Die for Me

by Nichole Severn

Despite Mr. Banvard’s heroic actions in stopping one of the nation’s most notorious serial killers, his record speaks for itself.

  Pleading guilty to all counts made things easy. Time, for example, passed in a blur. There’d been the initial arrest, booking, trial. His lawyer wanted to file an appeal after the verdict came through, but Taigen put an end to that before it’d even started.

  Seven years.

  A small price to pay for his crimes.

  There were ways to get around it. He could escape. He could kill all the guards on the bus heading for Pelican Bay. He could do a lot of things to ensure his freedom, but one thing kept him in his seat: he had no reason to fight.

  Bound by the wrists and legs, Taigen knew prison was where he belonged.

  It was a long ride to Del Norte County. He had hours ahead of him to relive the past month, remember the feel of Torrhent’s skin, his sister’s dead eyes, and the fact Isaac Rutler would finally pay for ruining his stepdaughter’s life. But to what end?

  “Anderson,” a guard recited from a list in his hand. Roll call.

  “Yeah.”

  “Apollo.”

  No answer.

  “Apollo!”

  “I heard you,” the inmate snapped.

  “Banvard.”

  Taigen raised his hand, the cuffs twinkling in the sunlight coming through the windows. It was official: he was an inmate, a name on a list who wouldn’t be allowed to open his own doors for the next eighty-four months. Seventy with good behavior.

  He stared out the window, studying the city as it passed. The guard’s voice bled into the background noise of the bus, inmates’ calls becoming almost whispers as he relived the same memory over and over. The night he danced with Torrhent had been one of the best in his life. It’d fade over time. Soon he wouldn’t be able to remember what she wore, how long her hair had been or even the name of the bar. Perhaps even what she looked like.

  The right side of the bus sank into a pothole in the road, pushing Taigen out of his seat for a moment from the impact. A large boom echoed through the cabin.

  “What the hell was that?” the guard asked the driver. He’d almost been knocked over from the incident.

  “Pothole. Got a flat tire.” The driver pulled the bus over slowly, the one guard ridding himself of the roll call in favor of a shotgun. The driver made sure the gate separating him and the inmates was secure then opened the bus door and stepped outside.

  “Listen here,” he said. “Any of you so much as wipes your nose, we’re going to have a problem. Understand?” Georgian accent.

  Gun lovers. Taigen’s eyes never left the window. He’d enjoy one last look at the city as long as he could.

  His gut twisted with the sight of five armed men, faces covered, running toward the bus from all sides.

  Ambush.

  The flat tire hadn’t been an accident, but a way to get the bus right where they wanted it.

  Taigen knew exactly what they wanted. He kept his breathing even, his eyes straight ahead. The first shots sounded muffled. Odd. They didn’t sound like bullets. The driver went down, his arms poking around the bumper of the bus. In a few seconds, they’d overtake it completely.

  And Taigen didn’t care.

  They’d take him. Hold him hostage. But no ransom would be asked for. No one would know he was gone. It would be easy. Better. He wouldn’t rot in a cell.

  The first of the men with ski masks stepped onto the bus, gun raised, ready to shoot. He was small, not the usual body type of a killer. “On your knees,” he said to the guard. A mouthpiece under the mask distorted his voice.

  The guard did as he was told.

  “Now, push the gun toward me.”

  The shotgun landed at his feet.

  Taigen hadn’t moved, but he had a feeling he didn’t need to. Outside, men surrounded the bus, their guns raised at innocent onlookers. That, he had a problem with. They had nothing to do with this. He addressed the gunman. “Take what you want and leave.”

  Their gazes connected, but nothing happened. No sparks, no recognition.

  The barrel of the gun made its way directly toward his chest. “Sounds like you want to be a hero,” the distorted voice said. The gunman lifted his weapon slightly. “Stand up, hero.”

  He stood, the chains wrapped around his feet, hands, and waist rattling in the silence. The gun stayed with him as he moved.

  “Out the door.”

  He took small steps, getting glimpses of his kidnapper as he passed. No. Nothing familiar about him. Taigen passed the guard on his knees, hands behind his head, and realized the man would probably try something foolish. He tried to signal the guard to stay down, but the opportunity had already passed.

  Suddenly, the gun shifted toward the guard’s head. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Blue eyes darted back to Taigen. “I said out the door.”

  He was followed down the rest of the bus aisle. He took the steps one at a time, squinting into the sun as his feet hit the pavement. It’d most likely be the last sunset he saw.

  The others were there, their guns at the ready and fixed on him.

  “Where to, fellas?” he asked.

  The gunman from the bus was at his back, but another stepped forward with the driver’s keys in hand.

  Taigen held out his wrists as the second man, even smaller than the first, relieved him of his cuffs. After a second, the chains clattered to the ground.

  The second of five gunmen stood in front of him, their gazes connecting. These eyes were gray. And familiar. “What’s England like this time of year?” she asked.

  “Seventy degrees, rainy.” He stepped into her, wedging his index finger under the ski mask. Taigen forced it over her head and let his fingers linger on Torrhent’s jawline. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. He didn’t know how he’d lived a month without her or could ever forget her perfect features. “I assume you’ve thought this through?”

  She dropped an open duffle bag at his feet. The money inside was more than enough to live on for years, but it was the IDs on the top that’d keep them safe. Torrhent smiled up at him, her head tilting to one side. “I’ve been planning it all along.”

  The button-down shirt she wore dipped between her breasts, revealing the top of a pink mound of scare tissue. He placed a hand there lightly, afraid to hurt her. The bullet in his own chest seemed to resonate with the touch. He scoffed sadly. “A souvenir.”

  “Yes, but unlike the one in your chest”—she reciprocated the gesture—“this bullet saved my life.”

  “Because of Nicholas.”

  “Lucky for me, his need for redemption surpassed his loyalty for Isaac.”

  “Last time I saw him, Agent Trullio had his hands behind his back.”

  Torrhent’s gray eyes saddened for a split second. She’d tried to hide it, but she’d never been a good liar. “I think it’s what he wanted. He wants to pay for what he’s done in honor of my mother.”

  For the first time in months, a smile pulled at one edge of his mouth. “Tell me, how did you get the upper hand over Isaac and Adelaide?”

  Her eyes brightened considerably with mischief. “I took a page from your book. I hid a gun before I went in.”

  Torrhent leaned into him, her lips grazing his. “By the way”—she wrapped her arms around his neck, speaking against his lips—“you still owe me five thousand dollars.”

  About the Author

  As a thriller and romance writer, Nichole Severn fills her stories with edge-of-your-seat suspense, psychological trauma, and bad guys readers love to hate. She graduated with a degree in psychology from Utah Valley University, which stemmed from her obsession with serial killers, and is currently seeking her bachelor's degree in English Literature. The obsession with serial killers has toned down . . . a little.

  She resides with her very supportive and patient husband in Las Vegas, where she enjoys running, rock climbing, snowboarding, and watching action movies.

 
Nichole can be contacted through her website at www.nicholesevern.com, via email at nichole@nicholesevern.com, and at Twitter at @nicholesevern or on Facebook.