He’d have laughed if she didn’t sound so serious. “I’ve heard that once or twice.” He helped her into her outerwear, zipped the jacket, and picked her up. “We need to find Randa.”
“I saw her before. She helped me when a house fell on me.”
“A house?” He listened with half an ear as he locked the door, then trotted toward the garage. Arctic air slapped him in the face and cut through his clothing as if he wore nothing at all. Melodee buried her face in his collar. He gripped her a little tighter. His hand was on the handle of his truck when a shot rang out through the cellphone.
Ice formed around his heart. His mind went blank. This had just gone worse.
* * * *
Lincoln couldn’t focus. What was he going to do without Randa? There had to be something he could do or say to heal the rift he’d caused. He stared unseeingly at his open suitcase. Now he was waiting for Jacqui to bring him flight information. A car waited for him outside. Maybe he should just jump in the taxi and have her text him the information on the way to the airport.
A knock reverberated on the wood.
“Don’t you have your key?” he muttered as he crossed the room.
He twisted the knob and jerked open the door. Not Jacqui. A man with a horrid scar on his face. Lincoln opened his mouth. A gasp was the only sound as agony exploded in his chest. Startled, he looked down. Red bloomed on his white dress shirt. Smoke and spent carbon filled the air. He stumbled backward, leaving a bloody smear on the door.
Noiselessly the door closed as he fell to the floor. He’d never have Randa’s forgiveness now.
* * * *
Matteo pressed the speed limit. Every now and then, he glanced into the backseat to make sure Melodee was okay. She looked so small in the center of the bench but didn’t seem to mind his controlled erratic driving. The truck slid as it hit a patch of ice. He fought to keep the truck on the road as the rear end fishtailed and the vehicle whirled in a semicircle. Horns blared and tires screeched as other cars flashed by, many veering to avoid him.
He steered toward a patch of what he hoped was dry pavement. Once there, the truck regained traction, and he nosed the 4x4 in the right direction. Several motorists flipped him off as he passed. He didn’t care. And if someone called the cops on him, all the better. He’d pull any and all favors he still had. They owed him that.
Clapping and a cheer had him glancing in the rearview mirror.
“You liked that?”
Another toothy smile. “Can we do it again?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, he chuckled. Melodee was a little daredevil. That would be something to file away for future reference.
The residential neighborhood was quiet and just like any other he’d seen. Large two-story homes with the obligatory attached garages and snow-covered yards. Matteo could imagine what this street would look in the spring, families working flower beds and tending to the lawns.
He bypassed all these for the house at the cul-de-sac—a brick Tudor set back a ways from the curb. He shut off the engine. Hand on the door handle, he paused. Melodee. What did he do with her? If Reznick had taken Randa and was still waiting in the area, he wouldn’t hesitate to harm Melodee.
That notion left him cold. Matteo glanced around. He didn’t have tinted windows. So he couldn’t leave her in the car. Not sure of the situation he was walking into, he didn’t want to bring her, but what other choice did he have?
He opened his door and jumped from the vehicle. An annoying ding-ding-ding chimed, reminding him he’d left the keys in the ignition. Whatever. He didn’t have time for that. Randa was in serious trouble. He opened the back door.
“Okay, sweetheart, we’re going to play a little game. When I go in this house, you’re going to hide and stay really quiet until I come get you. Can you do that for me?”
“Did something bad happen?”
“I hope not, but I need to keep you safe.”
She nodded. “I won’t make a sound,” she promised solemnly.
Matteo scooped her up. Hurrying up the walk, he took in the unfamiliar green sedan in the drive. This had to be the car Randa was driving now. When he found her, he’d spank her bottom until she screamed. He stumbled up the walk. If he found her.
Shuddering, he pushed the negative thought from his mind. There was no other recourse. He had to find her. Not for his sake but Lincoln’s as well. As he neared the front door, he realized the wood hung ajar. This was not good. Cautiously, he pushed it wider, just enough for him to squeeze through.
He glanced around for a closet. Instead his gaze landed on small stains on the hardwood. There was enough light to illuminate the drops of blood on the floor. He breathed deep to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Someone was hurt, and he tried very hard not to believe it was Randa.
He was so focused on the bloodstains he didn’t hear the footsteps until too late, but he felt the cold tip of metal on the back of his neck.
“Tell me where you took her.”
“I haven’t taken her anywhere, D,” Matteo said, raising his free hand as he slowly turned to face his friend.
“Matteo?” Destin squinted and lowered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here? And what’s with the kid?”
“No hide-and-seek?” Melodee asked.
“No, sweetheart,” he said. To Destin he said, “I was on the phone when you answered the door and she screamed. Was it Reznick?”
Destin shook his head. “I didn’t recognize the guy. She seemed to, and then another one showed up and grabbed her.”
Matteo scratched his head. “What did they look like?”
* * * *
Randa came to in degrees. Silence surrounded her. She concentrated on her breathing. In and out. In and out. She was alive. That was always good, but where was she? Was she alone?
Counting her breaths, she strained to hear any signs of her captor. After she’d seen him at the mall, the last thing she remembered was being approached by FazFazol at Destin’s house. Before she could ask why he was following her, another man came and attacked her.
Throbbing in her temples and the aches now flaring to life reminded her that she had fought. The last real thing she remembered was a gun going off. After that, everything went dark. She must’ve been hit in the head.
She moved to touch her head and realized her hands were bound to something. It was then she snapped open her eyes. She was seated in a chair. Her wrists were secured to the armrests with plastic zip ties while her ankles were held in place with duct tape.
Dim and dank were the words that came to mind. The one thing she could be grateful for was that the area was relatively dry, and she wasn’t seated on the floor. Cold permeated her clothes and seemed to get into her bones. She shivered and moved her limbs in an effort to warm them.
She wiggled her fingers and toes, numb from the cold and lack of circulation. How the heck had she gotten into this predicament? She sighed. Because she was mad at Lincoln and Matteo. And a few days of them not knowing where she was seemed like a good idea at the time.
How could she have been so stupid? Now they wouldn’t know where to find her. Tears burned her eyes and threatened to freeze on her lashes. What she wouldn’t give to be safe and snuggled against Matteo right now.
Faint voices rose in protest, followed by something scraping across concrete made her heart pound a little faster. She tested the zip ties that held her in place and kicked as far as the tape would allow. All that resulted was moving the chair she sat on a scant couple of inches.
A door slammed to her right, and she twisted her head in that direction. She widened her eyes as the stocky, overweight man approached. He was as tall as he was round. His spiked multicolored Mohawk was his trademark hairdo. The chain and nose piercing from earlier were missing. In their place was a small white bandage.
“Well, if it isn’t Vixen_425. You’ve been a hard competitor to track down. Good thing I was properly persuaded to find you. Did you lik
e my little surprise in the flowers?”
She glared at him.
“Nothing to say?”
“You’re a bully.”
He walked around her. She followed his movements as best she could. Once he faced her again, she spoke.
“Is your ego really that small?”
Her barb had the desired effect and seemed to enrage him further. His eyes widened, and he shoved his face in hers. His breath was foul and sour, a combination of spoiled onions and garlic. She wrinkled her nose.
“Dude, you need a breath mint.”
“I’m the best gamer in the world.”
“Oh, really. I thought I held that title now.” She knew exactly who he was. He was often the last opponent she faced in tournaments, and she’d played him online a few times. “You are a sore loser.”
That earned her an openhanded slap to the face. Her head snapped to the side, and for a moment she saw stars. Randa touched her tongue to her lip. A metallic taste filled her mouth.
“You feel better about yourself now? Hitting a helpless woman who’s bested you several times?” She looked him up and down, hoping her contempt was evident. “You really are a loser.”
“We’ll see if you feel the same way after I’m done with you. I will have my title back.”
“Is that what this is about? A stupid championship title?” she injected incredulity into her voice. “Ever since you reported me and a few other real players for cheating, the company has been investigating you.”
Color drained from the other man’s face.
“Yeah. The association knew something was up when they got hacked last year.” She sat back, a smirk on her face. “They just needed to watch you. You’re not that good.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He raised a hammer. “When I’m done, you won’t be either.” He brought the tool down on her hand.
Chapter Fourteen
The high-pitched shriek was music to his ears. Reznick strolled into the dilapidated apartment building as if he owned it. Furry rodents and trash scattered beneath his footsteps. He followed the quiet sobbing and yelling to its source.
A short fat man was screaming at a beautiful brown-skinned woman tied to a chair. How Reznick loved a woman’s features transformed by pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks. He was pretty sure if she were free, she’d have cradled her hand to that magnificent set of breasts.
This woman was sexy and curvy. His cock hardened. No wonder Matteo wanted this woman for himself. Maybe before Reznick killed her, he’d use her for his own pleasure. Reznick stroked his boner. He’d start with her mouth, then work his way down. He’d use each of her holes until he had his fill of her. If he had his fill of her.
But first he had to get rid of the jackass who was doing the torturing of this woman all wrong. Reznick pulled his gun from his holster and fired. The woman blinked as blood splattered her face.
As if in slow motion, the fat guy spun to face him, his mouth open in a silent scream; then he crumpled to the floor, landing on his side. Reznick kicked him out the way and spit on his bleeding corpse.
He stopped just short of touching her. She’d ceased crying, but her eyes told the story. Pain shadowed her irises, and fear rolled from her in waves.
“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Reznick, and before I kill you, you’re going to pleasure me.” A shudder undulated her body. He wasn’t sure if it was from his statement or his face. “Does my appearance bother you?”
Slowly she shook her head.
“Good. ’Cause we’re going to spend a lot of time together.”
RANDA FORCED HERSELF to breathe, to fight the panic and pain welling with the vomit in the back of her throat. She was fine until FazFazol broke her hand, and all the while he was shouting at her, she could only focus on the pain.
Then he was shot.
Now she was staring into the disfigured face of a man Matteo described. This man’s face held several scratches, and a bruise formed above his left eye. This was the man who attacked her. She shrank back in her chair when his gaze landed on her. He sneered.
It wasn’t the hideous scar that detracted from his once-handsome features; it was his eyes.
Flat and soulless.
A shiver walked down her spine and took up residence in her stomach. She wanted no parts of this man. If she’d had a choice, she would have preferred FazFazol. With this new threat, there was no doubt she wouldn’t come out alive.
“Are you another pissed-off gamer?” She forced her words to be harsh, but they wobbled a bit.
He stroked her cheek with the still-warm barrel of the gun. She flinched.
“No. I’m a friend of Benito’s.”
Maybe she was too far gone or going into shock, but she didn’t know a Benito. The confusion must’ve shown one her face.
Reznick smiled. Only it reminded her of a hungry mako, and she was on the menu. “You know him as Matteo.” With his free hand, he threaded his fingers through her hair, yanking on the curls. “I know he will come for you, especially since I took care of the other.”
She stopped breathing. The other?
“Yes. You understand now.”
Randa jerked against her bonds. Despite the anger she felt toward her husband, she didn’t want him dead. “What did you do to him?” she screeched. “What did you do?”
“The same thing I’m going to do to you unless you cooperate.”
She glared at him. “Then kill me now, because I’ll never cooperate.”
* * * *
Matteo crossed broken concrete, pushing through the patches of hardened snow. He scanned the area as he went. On the far end was a small group, no more than three people. A woman and two men keeping warm around a fire burning in an oil drum. He watched them a moment. The woman broke away from the small huddle, staggered to a nearby wall, and cuddled next to it.
He shook his head. They wouldn’t be a problem. There were more important things for him to pursue. Thankfully he only had Randa to worry about. Destin was taking care of Melodee. Persuading his friend to watch the child for a few hours required much protesting on Destin’s end and threatening on Matteo’s part. But he needed a clear head and focus. He couldn’t do that with a child in tow.
Finding a way into the building wasn’t difficult. It was a matter of walking through a broken wall. However, listening to the screams of pain stretched his tolerance and training.
He followed the sounds to a closed door. The ancient wood hung ajar, and he nudged it open with the toe of his boot just enough to view the room. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Randa tied to a chair and even less for Reznick standing over her, holding her hand.
Not holding her hand. Squeezing it. Her fingers were at odd angles. Rage blurred his vision. It took every ounce of control he possessed to remain calm. Matteo closed his eyes and breathed deep. Randa needed him calm if he was to get her out alive.
Finding his center once more, Matteo opened his eyes. This time he surveyed the room with practiced ease. A body lay on the cement, a widening pool of blood beneath the lumpy figure.
Damn. Was that the gamer on the floor who had been harassing Randa?
Matteo edged a little closer. If he could somehow create a distraction… He spied a piece of metal about the size of a softball nearby. That was just what he needed. Matteo hefted the metal and lobbed it across the room. Reznick turned toward the sound.
Taking full advantage of the opportunity, Matteo rushed into the room and down the iron steps. At his footfalls Reznick faced him, eyes wide, but the hand holding his gun was steady.
Matteo moved until he was firmly between Randa and Reznick. If he decided to shoot, Matteo would protect Randa with his dying breath.
“So are you ready to face me?” Reznick taunted.
“Instead of you going after my loved ones?” Matteo held his gun toward the ceiling. “Why don’t we settle this like real men? Or have you forgotten how?”
Reznick sneered. “I think I can do that.”
Matteo didn’t believe him for a moment, but he had to settle this once and for all. He kept careful watch on Reznick as he lowered his weapon to the floor and placed it just beneath Randa.
“Please don’t do this. He killed Lincoln,” she pleaded. “Please.”
Matteo swallowed hard. The man already got to Lincoln? “I have to, love. We’ll walk out of here. I just have to make this right.” Matteo straightened, pausing long enough to touch her.
Reznick lowered his weapon and then kicked it away. It skidded across the floor and landed beneath a table. Matteo knew the other man had another weapon, and the fight wouldn’t be fair. That was fine with him, because this wasn’t going to be a fair fight, especially with Lincoln dead.
They circled each another. Matteo purposely moved the fight away from Randa. Reznick acted first. He rushed Matteo. Matteo sidestepped the punch and caught Reznick with a left hook.
Reznick stumbled back. He recovered, whipped around, and came at him again. Matteo almost didn’t see the glint of metal. Fire danced across his ribs as the blade grazed him.
Matteo grabbed Reznick by the wrist that held the knife, bent his arm at a forty-five-degree angle, and pulled him close. Before Reznick could drop the blade, Matteo drove the weapon deep into Reznick’s belly. Surprise widened Reznick’s eyes. Warm stickiness flowed over his hand as Matteo twisted the knife, then stepped back, pulling it free.
“You will never come after anyone’s family again,” he said as Reznick fell to his knees, clutching his belly.
Matteo knew his anatomy enough to sever the major artery in the abdomen. Reznick would bleed out before any help would arrive. Matteo wiped the bloodied knife on the man’s pocket square before walking toward Randa.
He slit the tape at her ankles, then the plastic at her wrists. She whimpered.
“I know, baby.” He examined her hand. The most alarming was the fragment of bone through her palm. “We’re gonna go to the hospital right now.”
“But Lincoln?”
Matteo retrieved his weapon, then lifted her in his arms, cradling her close. “Once I take care of you, I’ll find out about Lincoln.” He walked out of the warehouse and didn’t look back.
Sex, Lies, and Joysticks Page 13
