shoot you. Ms. Everett, can you hear me? Are you injured?”

  “My arm is fucking broken!”

  “Mention your arm again, asshole, and I’ll shoot you in the leg to distract you,” the one above her growled, and she laughed a bit before groaning as her ribs protested.

  “PHEE! Can you see her? Get the fuck out of my way.” It was Easton. Suddenly his voice was clearer, coming from directly above her. “Shit. Phee?”

  “Hi, Danny.” Phee was so overwhelmed with relief at hearing his voice that she couldn’t suppress the smile.

  “This is the one and only time I’ll let you get away with that, but, then again, you may not even get another chance to call me that because Bryant is going to murder me. He’s already promised to. Slowly and painfully.” Easton laughed to himself, then he was back to his bossy tone. “I’m going in, I’ll open the back doors. Have the paramedics waiting to unload them.”

  “I’ll cover you.” The other voice above her.

  “No need. If one of them tries anything I’ll just shoot them in the dick. Your choice, assholes. Want to piss with the aid of a bag for the rest of your pathetic lives?” Easton was all swagger, still so confident, but she knew it was a show. She could hear the vague tremor in some of his words that always happened when he was really worried. About Regan, about her, about anyone.

  “Phee?” Another tremor as she felt his feet find space next to her. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, and she squeezed back — she was safe. “Let me get rid of this, Phee.”

  She couldn’t see what he was doing, and she was uncomfortably crumpled on the side of the van, but then her hands were free and he was pulling the duct tape off in stinging strips. “Ow, shit! Easton!”

  “You know, most people would just say thank you when they’re being rescued.” He chuckled, and in no time he had the back doors open and then he was shouting at the EMTs to take her first. They tried to move her gently onto a backboard, but everything hurt as her body seemed to wake up from its stupor. She gritted her teeth through a scream, and they mumbled apologies as they started strapping her down.

  Strap. Strap. Neck brace. Strap.

  People were carrying her, and the rocking back and forth was doing nothing to help her head. “Can someone get her a fucking blanket?” he yelled, and then slightly quieter, “Can you cut this shit off her?”

  “Yes, sir, just let us work. Move back a second.” The cool press of scissors slid against her cheek and then she heard slow cutting. For a ludicrous second all she could think about was that they were going to cut her hair, but then the fabric lifted away and she blinked her eyes against the assault of flashing lights and the bright interior of the ambulance.

  “Phee!” Easton’s face appeared in front of her, complete with what looked like a broken nose, and she almost cried with relief as he shook out a blanket and tucked it around her hips and legs. “God, it’s good to see you again.”

  “You too. Exactly what happened to your face?” She groaned as the EMT started pressing on her sides. Bruises, so many bruises.

  “I told you Holbrook would lose it if something happened to you,” Easton answered, a shadow passing over his face as he leaned back. “I’m only alive because I swore we’d find you with the COF’s cell tower software.”

  “The what?” she asked, wincing as the EMT squeezed her knee.

  “Ms. Everett, can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

  “Everything hurts.” Phee winced as he lifted the edge of the blanket to press a particularly sore place on her hip. “I now know what laundry feels like in the dryer.”

  “How the fuck are you still cracking jokes?” Easton laughed next to her as he leaned back.

  “I think it’s keeping me from losing it,” she answered, feeling the tremble in her lip as a sob tried to creep its way up her throat.

  “Wiggle your toes for me — good. Now your fingers? Good.” The EMT shifted back by her face and shined a light in her eyes without warning. She flinched and would have turned away if she wasn’t strapped to the damn board. “Are you experiencing light sensitivity?”

  “Yes! Could you not shine a light in my eyes without warning me?” Phee jerked against the straps, having traded duct tape for whatever the fuck they had her attached to the board with, and it was bringing back the panic. Memories slamming her. And then a wave of nausea flooded her. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “That’s okay, it’s a normal side effect of a concussion. Just tell me if you think you will. I need to check your neck.”

  “Bryant is definitely going to kill me once he sees you. Slowly.” Easton sighed and she blinked against the lights trying to see him. “A concussion. Bruised to hell. And… shit, Phee, can you tell me what happened?”

  “I got kidnapped, Easton. Just like we planned, only you lost me.” She knew it was a low blow, it was clear he was already beating himself up over it, but she was the one who had been tortured by those psychos and was now strapped down in an ambulance.

  “I— I know, we fucked up. We were getting ready to move, to follow you home, and then they crashed a car on the street. It caught all of our attention, and by the time we got someone on foot in the alley you were already in the van, and they tossed the fucking tracker before we could get a car with eyes on them. But I tried, I swear to God I tried, Phee. I’m… I’m so fucking sorry, Phee, I really am.” Easton leaned forward, his hand clasping hers as he moved back into her line of vision, bruised face and all.

  “I know,” she managed in a tight voice.

  “Look… I need to know what happened. I-I need to know why you’re not wearing any pants. Was it just the tracker, or…?”

  Phee swallowed as the EMT pressed gently along her skull, unable to answer. “Bryant’s going to kill us, isn’t he?”

  “Probably,” he answered, and she could see the rage as his features turned hard. “Well, not you. He loves you more than anything, but he’s definitely going to kill me. He’s absolutely going to fucking kill me.” Easton turned away to look out the ambulance doors. “They’re all being arrested, Phee. Can she sit up to watch?”

  “No, she needs an x-ray.” The EMT didn’t skip a beat before he answered and Phee groaned as nausea swept through her again. Her head was pounding, and the lights were flashing like ice picks stabbing into her temples.

  “I’m going to throw up.” Phee felt her body lurch, and then the EMT was shouting at Easton and she was tilted sideways on the board. The world swam and a plastic container appeared in front of her just before her stomach emptied itself, half into the basin and half onto the floor. Luckily it was mostly water. Easton rubbed her arm, not even complaining that sh
e’d just thrown up on one of his shoes.

  “Hey, look who it is.” He pointed in front of the ambulance and she could just see out the doors from her angle. A man was being led by in cuffs, and at first the man was looking away from her, but then he turned towards them.

  “Holy shit…” Phee breathed, disbelief crashing over her. She had recognized the calm man’s voice. The one that had been in charge.

  Mr. Collins. The reporter.

  The one that had turned the press corps on her at the last briefing.

  “Oh, yeah. Come morning I don’t think there will be a single person questioning whether or not the COF-rebirth movement is dangerous. I have a feeling their support is going to crash and burn with their biggest proponent behind bars for attacking you.” Easton almost sounded happy, but his face fell as he looked over at her. With his help, they laid the backboard flat again. “We’ve got the other four that were with you, and the two that made the calls to Holbrook earlier, and the woman that crashed her car as a distraction. One of them will crack and give us the rest of the names.”

  “So, it worked.” Phee couldn’t believe the scene she’d caught outside the ambulance. She had only been able to see the underside of the van where it was sitting halfway into an intersection. There were police cars and other ambulances and a fire engine. Police tape was going up and they were keeping back a steadily growing crowd — and she was tired, and dizzy, and bruised, but alive. And it had worked.

  “If that’s what you want to call this, sure. It worked. But, fuck, Phee… I am never letting you talk me into something this stupid ever again.”

  “You wanted to scare them off, right? Well, this should scare them off. Permanently.” Phee winced as the flashing lights started to hurt again so she closed her eyes against it.

  “Mr. Easton, we should get her to the hospital,” the EMT interrupted.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s go.” The doors shut and then Easton started speaking. “I’m going to call Holbrook and tell him where we’ll be. He’s already losing it.”