Turn On A Dime - Blane's Turn (The Kathleen Turner Series)

by Snow, Tiffany

  Blane didn’t see another way out, not if he wanted to rescue Kathleen. He released his hold on the gun, letting it dangle from his finger. One of the thugs took it from him.

  “Let’s go.” One of the guys gave Blane a shove.

  Blane followed Frank to the car waiting outside. He slid into the back, one of the guys sitting next to him while the other drove. Frank sat in the front with the driver. They drove for a while until they pulled up in front of a building.

  “What’s this?” Blane asked. “Where are we?” No one answered. The guy got out of the car and motioned for Blane to get out, too.

  Stepping onto the pavement, Blane realized they were at TecSol. The parking lot behind the building was deserted. A few scattered lamp poles cast flickering fluorescent pools of light in the darkness. Their buzzing was a low thrum of sound in the silent lot. Blane looked over at Frank and gestured to the building, which looked forbidding at this hour, the glass circling the first floor opaque. “Is Kathleen in there?”

  “The girl’s dead, Kirk,” Frank said. “Or at least, she will be by morning.”

  Shock went through Blane, followed quickly by rage. He flew at Frank, wrapping his hands around his thick neck.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he snarled. “You told me she was alive!”

  The two thugs grabbed Blane’s arms, pulling him off Frank. A fist slammed into Blane’s side and he grunted in pain before spinning around to take them on. One had a knife and Blane dove at him first. They grappled as they fought, the knife slicing through Blane’s shirt to his chest. The other guy came at Blane from behind. Blane kicked out, nailing the guy in the knee and he dropped.

  A blinding pain in the back of his head made his legs give out. Blane fell to his knees, realizing Frank had hit him with the butt of his own gun. Blackness edged his vision, but he fought it. The guy Blane had nailed in the knee hobbled over and grabbed his arms, wrapping a long cord around his wrists to bind him. Then he hauled back and punched Blane in the face. Once, twice. By the third time, blood filled Blane’s mouth and he spat it out, the concrete lot swimming in his vision.

  “What a tough guy,” Blane mocked. “Bet you gotta tie up your women first, too, so they don’t get away, right? Oh wait, I bet girls aren’t your thing.”

  Blane braced himself for the guy’s retaliation, which came in the form of more punishing blows to his face and torso. Finally, blessedly, he couldn’t remain conscious and slipped into oblivion.

  Seventeen Years Ago

  They came in the middle of the night, dragging Kade from his bed kicking and yelling. He fought them, biting and scratching, until one of them got pissed and slammed his fist into Kade’s jaw. Kade went limp, unable to fight as pain ricocheted through his head.

  “Grab the kid,” one of them said, and Kade was picked up and tucked under someone’s arm, his feet dragging on the carpeted hallway.

  By the time they got to the bottom of the stairs, Kade had shaken off the pain and was fighting again.

  “Let me go, you sonofabitch!” His yelling didn’t seem to have an effect on the guy carrying him, though he finally dropped Kade to the ground. Kade scrambled to his feet and froze.

  They had Blane.

  He was on his knees and blood dripped onto his bare chest from his nose and mouth. One eyebrow was split, more blood streaking down the side of his face. Willie stood behind Blane, a gun pointed to the back of his head.

  The sound of shattering wood and glass came from the den and Kade realized they were wrecking the house. A guy emerged from the den, baseball bat in hand. He grinned at Kade, then walked past toward the kitchen. A moment later, a cacophony of ceramic and glass breaking filled the house.

  “So you try to threaten me, sugar daddy, you see what I do?” Willie said. “I don’t take shit from nobody.” He nodded at one of the guys standing next to Blane, who hauled back and punched Blane again in the face.

  Aghast, Kade ran forward, only to be hooked around the waist and stopped by the guy who’d carried him down the stairs.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. He grabbed Kade’s arm and twisted it behind his back until Kade bit the inside of his lip to keep from making a sound. “You’re a tough little dude, aren’t ya.”

  Blane’s face had been impassive before, even with the beating, but now Kade saw fear in his eyes.

  “What do you want, Willie?” Blane asked, his eyes on Kade. “You want money? Is that what this is about?”

  “Fuck that,” Willie scoffed. “This is about respect, and me teaching you a lesson.” He nodded again and the guy slammed another fist into Blane.

  Kade felt like he couldn’t breathe. Panic and terror for Blane clawed at him. Blane was still upright, though he swayed a little.

  The guy holding Kade’s arm twisted it higher until tears stung Kade’s eyes and he tasted blood from biting his lip so hard.

  “Stop!” Blane shouted. “C’mon, Willie, don’t be a dick. Take the money. Leave the kid alone.” The desperation in his eyes as he watched Kade belied the calm command in his voice.

  “Fuck you,” Willie said.

  To Kade’s horror, he hauled back and slammed the butt of his gun against the back of Blane’s head. The sickening crack of metal against bone could be heard even over the sound of what they were doing to Blane’s house. Blane slumped forward on the floor and didn’t move.

  Kade screamed in rage and anguish. Tears streamed down his cheeks but he didn’t notice. Ignoring the pain, he fought against the man holding him until his arm was wrenched higher and a blinding pain went through his shoulder.

  The guy let him go and Kade collapsed to the floor. His arm hung useless but he crawled forward to where Blane lay and laid a hand on his back.

  “Blane, wake up,” he croaked through his tears, pushing at Blane’s body. Blane didn’t respond. “Please, you’ve gotta wake up!” It was terrifyingly reminiscent of when he’d spent hours trying to wake his mother. “Wake up!” But Blane didn’t move.

  A moment later, they seized Kade’s injured arm, dragging him to his feet. Kade screamed in pain, then everything went dark.

  Consciousness came slowly to Blane, and with it, pain. He groaned as he sat up. His nose wasn’t broken, but a couple of teeth were loose and his left eye was matted with blood.

  Kade.

  Blane jerked around, praying he wouldn’t see Kade dead on the floor. To his relief, the place was empty. They’d taken him, but at least he was alive. Hopefully.

  Gritting his teeth, Blane pushed himself to his feet. Stepping carefully through the broken glass that littered the floor, Blane climbed the stairs. Several of the spindles in the banister had been damaged and broken. His bedroom had been trashed, too, but Blane didn’t care. All he could think about was Kade.

  Was he okay? No doubt he was scared. Were they hurting him?

  Those thoughts and worse tormented Blane as he cleaned himself up, popped some pain medicine, and pulled on clothes. The fury he felt was ice cold. That bastard had invaded his home, hurt him and his brother, then taken Kade.

  Blane was going to find Kade and make Willie pay. And if something happened to Blane in the process, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t stop until Kade was safe again, no matter what it took.

  Unlocking the gun cabinet downstairs, Blane removed the 9 mm Glock inside, checking its magazine was loaded and grabbing two more magazines that he put in his pockets. Throwing a jacket on to conceal the weapon lodged in the back of his jeans, he grabbed his keys and was out the door. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as he headed downtown.

  It took Blane the better part of the day to track down the teenage boy he’d spoken to months ago when Kade had run away. Finally, Blane spotted a young kid and followed him to a back alley already cloaked in the gloomy darkness of nightfall.

  Blane stuck to the shadows until he saw the teen that he sought.

  “Kid,” he said. “Remember me?”

  The teenager looked wary as Blan
e approached, but he nodded.

  “Whaddya want?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for Willie,” Blane said.

  The kid was already shaking his head. “Can’t help you.”

  “Bullshit.” Blane grabbed the kid, shoving him up against the brick wall. “Tell me where I can find him.”

  “I don’t want no trouble with him,” the kid protested. “Ain’t nobody that’ll go up against Willie.”

  “I will,” Blane said. “Now I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t help me. He has someone I’m looking for and I won’t quit until I find him.”

  The kid’s lips pressed together and Blane shoved him harder against the wall, desperation making him ignore his twinge of conscience.

  “Alright, alright!” the kid said, caving. “I don’t know where Willie is, but I know the kid you’re looking for. Dark hair, blue eyes, about ten, right?”

  Blane’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Where is he?”

  The kid looked a little sad as he said, “Willie’s already got him workin. They usually use the motel over off Pine Street.”

  Blane’s stomach fell to his knees. “Motel?” he repeated, praying he’d misheard.

  “Yeah, man,” the kid shrugged. “There’s good money in kids his age.”

  Blane thought he might vomit. Swallowing down the bile in his throat, he gave the kid a nod.

  Kade was hungry. Willie had refused to give him any food today, as “punishment” for what he’d done. His shoulder still ached though it was back in its socket.

  Now he sat in the cheap motel room, waiting. He knew what was coming, knew exactly what work Willie would have him do. He tried not to think about it.

  The motel room smelled of mildew. The carpet was stained in several spots, the cover on the bed in the same condition. Police sirens screamed in the distance and a television could be heard through the paper thin walls.

  The door opened. Kade looked up, fear lapping at him despite his attempts to stay calm. Blane was dead, and even if he wasn’t, he was never going to find Kade. Why would he want to? Look at what had happened to him because of Kade. He’d been beat up, his home nearly destroyed, and for what? Kade wasn’t worth going through that shit.

  A man walked in, maybe in his forties, Kade guessed. Oddly, he was wearing a suit. It was rumpled, the shirt and jacket straining over a soft belly. His face was bloated, his eyes shifty, and when they landed on Kade, became greedy.

  “Hey, kid,” the guy said, closing the door.

  Kade didn’t respond. His hands were clenched in fists as he fought the urge to run. Running would do nothing but get him beaten. Willie said if he was good and behaved, he’d let him eat.

  Afterwards.

  “You’re a quiet one,” the man continued when Kade was silent. He approached where Kade sat in a cheap wooden chair. “That’s okay. You don’t need to talk.” He reached forward and Kade didn’t stop him as he pulled Kade’s too large T-shirt over his head.

  There was a place Kade liked to go inside his head when he didn’t want to deal with the world around him. It was with his mom, a park they used to go to when she was alive. It was in the inner city and had been vandalized a lot, but there was usually a swing or two that still worked. She’d put him in one and push him, higher and higher, the wind in his hair and the sun shining. She’d laugh and call him her little prince.

  The place was different this time. It was Blane’s backyard. They were tossing the baseball back and forth, sunlight streaming through the leaves in the trees. Gerard was grilling, the smell drifting over the lawn to them. Birds sang and Blane laughed at something Kade said.

  “Kade! Kade!”

  Kade blinked once, twice, pulling himself with effort from the fantasy.

  He was laying on the bed now, his pants around his ankles. The guy was on the floor, out cold, and Blane stood over him.

  Shame washed over him and Kade scrambled away from Blane, yanking at his pants. Blane sat on the bed and reached for Kade, helping him pull his pants back up. When he was finally covered, he forced himself to look up at Blane.

  “Thank God I found you,” Blane choked out. His eyes were wet, bruises darkening his face from the abuse he’d taken last night.

  Kade couldn’t keep the sob in his chest bottled up. He threw himself at Blane, who wrapped him in his arms.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Blane murmured.

  Kade’s skin was ice cold, his small chest heaving as he cried. Blane could feel the pockmarks on his back from the cigarette burns, reminding him of how much he’d already failed Kade in his young life.

  It felt good to finally hold him, comfort him. As much as he’d been through, Kade was still a child and now, more than ever, Blane felt the nearly overwhelming responsibility to protect him, take care of him.

  When Kade had calmed down, Blane grabbed the discarded T-shirt and slipped it over his head. He took off the jacket he wore and put that on Kade, too.

  “Let’s go home,” he said.

  Kade reached for Blane’s hand, slipping his palm inside Blane’s as they stepped over the guy on the floor. It had taken all Blane had not to kill the guy when he’d walked in the door and seen him touching Kade.

  Two men were waiting in the parking lot. Willie was one of them.

  Blane pulled his gun, pushing Kade behind him and out of the line of fire.

  “Get out of the way, Willie,” Blane said, then shrugged. “Or don’t. I’ll be glad to put a bullet in you.”

  Kade yelled, but it was too late. A third guy had approached from the back, slamming a pipe into Blane’s side. The blow was enough to crack a rib and Blane fell, the gun dropping from his hand. The guy struck again, the pipe slamming down on Blane and he grunted in pain.

  A gunshot rang out, freezing the guy with the pipe, and he fell heavily on top of Blane. Behind him, Blane could see Kade, holding his smoking gun.

  “You hurt my brother,” Kade said to Willie. The gun was steady and leveled at him.

  The guy next to Willie turned and ran. Kade ignored him.

  “Hey, Kade, I was just lookin out for you,” Willie stammered. His gaze was locked on the gun and he swallowed.

  “Give me the gun, Kade,” Blane said, shoving the dead body off him. He sat up slowly, watching Kade. The sobbing child from earlier was gone. The look on his face now was empty of emotion, his eyes cold.

  “He won’t leave us alone,” Kade said, his eyes still on Willie. “He’ll try again. He was going to let that guy kill you a second ago.”

  “I swear, this is the end,” Willie said. His throat moved as he swallowed. “Me and you, we’re square.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kade said, and before Blane could say another word or reach for him, the gun barked again and Willie fell back onto the concrete. “Now we’re square.”

  The stark efficiency of Kade’s actions made Blane’s blood turn cold, but Kade seemed unaffected as he handed the gun to Blane.

  “He won’t bother us anymore,” Kade said, as though reassuring Blane.

  Blane just nodded and struggled up from the ground. Kade took his arm, helping him. Together they walked to Blane’s car and got in.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Blane woke, he was in a small, windowless room. He was lying on the cold, hard floor and when he moved, his entire body reminded him of how he’d gotten there. His ribs ached and a headache was crushing his skull.

  Getting to his feet, Blane glanced at his watch, only to see they’d taken it from him. His cell phone was laying on his desk at home, so no help there. A tray of food was sitting inside the door, and as Blane glanced around, he saw a tiny camera up in the corner. It seemed they were watching.

  Inspecting every inch of the walls, Blane quickly ascertained that there was no escape possible, at least not from the inside. The door was locked, the edges fitting tightly into the wall. He wasn’t going anywhere until someone came through that door.

  Picking up the tray, Blane f
lung it against the opposite wall, the crash it made not as satisfying as he’d hoped. Looking up at the camera, he flipped it the bird.

  Kathleen was dead.

  The realization hit him again and he had to swallow down the nausea that erupted. He’d failed. He said he’d protect her. Now she was dead.

  Blane leaned against the wall, sinking down to sit on the floor as he stared at nothing. She’d been so sweet, so young. Too young to die.

  Death wasn’t new to him, but it having an effect certainly was. Blane thought he’d immunized himself to the pain of loss. War left no other option. It was stop feeling, or lose your mind. His eyes stung and it was an effort to swallow. Her death was pointless, a waste. The last thing he’d said to her had been goodbye.

  Blane vowed that when he got out of here, he’d kill Frank Santini. Then he’d find whoever had been the actual hand of Kathleen’s death, and that person would die very, very slowly. He couldn’t bring her back, but he could avenge her.

  Without a way to tell the time, Blane had no way of knowing how fast or slow the day was going, or even how long he’d been unconscious. The waiting began to grate on him. Forced confinement combined with his anger over Kathleen and his inability to do anything about it worked him up into a state that he couldn’t stop pacing. His long strides ate up the floor, back and forth, and he occasionally glanced up at the camera, wishing whoever was behind it was here so he could wipe the floor with their sorry ass.

  His imagination kept painting Kathleen’s death in his head, though Frank hadn’t said how she’d died. Blane hoped it’d been quick, that she hadn’t been in pain, maybe hadn’t even known what was coming. Unfortunately, he doubted she’d been that lucky. What if whoever Frank sent hadn’t just killed her? What if he’d hurt her first? Hit her? Raped her?