by JR King
Sara gave me a thumbs-up, finishing her drink to order another round. I rolled off toward the ladies room. Of course it was packed to the gills, but the corridor was cool and relatively quiet so I could breathe easier here. I joined the line. It didn’t move forward, and I sank back against the wall. I felt like a tube-dwelling anemone, with tentacles streaming in a gentle current. When I returned to the table, I didn’t need to know what had happened to know what had happened. Some guy had hit on some other guy’s girlfriend a little too hard. I could see they were jock types, with sinewy upper body dressed in expensive suits. One landed a right cross to the other one’s chin, so it was time to go. Just as we waved at a vacant cab waiting at a red light, Michael’s driver stopped before us. He dropped us off at some fancy estate in Cambridge. Close to midnight, I was queuing for the second time. From the Coach croc-embossed leather wristlet, I pulled out my iPhone to keep me entertained while the queue inched along. I played Cash Machine for about two minutes before I got fed up with the messy rows. Such a stupid, stupid game. It didn’t even work properly, there was nothing foolproof and aleatory about it. How was I supposed to trigger combos if all I got was 5-dollar bills?
And, I wasn’t even close to the bathroom door. I didn’t know what was going on, but it was taking forever. Tapping my foot, I glanced down at my phone, and, in a sudden spike of alcohol-fueled bravery, decided that now would be the perfect time to teach Alexander a lesson. The thought of taunting him crazed me. His number was already stored on my iPhone, after all, and this would be more fun than writing a Dear Jane brush-off. What could go wrong?
Clearly he hadn’t been expecting my call, picking up on the fifth ring, sounding mighty surprised. “Elena?”
My name on his lips shot a sick thrill straight to my sex. The last time we’d spoken on the phone, we were all breathy and sated. I shivered but shook the image off.
“Elena, baby, is everything okay? What would you have me do for you? What’s going on?”
Why do you care? Whatever. I had more important things to deal with.
“I’m in NYC. How’s Barbados?”
“Dunno. H-haven’t been this year.”
“Are you alone in Boston?”
My voice shook with contained excitement as I said, “Everrrything’s coming up roses, Mr. Turner. I…just called to s-say goodbye.”
“How long have you been drinking?” His tone was sure and controlling, just what I’d expected from him.
“That’sss r-rich, coming from you. You…you are the malefactor, a…a miserable excuse of a man, a…a corrupting influence that led me astray in life. Shot to hell m-my relationship with…Mitch.”
“Your voice sounds fubar, Elena. Tell me what you drank!” His razor-sharp timbre was menacing.
“Who do you think you are? My father?” Yeah, this fella might be a coldblooded murderer too.
“Where are you?”
“I’m leaving. Bye,” I squeaked.
“Where, Elena? Where are you going? I swear, when push comes to shove—,”
“Why would push come to shove?”
“Where are you going?” His voice was even sharper as he epitomized the overbearing father type.
I didn’t answer for a moment, but he kept repeating to give him a blow-by-blow account, more commandingly, and I couldn’t be bothered to lie. He was in NYC, probably cruising Manhattan with some skank who had a Locust Valley lockjaw. What could he do about it? Nothing. It’s not like he’d cut his trip short and hightail it home. “I think I’ll go to LA…tired of the cold weather…some sun might be nice,” I crooned softly, giggling all by myself. One thing’s certain, I was loving every second of toying with him.
The bone-rattling silence at the other end of the phone was long, knocking me off my game. You can only hold up a phone against your ear without speaking for so long. The line was moving, so I hung up. Within two minutes, I had access to a palatial powder room. I pulled up the hem of my dress and mused that Alexander might have shit-farted on himself, ruining his ten-thousand-dollar suit. Took him to the cleaners, didn’t I? Shit happens. The thought struck me as extremely funny and I cracked up, leaning over with my hair dangling over my face. My head was light and staticky-feeling. I felt like doing a dance, with stunts, jumps, cartwheels, the whole shebang.
While washing my hands, I pulled a victory face at myself in the mirror, then elbowed my way back to the common room. Sara was waiting for me.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, offering me a glass of ice-cold water as I approached. If she was drunk, it didn’t show. Sara, unlike me, had an iron constitution when it came to alcohol.
“In the line for the restroom,” I answered, slurping a mouthful of water. The noise and warmth of the room were getting to me after the relative peace of the restroom corridor. There were far too many people leering at us, their loud laughter echoing about, the lights streaky rainbows and glittery. It felt like being underwater and looking up, everything seemed distant yet close.
“Let’s get you sober.” She placed a hand on my shoulder.
“What would I do without you?”
She spiraled her hands downward, hooking her fingers on my skinny belt. “Stand straight. You’ll be fine, sweetie,” she told me with a dazzling smile.
Due to the steady withering of my shell, I went outside for a walk during the countdown. I wanted to feel the pleasant coolness of the new year of my face. Not everyone was carousing, there were traffic noises, a bleating of a car horns smeared by, and a warm breath—coming out in shaky plumes of steam—covered my face. “I’m cheating on her, baby girl.”
That was a sobering statement. Whenever Michael surprised me, it was with the deft touch of a wrecking ball. Felt like I’d just consumed ten double-espressos.
“I keep messing up. I think she knows. Guys who are unhappy campers and cheat emit this pheromone, not to mention the guilty attitude, going to great lengths to please their girlfriends. What now?”
“Bang-up job, Mike. I need to arrange for a town car to drive me to the airport. Don’t need an asshole like you to assist me.”
“Please don’t hate me.”
His pain hit me between the eyes, making me tear up.
“Holy fucking shitballs. Don’t cry.”
Michael and I danced until I felt exhausted, weariness wrapping itself around me like a heavy blanket. A brand new year, and when the crush of bodies on the dance floor grew thicker, I went in search of Sara. By telling her she needed to have a serious talk with Michael, I’d done my duty.
I felt stuck.
I wished Alexander were here. In spite of what I felt, a tidal wave of disappointment crushing me, I smiled and made it look like I was having a good time. Michael called a service for Sara and me. When I stumbled through my front door, unadulterated peace flooded in. I poured myself a glass of champagne, drank it in a few long gulps, poured myself a second glass, drank it promptly, and poured another one. Horny doesn’t begin to cover what I felt.
Only when my flute didn’t refill, did I notice the bottle was empty. My world tilted crazily when I rushed toward the Vinotemp wine cooler.
“Fuck, I need to pace myself.” I was pleasantly buzzed. It was rare that I drank this much at home. I opened a bottle of red wine. Achával Ferrer. Exotic name, strong bodied, perfect for an adult movie companion.
Elena Anderson
The Kidnapping
I bolted up on the couch, and my eyes flew open. I looked around wildly. Early morning light streamed through the windows. A new year had begun. My eyes felt sticky and crusty, my heart raced, and my mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.
I groaned as I read the time on a wall clock: 5:38. However ham-fisted, my attempt to stand worked, and the safest course of action was to sleep the rest of it off. I grabbed a small bottle of chilled water then zigzagged my way to the bathroom and shook two Tylenol from a container in my medicine cabinet. After swallowing the drugs and mouthfuls of water, I pressed the cold
bottle to my forehead and waited for the relief. When I felt remotely human again, I slipped under the covers. An hour later, when I hung my head and allowed the hot water to soak me to the bone, I was my old self again.
On the way to the airport, the town car’s tire blew. We’ll stop by an underground garage to switch cars, the driver told me, assuring me I wouldn’t miss my flight. I dabbed on a little more lip-gloss and started working the auction house via the WoW Armory app on my iPhone. My stacks of cloth, leather, and herbs hadn’t sold at all. I was 45k gold short for a rare dragon mount, depressing news really.
Just as the driver cut off the ignition, my door flung open and a large arm dragged me out. Before I could scream, a hand covered my mouth. “Be quiet.” All I saw was that the hand’s owner had a string of hair that hung on an angle like a guillotine blade across his forehead.
Another man said, “Won’t you please come with us, Miss?” I could only distinguish a looming figure, the man’s face lurked in the dense shadow of the dank garage.
“My name’s Robert,” he began, walking toward me. A charcoal suit that was bespoke cloaked his muscular body, his wavy black hair tamed by a precision cut. His voice, as he slowly reiterated the words, had a comforting tone, but I still lashed out when he grabbed me by the arm. He was bald, his mouth a hard line, jaws well-sculpted, thick eyebrows slanting across his brow. Even with an elfin sprinkle of freckles, a supercilious aura swathed him.
I was released, and my rage erupted. “How dare you! What on earth do you think you’re doing?” The impact of my palm meeting with Robert’s cheekbone as I slapped him was brutally painful. It left my hand ringing, and my offender fuming.
“If you think you’re going to treat me like that, even for a second—,”
My shoulders hitched, but, not wanting to show weakness, I didn’t waver. I wasn’t spineless, I shrieked and went for another slap, only to have my wounded wrist twisted painfully behind my back as he brought his mouth to my ear. “Have fun sleeping in a locked suite,” he stated simply, then pushed me inside the limo.
I stumbled onto the lush leather, and as soon as he shut the door, I started banging on the window. Then I realized I could try to break it with my stiletto heel. The first strike didn’t even scratch the window. Before I could strike again, the door opened, and the same man who’d grabbed me the first time held out a small syringe with a smile, as if offering me tasty candy. “Your choice, honey.”
I curbed my violent urge to hit him. “Don’t drug me.”
“Will you comport yourself with grace?”
I nodded, watched the door close, but not before hearing another man say something in Polish, or Russian…or shit! Russian Mafia meant human trafficking.
Where were Alexander’s men when you needed them?
The Bentley, I noted, smelled unmistakably new. Thick glass, bulletproof perhaps, the leather felt warm, heat was flowering all over me, diminishing the sparkle of alertness within me. I swallowed to wet my arid throat. Debating what to do, I opened my mouth and let the air escape from my lungs in one silent exhalation. I breathed in again as shallowly as possible. In the terror-stricken moment, my pulse had quickened and my knees felt like wet rope. I squeezed my eyes painfully together, hoping this would help ward off the nightmare. Bagging out on my grandparents was bad enough…and now this?
I’m not going to dwell on these murderous thoughts, I decided. The first thing I did was searching my surroundings for objects I could macgyver into a weapon. I’d never shown interest in martial arts; this was the first time I regretted that. I may punch like a five-year-old, but I was pretty good with a 9mm semi-automatic and a sharp kitchen knife.
I went over the value of watching crime shows. One by one I took stock of the basics. It’s a good sign if criminals wear masks and don’t want you to see them because it means they have the intention of releasing you. This was bad news. I could still give them a fight. A kick in the shin, or an elbow to the gut, or stab them with something. With something sharp that would end up affecting them—force them to seek medical care—before it was too late. Even if my chances were low, I had to make the best of it because I refused to be lulled into complacency. Angry people dig their own graves faster, throwing a fit or crying would be detrimental.
No longer on the horns of a dilemma, my courage ratcheted up, my fists clenching in determination. I upended my purse, and a deluge of makeup clattered into an uninstructed concert at my feet. My phone was out of service. In one quick move, my stiletto heel shattered the mirror of the Dior compact.
Driving down Beacon Street, the car swiftly entered a private garage. By the time the car door opened again, my fear had ebbed, anger replacing it.
“We’re switching limos,” Robert told me.
Here goes nothing. Raising my shoulders, I swung to my feet, stood straight, and took a deep breath. Putting one foot in front of the other, in no time the slick and loud clicks of my heels found themselves walking onto a warpath. Deadly armed with new-hatched courage and a mirror shard.
Right beside a black sedan, Robert twisted his hands together. “Step in.”
I readjusted the shoulder strap of my bag to loop in an elegant slouch from my shoulders. Balling my fist, I took careful aim and slammed it down as hard as my strength allowed, on his gut. Even though I had put all my muscle into it, there was no immediate reaction. He didn’t budge an inch, gasped, and before he could retaliate, I reached for the shard in one of the eight unzippered pockets of my Michael Kors bag. With much deliberation, I slashed the back of his hand open.
Correction, I tried slashing the back of his hand. Either it was a difficult task, or I’d made a namby-pamby move, because his skin had only split in a shallow cut. For a second I wished I had experience in cutting people. When a thin stripe of blood welled up, flowering along the line of the incision, I couldn’t contain myself. “Oh God. What have I done?” The mirror shard sounded like a stainless steel pencil when I dropped it on the floor. Yep, I was that idiot you saw in movies. Escape Planning 101: Don’t ever drop your damn weapon. I was that stupid girl; the girl everyone hated in the horror movies. The girl who opened the door without identifying who was knocking, the girl who tripped over her own feet when she was running, the girl who dropped her weapon…the girl who was usually killed at the beginning.
Robert roared. I squealed at the fist he raised in the air. He quickly dropped his hand in his lap and looked away from me. His colleague turned his palm open like are you stupid or what? and clasped my arm as he tugged me along. My bag was confiscated. “Stand still.”
One moment later, Robert reappeared with a tourniquet around his hand. He gave me a calm look and reached into his jacket pocket. I saw the object in his hand and immediately the facts hit me. “This is remote controlled, has a GPS chip, and live current, so don’t get any ideas.”
I did a double take. Was I remotely hallucinating?
It took me a nanosecond to assess the situation.
Electric collar.
I was going to be sold.
“Please get that thing away from me! I will behave, I swear!” I was thrashing wildly, not caring that a grip was tightening around my throat.
He eyed me diligently. “I’m done. If I have to call one of my men to hold you, I’ll press the button until you pass out, Miss.”
I stilled, my chest heaving, my eyes wet with tears. He collared me and I was powerless to stop him. I hated feeling this powerless, but the thought of being unconscious around these men disgusted me more, so I exuded strength.
I stared up at him while he brushed my hair out of the way and fit the slender ring around my neck. “Doesn’t hurt, it’s nothing,” he murmured, the click of the electronic lock behind me making basic nonsense of his statement. It’s something! I could feel tears escaping me, running down my chin and over the collar. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted the device and my face dry, testing the fit with his finger. “Fear not, I would never harm you. Orders have changed
, I must drive you myself.”
With a confident jut of the chin, I softly asked him, “Do I have to wear this? I promise I won’t try anything.”
“It’s just for the drive. Only his fingerprint can undo the lock. He will remove it and explain the rules.”
The silver band felt like cool acid against my throat. I took a deep breath and met his gaze. “Who is he? You’re Russian, aren’t you?”
“I sure am.” He said this low with a glottal quality, a smattering of an accent, and strolled past the limo. Amid a dozen of expensive cars, the taillights on an Audi SUV blinked. He reached for the passenger side door, motioned me to get in, and waited. It seemed impossible, my hands curled into fists as I fumed. I wasn’t going to step inside that car of my own volition. I was in no hurry, dragging it on longer and longer until I heard a quiet, “Get in.”
“Please don’t do this. Don’t you have a sister? Or a little girl—,”
Suddenly the earth felt otherworldly, as if a cable carrying a thousand volts of the universe was plugged into the nape of my neck, shockwaves of electricity coursing through me.
“Need another one, Miss?” Robert’s lips curled into an obnoxious sneer. “Start moving!”
I jerked my chin back up and stepped toward the car with all the dignity I could gather. Robert waited for me to settle in and situate myself before closing the door softly, smilingly, as if we were on our way to the movies or a night on the town.
He got in on his side, brusquely saying, “Put your seatbelt on.”
I did. The car started, and then we were on the road. I took in the comfy interior before staring out the window. A handful of overachieving fitness types jogged around the block. Someplace far away I heard sharp, shrill laughter, and it occurred to me that people were living their lives, going about their day, completely oblivious to this kidnapper sitting regally beside me, driving a car like a gentleman on a date. I tried to concentrate on a point in the sky, a cloud, crisscrossing contrails—anything really. Looking at the receding sight in the wing mirror, I wondered if I’d ever see the city again. Here I was, hurtling out of it at sixty miles an hour. I shrunk down into the leather upholstery and laid my head against the headrest. Robert said nothing as we egressed the city. On the highway, he started whipping past other drivers like the wind, reminding me of Ian.
