Taxi (Take It Off #11)

by Cambria Hebert

  Why couldn’t I have been kidnapped by dumb criminals? You know, ones who attach things with a little give… enough I could manipulate and squeeze my hand out?

  Why couldn’t the chain be brittle and rusty? Why couldn’t there be a tool nearby I could use to help?

  I dropped my hands into my lap, pulled my legs in close, and stared down.

  It was incredibly hard to hold on to hope when all seemed so hopeless. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been fighting to get free, but I knew it had been hours. My wrist was scraped and bleeding. The skin felt tender and raw. My throat was dry and felt swollen. Blood welled and smeared on my fingertips. The effort of fighting against the chain and cuff had literally torn at my skin.

  Taking my skirt, I wrapped my fingers in the fabric, bunching it around the wounds without a second thought to how ruined this outfit was.

  It didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered anymore but living.

  The beating of my heart and the oxygen filling my lungs became the most basic elements needed for survival. It was almost amazing how fast a life and necessities could be condensed when death stared you in the face.

  I gripped the skirt and hunched in on myself as I thought about all the things I never got to do. The things I never said and the plans I would never get to follow through on.

  A tear fell and slid haphazardly down to the corner of my lip. I caught it with my tongue and drew it into my mouth. The salty flavor seemed to jar me out of what I was going to refer to as a “woe as me” moment.

  Sitting here like I was just going to accept my fate, as if I were done fighting, was not acceptable.

  I might have still been chained. I might have still had to sit here and know there was a door so close, but I didn’t have to give up.

  If I couldn’t get free, maybe I could think of something else.

  The man had a phone earlier. I would bet almost anything the taxi driver had one, too. Everyone had a phone these days—hell, even some six-year-olds.

  If I could get ahold of one of those, I could call for help.

  Not far from where I was slumped on the ground was the bucket the man used to give me an impromptu shower.

  I was still damp, by the way. It might be hot here in the South, but inside this shaded metal building was kinda cool, which I supposed I should have been thankful for, but it certainly didn’t help me get dry. I was soggy, my undergarments were so very uncomfortable, my shirt was still plastered to my chest, and my hair felt cold and clumpy to the touch.

  But there was a bucket. It was the only thing within reaching distance. I wasn’t sure what I could do with it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  I scooted across the cement, inching my way until the chain was taut and refused to let me go any farther. My wrist hit the pavement, and I spun so my feet were facing the bucket. I lay down, my cuffed arm over my head, and stretched my body as long as I could toward the bucket.

  My bare foot kicked out, just catching the top edge, and it fell over with a loud clattering sound. When it rolled toward me and not in the opposite direction, I collapsed against the ground like I’d just run ten miles.

  Seconds later, I stretched out again and used my toes to attempt grasp the handle. Several tries later, the bucket made a dragging sound as I brought it in closer.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed, scrambling up and grabbing the metal handle. I hugged it close to my chest like it was something far better than it was.

  What did one do with a bucket when it was the only weapon they had?

  I couldn’t even think about how pathetic it was this old rusty thing was my only hope, because it was more than I had five minutes ago.

  I studied the gray metal, simple handle, and ordinary shape as if it were a long-lost piece of the Titanic. It was so quiet in here… I never did mind the quiet or my own company. In fact, I rather liked it. It was one of the reasons I worked for myself. I didn’t like being told what to do or punching a timeclock set by someone else.

  But the quiet right now was unnerving. It felt like a death sentence.

  Shuddering, I banged the bucket down between my legs and listened to the sound that filled the space. The handle clattered against the side when I slammed it down. I stared at it, lifting it with one of my raw fingertips and letting it drop.

  This bucket was sort of old school. You know, it had a metal handle where the ends stuck through a drilled hole on each side of the top. To keep it in place, the metal folded in on itself so it couldn’t slip back through the hole.

  Well, I guess it was old school. I really didn’t know how buckets were made…

  Anyway, it seemed like maybe if I could get the handle off and bend it to be a little less curved, then maybe, just maybe, I could use it as some wort of weapon. It might not be a knife with a razor-sharp end, but I could still do some damage with it. That’s the thing about the human body… It isn’t impenetrable. In fact, it’s sort of vulnerable that way.

  I got to work. One side looked like it might be a little easier to get loose because it was slightly dented, and I was hoping the hole would be a little distorted.

  The flesh on my fingers screamed as I worked, but I ignored it just as I tried to ignore the red slicking my skin. I’d rather rip all the flesh off my hands than be sitting here without anything at all when those men came back.

  They’d probably be back soon. I had no idea where they’d gone, what they were up to… It was something I tried not to dwell on. I couldn’t stop what they were doing, at least not right now. My concentration needed to be fully focused on defending myself.

  I don’t know how long it took to work the handle free, but I managed.

  When at last the metal sprang free and fell into my lap, I actually cried. I didn’t feel embarrassed either because I was so incredibly grateful I’d managed to do something, even if it was something small.

  Exhaustion clung to me the same way the water had clung to my clothes. I ached all over; even my bones felt sore. Sitting on a hard, cold ground for hours wasn’t comfortable. It was even less so when sitting after physically fighting with a pipe and chain.

  My lips felt dry, to the point when I moved my mouth into any kind of facial expression, I could feel them stretch like they wanted to crack.

  I wasn’t sure what time it was… but I was likely coming up on twenty-four hours without any water. I could go longer, but being taken while I was drunk only dehydrated me more. The little bit of water I’d stooped so low to suck out of my hair (hey, don’t judge) did nothing but make my thirst worse.

  My stomach growled, my body hungry. The thought of food made my nose wrinkle up in disgust, but I knew that was just a mental reaction. I was anxious and under a lot of stress right now. Hell, I lost my appetite when I ran out of coffee filters and the flavor packets everyone liked so much at the coffee car.

  I laughed. The sound echoed around me.

  That seemed so stupid now, to get stressed about my stock. Mentally, I told myself I shouldn’t degrade the feelings I’d had before I was kidnapped. Being stressed about something like a job wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.

  I wasn’t dumb for being a human.

  I was just scared right now.

  If food were suddenly presented to me, I’d eat it. Even if I had to shove it past my gag reflex. My body needed all the strength it could get. My God, I was already so incredibly drained. I felt weak and foggy after struggling all day.

  What would I be like in another twenty-four hours?

  The sharp edge of my teeth sank into my lip, and the metallic, warm sensation of blood hit my tongue. I pulled back to dab at my lower lip with my finger. The cracked and thin skin had obviously had enough.

  I picked up the now handle-less bucket and carried it over to place it behind the pipe. I wasn’t sure what else I would do with it, but I wasn’t about to let it go.

  Once it was behind me, I sat, leaning against the pipe. It felt cold against my cheek. The joints in my knuck
les stung. I realized it was because of the force with which I griped the metal handle. With effort, I forced my body to relax enough so maybe, just maybe, I would stop hurting for a few minutes.

  I needed to straighten the handle out a little. And maybe I could rub it against the concrete enough that it would sharpen into more of a point on one end.

  Just the thought of getting to work on that had fresh tears spilling over my cheeks. I rubbed at my face and tugged on the tangled ends of hair falling over my shoulder.

  A few minutes of rest wouldn’t be a bad idea. It wouldn’t be weak. Getting some strength back was just as necessary as fighting to get free.

  Giving in, I lay on the hard, cold floor and tucked an arm under my head. My other hand kept hold on the weapon I’d managed to secure and pulled it in close against my chest.

  I lay there staring out over the space, studying the shadows and tractors until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

  6

  Derek

  I went to the gym.

  Yeah, I was exhausted, but I was also wired. I was fucking ecstatic Rocco was getting a kidney, but even that didn’t make me forget about the woman I lost today.

  The thing I learned about being a transplant doctor was all lives were equal.

  It didn’t matter your race, religion, social status, or what was in your bank account.

  Organs could fail anyone.

  Disease didn’t discriminate.

  Death didn’t either.

  The life that was lost today wasn’t worth any less than Rocco’s.

  My heart denied that statement. It denied it with every fiber in my being. Rocco’s life was beyond valuable to me. He was worth everything.

  Because he was my nephew.

  Of course I wanted to save him. Of course I wanted all the time in the world I could get.

  But the woman who died today? Her family wanted the same things.

  And that right there was why I didn’t have a God complex.

  I didn’t get to decide. When it came right down to it, we were all equal.

  We were all at the mercy of the universe.

  I drove directly from the hospital to a twenty-four-hour gym where I had a monthly membership. I liked working out late at night because no one was ever here. I had the place to myself.

  It made for a faster workout because I didn’t have to wait for equipment or get sidetracked by people wanting to talk.

  I went in, did my time, and walked out.

  I kept it simple tonight, opting for a run on a treadmill at a challenging pace. When that was done I did some upper body work and headed back into the locker room for my stuff.

  I’d just shower at home. Having the gym to myself was cool, but it was still a public shower.

  No thanks.

  I’d seen too many pictures and actual cases of fungus at the hospital to last me a lifetime.

  On the way home, exhaustion fully settled into my muscles and body. I knew I’d be able to sleep the second I lay down. I planned on getting a full eight hours. Then I’d get up, fuel up, and head to the hospital. It was going to be another long day, but it was one I was looking forward to.

  I smiled. Maybe on the way in, I’d stop for a coffee. The caffeine might give me an extra boost in the operating room.

  Or maybe the girl serving it would.

  She was like a breath of fresh air. Hell, I liked her. I liked her a whole hell of a lot. Maybe I should just suck it up and ask her out.

  Chicks dug doctors.

  Until the reality of dating one sank in.

  I was going to be busy in the coming weeks. Rocco would need a lot of care. When I wasn’t at work, I’d be with him.

  It was shitty timing to date. Even if she did make an appearance in my thoughts at least once a day. It really wouldn’t be fair to ask her out and then be unavailable.

  Dooo it.

  That voice in the back of my head was a persistent asshole. He seemed to like trouble, too.

  Something told me Rose would be a lot of trouble.

  Hell, maybe I was just horny.

  Maybe I should make a date with Reggie and we could have one of those friends with benefits relationships because we were too busy for more.

  Or maybe I just needed a one-night stand.

  I pulled onto the street where my three-bedroom house sat and drove slowly past all the houses of similar style. I bought the place about a year ago; it was a good investment.

  It was still half empty because I was never home to fill it up, but someday I’d get around to it. It had all the shit I needed for now. Like a bed, a shower, and a TV.

  It was a newer construction, with the usual vinyl siding and concrete driveway. The siding was a blue-gray shade, and the shutters and front door were black. There was an attached garage, which was a definite plus, so I hit the opener as I pulled close.

  The light from the overhead spilled out into the driveway as the door slowly opened, and I pulled up the concrete to wait for it to open completely.

  All the lights inside were off. I hadn’t been home in almost a full twenty-four hours.

  I needed to check the mail, too; I hadn’t done it in a while. The mailman was probably getting pissed. The last time I went too long without checking it, I got a note taped to my front door.

  Once my Land Rover was parked inside, I left the door up, grabbed my keys, phone, and got out. Now was as good a time as any to get the mail. I’d be too busy tomorrow anyway.

  I jogged down the driveway toward the mailbox. I surveyed the grass to make sure it wasn’t time to mow it again. Grass here didn’t grow as fast because it was hot as hell.

  On the road, I grabbed an armload of the mail with a grimace. Yeah, it’d been a while since I got it. Hell, probably ninety percent of this shit would go right in the trash without even being opened.

  Junk mail was just as annoying as trying to piss with a boner.

  Halfway up the driveway, I heard the sound of an engine but didn’t bother to turn around. It was probably just a neighbor or car passing by.

  When I stepped into the garage, headlights bounced over the pavement and glinted off the taillights of my SUV.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered and swung around.

  I squinted against the imposing headlights, annoyance ripping through me.

  It was a cab.

  The bright-yellow paint and little sign on the roof was unmistakable. The lights dimmed so there were just the fog lights, and my eyes adjusted.

  A hand came out the window, followed by part of a head.

  “Hey, buddy, you got a minute?”

  “What?” I called.

  “Can you give me some directions?”

  Didn’t cabs have GPS in them?

  Fuck if I knew. I never took cabs. Never had to. Last time I went out with some friends, one of them was the DD.

  “Sure,” I replied and dumped the mail on a nearby workbench.

  I started down the driveway toward him. The cabbie pushed open his door and got out.

  I stopped several feet away. “Where you headed?”

  “You’re the first guy I’ve seen in miles. I’m not use to driving in this residential area, and all these damn streets look the same,” he bitched.

  I chuckled. “Yeah, there’s not much originality around here.”

  “So I’m looking for Pender Street,” he said.

  I frowned. “I’m not familiar with it.” In fact, I’d never heard of it. “It must be on the other side of town.”

  He muttered some colorful curse words. “The call said it was near Irongate Drive. This is it, ain’t it?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe drive a couple streets over.”

  He pushed away from his car and came closer. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

  It was summer. Why was he wearing a jacket?

  “That way?” He pulled one hand out and pointed off in one direction.

  “Yeah.” I lied. I had no fucking clue. There
was something off about this guy. “I’ll catch you later, man,” I said and moved toward the garage.

  “Hey,” he called out. “One more thing.”

  “What?” I looked back, then did a double take.

  He was pointing a gun at me.

  “I’m really not in the mood for this.” I warned him.

  “Get in the car, nice and slow.”

  I laughed.

  He jabbed the gun in my direction, an angry look on his face. “I said get in the car!”

  “No.”

  He seemed surprised I didn’t rush to do it. I guess when faced with a gun, most people complied.

  I wasn’t most people.

  “I will shoot you right here and now,” he vowed.

  “Hope you got a silencer on that, then. My neighbor’s a real nosy bitch,” I drawled. My neighbor wasn’t nosy. That gun didn’t have a silencer on it. I couldn’t make out what kind of gun it was exactly; it was too dark.

  But it most definitely didn’t have a silencer.

  Instead of shooting, he rushed me.

  Stupid.

  I swung around and clocked him immediately. He fell backward like he was shocked. I enjoyed the way my fist smacked against his face.

  Anger lit through me. Anger I didn’t even know was there.

  It was fucking insane scum like him walked around healthy and free while other people died daily—good people—because their bodies failed them.

  I lunged forward and hit him again, this time in the midsection. He bent, and I reached down to relieve him of his weapon, but he wrenched away.

  I grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him back, reaching for it again.

  He elbowed me in the side, and all the breath whooshed out of me. I released him for a split second, only to recover and punch him again.

  He fell onto the driveway, hitting his back like a two-dollar hooker, and rolled.

  I reached into my pocket for my phone to get the cops over here so they could deal with his rotten ass. I didn’t have time for this bullshit.

  Fucking wanker.

  He saw me pull out my phone and made a sound. He was still on the ground when the gun came up. I’d been so focused on the phone I hadn’t noticed his movements until it was one second too late.