Highways & Hostages

by Jax Abbey

  “Stop it! You are not dumb,” Finn hissed, grabbing Stella’s flailing forearms. “And it wasn’t ketchup…it was a mixture of water, corn syrup, maple syrup, food coloring, and flour.” He ducked his head and brought his face closer to Stella’s. “I thought we were past that.”

  Stella pushed Finn away and flipped through the book. “You know what? I don’t like being a waitress, but I don’t know what I want to do with my life. And that scares me. I’ve been on this earth for twenty-eight years, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing.” Stella crossed her arms on top of the book and dropped her head on top of them.

  Finn raised a finger in the air to catch the attention of the bartender. “Two more of those fruity drinks,” he requested, gesturing at Stella’s empty hurricane glass. He grabbed the tiny umbrella from it and twirled it between his fingers.

  “Sorry,” she said, still face down. “I’m not trying to be a downer. Sometimes I get a little mopey when I drink.”

  “It’s okay,” Finn reassured her. “I got a little mopey when I watched The Notebook.”

  Stella lifted her head. “Wait a minute. You like The Beach Boys and you watched The Notebook?”

  Finn tucked the tiny umbrella behind his ear. He took Stella’s hands and stared into her eyes, his own eyes unfocused. “Do you know why I picked you, Stella…Wait, what is your last name?” he slurred.

  “Carstens,” she blurted.

  “Do you know why I picked you of all people, Stella Carstens?”

  She shook her head.

  “Because there’s something about you that I saw the first day I stepped into the Leaky Stein. You’re not just a pretty face—you’re clever and you’re funny. I know you make an impact on all the people you serve.”

  “Thanks…I really appreciate that.” Finn’s words made her feel all warm and tingly inside. She glanced down at her ring and guiltily thought of Derek worrying about her. She took her hands from Finn’s and moved her stool ever so slightly away. Two new hurricane glasses filled with frosty Mai Tai appeared on the counter in front of them. Stella grabbed one and gulped it before slamming it back on the counter. “Okay! What are we singing?”

  “Don’t you want me, baby?”

  “What?” Stella squawked. Did he really want her to answer that?

  “The song ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby?’ Let’s sing it.”

  “Oh,” Stella breathed in relief. “Sure, I love that one.”

  Finn took a large sip of his drink. “Go sign us up.”

  “Look at you! You didn’t even want to sing twenty minutes ago, and now you’re raring to go!”

  “Do it quick before I change my mind.”

  Stella got off the stool, grabbed the binder, and made her way over to the DJ. She felt like her body was operating on auto-pilot, talking and moving on its own, and she was observing everything from a distance. She spoke with him for a few moments—about what, she couldn’t say—before returning to her seat beside Finn.

  “There are two more singers before us.”

  “Great. More time for me to drink this down so I won’t remember this tomorrow.”

  Stella looked at her ring again and twisted the ruby around so it was no longer winking at her. She looked at Finn. “Let’s do this.”

  PHOEBE, 10:42 P.M.

  Shit, Phoebe thought as she walked barefoot along the street. How am I going to get back to the trailer? I don’t even know where I am. Stella’s going to kill me.

  Another woman walked down the sidewalk in Phoebe’s direction. Maybe she has a phone, Phoebe thought.

  “Hey!” she called. “Hey, could you help me?”

  The woman clutched her purse to her body, ducked her head, and power-walked past Phoebe as if she hadn’t heard her.

  Phoebe flipped the woman off and wrapped her arms around herself. The soles of her feet hurt. They were covered in shallow cuts, leaving a bloody trail behind her. She wished she’d had time to grab her shoes and purse, but when her chance to escape came, she took it. Her fishnet tights were pretty much shredded, and her short black-and-white mini-dress was dirty. She hoped the police would stop and help her get home, but with her luck, they would try and bust her for being a hooker.

  Phoebe always seemed to be getting herself into trouble. She was pretty sure that was why her parents had been so quick to let her come out to Las Vegas: They wanted a drama-free summer. But Phoebe hadn’t been looking for drama when she met Will. He had seemed like such a nice guy, and he was really cute…and he listened to her.

  All Phoebe wanted was someone to pay attention to her. Back home, her parents were so wrapped up in each other they barely gave a shit about what she did. She’d told Will her parents warned her about stranger danger, but that was years ago. These days, she was lucky if they even called out a “hi” in greeting before retreating to their home offices after a full day at work. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d all sat down together and ate dinner.

  During her spring semester, Phoebe came up with the idea of visiting Stella, in hopes of building a connection with some other member of her family. Now here she was in Vegas…and it was pretty much the same as at home: no one to talk to, no one to listen. She didn’t know what she’d expected of her older half sister. Their father rarely spoke about Stella or his life with his first wife, so all Phoebe had to go on was her imagination.

  Since Stella lived in Vegas, Phoebe thought she’d be at least a teensy bit glamorous. She imagined Stella living in a spiffy apartment in a sleek high-rise like Will’s and having a cool job—something like creating costumes for showgirls, Phoebe’s ideal job. In Phoebe’s daydreams, Stella would take her backstage and proudly introduce her to the dancers. On her days off they’d lounge by the pool and Phoebe would pour out her heart. Eventually Stella would insist she move out to Vegas and live with her.

  Instead, Phoebe arrived in Nevada to find out Stella was just a waitress in a dingy bar, lived in an even dingier trailer, and drove a crappy car. And time off? Ha! Stella worked so much there didn’t seem to be any point to owning the trailer; she pretty much lived at the bar.

  Phoebe shivered. The dry desert air was chilly. She was wearing a cardigan over the dress, but it was thin. She really wished she knew where she was going, but nothing looked familiar. She was thinking she should turn around and try the other direction when a black Escalade slowed to a crawl alongside her.

  Dammit! She knew someone was going to think she was a prostitute. She ignored the car, bowed her head, and sped up.

  A window rolled down and someone whistled in her direction. She kept her pace quick and hoped the car would move on. The whistle sounded again.

  “Phoebe?” a baritone voice called out in a French accent.

  She whipped her head up. A Hugh Jackman lookalike smiled at her from the rear window of the SUV. She’d always thought Hugh Jackman was cute for an old guy. She glanced around the sidewalk, but saw no one else.

  “How’d you know my name?”

  “We have a mutual friend.”

  Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

  “William Beckham. He wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “No way; I’m not friends with that guy. And if he was so worried—which I seriously doubt—why would he send you instead of coming himself?” She started walking again, arms folded across her chest.

  “Phoebe, just get in the car,” the man said. “Your feet have to be hurting.”

  She ignored him. Go away, she willed him. Why is this street so damn empty?

  Fake-Hugh sighed, and then she heard a sound that she’d never heard in her life before that day: a gun being cocked.

  She looked up at the sky. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Twice in one day?”

  Finn, 11:57 p.m.

  Stella and Finn held onto each other, stumbling and laughing as they made their way up the sidewalk. Finn made a show of looking both ways before yelling, “One, two, three, go!” and ba
rreling across the street.

  “Hey, wait for me!” Stella shrieked. She launched herself onto Finn’s back and kicked him in the side. “Giddy up!”

  Finn struggled up to the hotel and through the automatic doors. He saluted to Rachel, who was standing behind the front desk, mouth agape, and continued to the bank of elevators. He jabbed the “up” button. Stella reached over and hit it repeatedly.

  “That won’t make it come any faster,” Finn said, chuckling. The elevator opened and he rushed in, dumping Stella in a heap on the floor. He slid down next to her as she burst into a fit of giggles.

  The door opened on the second floor. A man wearing a hotel bathrobe and holding an empty ice bucket stood waiting. “I’ll just catch the next one.”

  After the doors closed Finn and Stella burst into hysterical laughter.

  “What is wrong with us?” Finn asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong; you’re having fun!” Stella declared. She patted Finn’s head affectionately. “And you had a lot of drinks.”

  He laid his head on Stella’s shoulder. “Whatever. You drank way more than me.”

  The elevator chimed and the doors opened onto their floor.

  Finn got back into a crouch. “Get back on.”

  He didn’t have to tell Stella twice. She leapt onto his back and he carried her to their door.

  “Alright, party animal. Where’s the room key?” she asked.

  “In my left pocket. Can you reach it?”

  Unable to see what she was doing, Stella fumbled clumsily for the card key.

  “Whoa, there! Careful with those fingers,” Finn said.

  He leaned over so Stella could insert the key card into the door. Kicking the door open, he raced to the bedroom and tried to deposit her on the mattress still scattered with rose petals. His lack of balance caused him to collapse on top of her. Finn flipped onto his stomach.

  Stella lay on her back, hair splayed across the bed and cheeks flushed. She smiled up at him. Finn’s breath caught in his chest and he sobered. She was beautiful. Closing his eyes, he slowly he brought his face down to hers—

  A fist slammed into his chest. Finn immediately burst into a coughing fit and opened his eyes in bewilderment. Stella stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  Finn felt the blood rush to his face and leapt up. He looked anywhere but at Stella. She had the magic power of being able to reduce him to his awkward, middle school self. “I just—”

  “I-I can’t. I’m getting married,” Stella said, struggling into a sitting position. She winced and clutched her head. “Oh, God, the world is spinning. Make it stop.”

  Finn was glad for the diversion. He prayed she wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. “Don’t puke on the bed,” he commanded.

  “I’m good.” Still cradling her head in one hand, Stella waved her other hand in the air.

  Tension dissipating, Finn crumpled to the floor with his back against the bed. He closed his eyes. I’m a total idiot.

  “You can’t sleep in here,” Stella murmured. “I’m sleeping in here.”

  Finn got off the floor and nodded furiously. “Yeah, cool. I’m gonna sleep on the couch. You sure you’re alright?”

  Stella waved her hand again before sinking back onto the plush mattress. “Sweet dreams, Finn.”

  TUESDAY

  ..................

  BILLY, 12:14 A.M.

  The Escalade navigated the winding path up to Christoph von Rothschild’s mansion. Billy stroked his chin and stared out the vehicle’s window. He couldn’t believe he was really doing it—he was breaking out from under his father’s thumb and Alex’s shadow. Why hadn’t he decided to jump ship earlier?

  Billy thought back to the night four months ago when Christoph approached him in the very same SUV. Billy had just completed a DJ gig at a private party. Christoph asked if he was interested in partnering together, but at the time, Billy still hoped his father would let him run part of the family business. He turned down the offer and refused to take Christoph’s card. When it became increasingly obvious his dad wasn’t going to let him do anything, and Christoph and the SUV appeared after yet another gig, Billy took the card. And now Christoph was grooming him to take over his business, The Barony. No one, including his father, was the wiser for it.

  He returned his attention to the other two bodies occupying the backseat: Von Rothschild’s new bodyguard, Marc, sat on the far side of the car. Phoebe lay slumped over her knees between them, drooling.

  He poked her in the side. No response. “You sure she’s okay?” Billy asked. Yeah, she’d burned his eyebrows off, but he didn’t want her death on his hands.

  “Chloroform. She will wake up in a matter of minutes,” Marc said. His gaze returned to the window.

  Billy sighed as the SUV slowed and stopped at the top of the hill, where a figure in a bright pink dress waited. Was that who he thought it was? Dammit, he thought. I look like shit! He ran his hands through his hair, fluffing up his faux hawk.

  Billy scrambled out of the car and Phoebe’s limp frame tipped to the side. “Claudia?”

  “Who else would it be?” said Claudia von Rothschild, Christoph’s twenty-nine-year-old daughter. The scent of jasmine crept into Billy’s nose as she enveloped him in a hug, and her straw-gold hair tickled his cheeks. He tried to remain stoic so she would see him as a man and forget about his gawky teenage years, but damn, she was hot.

  Claudia stepped back and studied Billy before arching one perfect brow. “I didn’t think things would have changed that much, but the last time I saw you, you had eyebrows.”

  Billy ran a hand across the area where his eyebrows once resided and sighed. “Yeah, that…girl burned them off. Who does that? Who wakes up in the morning and goes, ‘I’m going to burn off somebody’s eyebrows today’?”

  Claudia shrugged. “Apparently she does. I can pencil them in for you, if you’d like.”

  “That’s okay,” Billy said, blushing. He turned his back on Claudia and resisted the temptation to smack himself on the forehead. He frowned at the still sleeping Phoebe before turning around again.

  “So I guess your dad filled you in on my…situation,” Billy said.

  “Of course—why do you think I’m here? Marc, take her to the library,” Claudia ordered with a toss of her hair. She turned back to Billy and gestured to the massive front door of the house. “Shall we?”

  “I should probably check in with your dad,” Billy said, stopping in the middle of the rotunda.

  “Oh, you can do that later!” Claudia said with a dismissive wave. Billy hesitated a second before following her into the formal sitting room. She sat on the Baroque loveseat and patted the cushion next to her with an inviting smile.

  Billy sat stiffly. Be cool. Just be cool.

  “So, little Billy, the last time I saw you, you were just, what, thirteen?”

  “Fourteen. I was fourteen,” Billy quickly corrected. “And I go by Will now.”

  He flushed again, feeling like he was back in his teens, trying to keep up with the older guys. Back then he was just her boyfriend’s kid brother. Then she broke up with Alex to date Finn and all hell broke loose. But here she was, and here he was, and neither Finn nor Alex was in the picture anymore.

  “Sorry, Will. You’re right, fourteen is a big difference,” Claudia said. She shifted on the seat and regarded Billy. “I heard about Alex. How’s he doing?”

  Billy looked down and scowled. Of course she wanted to know about Alex. It always came back to Alex. “He was only grazed; it wasn’t that serious. How is New York?”

  Claudia obviously wanted to continue talking about Alex, but she obligingly answered the question, to Billy’s relief.

  “The usual. So much business comes through my little gallery that I hardly have time to visit Mother and Father,” Claudia said. “Unless it’s an emergency situation, like now.”

  “You
can thank Finn for that, and for getting Alex injured,” Billy spat. Claudia leaned forward, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

  “How is Finn?” she asked with nonchalance.

  Billy knew better. Inwardly he seethed. “I don’t want to talk about Finn,” he said, his knuckles white on the sofa arm.

  “Trouble in paradise? Is that what brought you to The Barony?”

  Billy swallowed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Something like that. Look, I should probably go see your father—”

  “William, are you tired of me already? Perhaps I’ll look at returning to New York earlier than planned. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your work here.” A lazy smile played over Claudia’s lips.

  “No!” he exclaimed. “I mean—that’s really not necessary. And besides, I’m sure your dad is excited to have you home.” He shot up from the loveseat. “Actually, I’m going to see if there’s anything he needs me to do.”

  Claudia remained seated and shrugged one flawless shoulder. “Do what you have to.” She plucked an imaginary piece of lint from her dress.

  Billy started to exit the room, but quickly retraced his steps and turned back to her. “While you’re here, do you want to, uh, do something sometime?”

  Claudia gave him a knowing smile and reclined on the couch, crossing her legs. “Sure, Bi—Will. As long as you let me pencil in those brows.”

  Billy narrowed his eyes as he stalked from the room. How long was Claudia going to make fun of him? He was starting to rethink his stance on killing Phoebe. But wait a minute—she’d said yes! Billy spun on his heel and popped back into the room.

  “Okay,” he said, trying his hardest to contain a celebratory fist pump until he was out of sight.

  PHOEBE, 1:58 A.M.

  Phoebe awoke groggy and dry-mouthed. She attempted to stretch, but found her arms were restrained behind her back with chafing plastic zip ties. She tried to move her legs, but they were strapped to the chair she was sitting in. Okay, at least she knew one thing: She was tied to a chair. Again.