by Kim Briggs
I find myself tongue-tied, so all I do is nod. Frank winks at me as he releases my hand. I shake my head, grab the rest of my things, and head out to the living room. “Hey Jude, want to help me pack up the kitchen?”
“Sure,” he says and hands me a shopping bag. “Where are you guys planning to go?”
I don’t miss that he didn’t include himself in our travel plans. “I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about it. Any ideas?”
He pulls the cheese and butter out of the fridge. “Me? I’m not from here, remember?”
“Me neither,” I reply adding the crackers and cereal to my bag. “Where do you think the Organization took Starr?”
He stops and looks at me. “How do you know it was the Organization? I thought you didn’t know whether she left on her own or was taken.”
I drop my eyes. “I don’t. Still, gotta look at all our options. Any ideas?”
“I suppose if the Organization took her, she could be at the ranch.”
“Any way to get on the ranch without anyone noticing?”
“Not since Christian’s escape. Things have tightened up considerably.”
“How’d you get out?”
He blinks in surprise, then quickly returns to his packing. “I was on a training exercise. I just never returned.”
Bullshit.
“So, how long before we leave?” He glances up at the clock.
“Now,” Christian says from his bedroom. He’s got Starr’s bag and his.
“Why the hurry? What if she comes back?” Jude says.
“She knows what to do,” I reply.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you leaving her to her own devices? Are you going to abandon her during her time of need?” I know he’s playing to Christian’s fears. Tricky bastard.
“Maybe we should—” Christian says.
“She knows what to do and we’re leaving now. Coda, Frank, let’s go,” I yell.
“Maybe I should stay in case Starr shows up. I could meet you later?” Jude says. Christian stops and glares at him.
I push Christian to the basement door. “Yes, why don’t you do that?”
“Hey Di, where are you going anyway?” I narrow my eyes at him. He should have asked the guys. He’d have a far better chance of getting something out of one of them.
“We’re leaving. You don’t need to worry about it. Good luck,” I snap.
“You’re leaving me? After all we’ve been through? What would Starr say?” he says.
Crossing my arms, I stomp up to him. “Pity doesn’t work with me.” He grabs my arm. I glance at his hand, then up at him. “You better watch yourself.”
“What about Starr?” he says.
“Take. Your. Hands. Off. Her.” Frank says, as he and Coda flank him. Christian lets out a low rumble behind me.
Just as things are about to get real interesting, my phone rings. Jude drops his hand.
Five people know my number. Three are in the room with me. One I’m expecting a call from. “Hello?” I say.
“Di, it’s me,” says Ben. “Get out of the house. Christian’s sample came back. It’s loaded with the date rape drug. He’s not going to remember anything.”
“I see,” I say as I pretend to scratch my back to flick on the Taser. Christian steps away comprehending what’s about to happen. A second later Jude’s on the floor.
Frank looks down at Jude’s collapsed frame, then at me. “Di, what the hell?”
I hold up my finger to him. “Ben, we’re leaving headquarters now. We’ve got your stuff. I’ll give you a call when we’re on the road.” I slip my phone into my pocket and pull out another cartridge for the Taser. “You know the saying, ‘Keep your friends close, your enemies closer?’” I say while I pop in the cartridge.
“Yeah?” Frank says above all the rest.
“We were sleeping with the son of a bitch. Pretty Boy Prick slipped Christian a roofie. It’s a wonder that Christian is as coherent as he is right now.” Pretty Boy Prick’s body starts to twitch back to life. “We need to tie him up. Coda, get his hands with these.”
His eyes go round as I pull out a few zip-ties from my pocket. “Always gotta be prepared.” I smile.
He makes quick work out of the makeshift handcuffs. “All set,” he says.
I nod, acting like I’m in control of the situation, but I’m not going to lie. I’m shaken. The mention of the roofie brought back memories of being in the wrong place at the wrong time with a room full of fucking bastards. Thank god, I didn’t get pregnant. The tortured soul born that night is enough to bear.
Frank rubs his hands up and down my arms. “You okay?”
Warmth wants to reenter my extremities, but the feelings that I’m experiencing will leave me weak and exposed. I refuse to fall into that role again. “Let’s go.”
Without a parting glance at Pretty Boy Prick or the apartment, we walk down the garage stairs. With a systematic, detached approach, we load the food and bags into the van. None of us voicing our concern about what just happened with Jude or that we’re leaving headquarters without Starr. I’m not going to lie—it’s effing messed up to pile into the van and disappear without the person who brought us together, but we have to leave. Starr would want me to keep the rest of the team safe even if it meant sacrificing her.
I’ll be damned if we’ll let Treadwell win. We’ll reorganize back at Ben’s house. Coda will keep trying to hack into their databases, and we will hit them hard. “Shit, did anyone grab the laptop?”
The laptop has our entire search history including passwords. General Treadwell and the Organization could easily discover everything we know.
“No,” they say, flat, remorseful.
I climb out of the van. “I’ll get it.”
Protests erupt. I raise my hand to silence them. Amazingly, they bow to me. Well, maybe not bow—I don’t want the power to go to my head—but listen with complete attention. “Coda, you’re driving. Christian, get the garage door. Frank, stay in your seat. Pull out and pick me up at the corner. If anything happens, meet at the backup location.” Before they can disagree, I sprint up the stairs.
“Di,” Jude moans from the floor. “You came back for me.”
“In your dreams, prick.” I zap him again. His eyes roll back into his head as his body jerks on the floor. I kick him in the stomach, before climbing over him to get the laptop. As I slip the power cord into the bag, heavy, thunderous footsteps echo through the apartment. Much louder than Frank, Coda, or Christian ever sounded. Time just ran out. I drape the strap across my shoulders and slip in another cartridge. Thank god, I bought in bulk.
I scan the apartment for a possible escape route, but the prick’s body blocks both entryways. Fuck.
Fire escape. Frank said use the fire escape.
I jump onto the sofa and land ninja style—stance wide, feet light, arms ready for combat. Frank and Starr would be proud.
Guess I too learned a thing or two from those Mission Impossible movies, though I would never admit it to Frank. I sprint into Starr and Christian’s room and past their bed.
Frank thinks they slept together. I don’t. Knowing Starr, she’s waiting for the right time with the right person, and she’ll be able to graduate without a baby bump. If she did have sex with Christian, it bites hairy donkey ass that her last image of him was him getting freaky with Sami and Jody. A scene she’s already seen played out with Sami and Frank—that’s a lot of shit to swallow. Er, probably not the best word.
The side wall of their room shakes like the goon squad’s about to smash through.
No wonder Starr always knew when someone came home before everybody else. Here, I thought she had some sort of Spidey sense. Turns out, she just picked a room with a built-in security system.
I lock the door and hurry over to the window at the far side of the room. Someone, probably Starr, propped the window open and left the screen out. Perfect for a quick escape. The problem with my route is—well, it’s daytime. I can’t e
xactly creep along the alleyways or leap rooftop to rooftop without being seen because 1) I’m not the daredevil thrill-seeking junkie that Zoey is, and 2) I definitely don’t have the legs for it. The elements of surprise and speed just became my best friends.
The fire escape creaks as I climb onto it. So much for the surprise component. I peek around at the neighboring building. Unfortunately, there’s no window to wave down anyone for help or to jump through.
Splintering wood echoes down the narrow alleyway, and I know they just kicked in the front door. For most of my life, I’ve been afraid of heights. That fear now pales in comparison to what might wait for me at the ranch. General Treadwell would never consider me for the Organization. He’d probably stretch me until my arms and legs popped out of their sockets.
Rung after rung I climb down. Soon I’ll have no choice but to drop. I don’t like jumping either, especially jumping from a height, but I’m not going to worry about that right now—all I’m going to do is climb until there’s nothing left to climb. “Hey you!” Someone shouts. Someone big. Someone loud. Someone overloaded with testosterone.
I take a deep breath and let myself go because the ladder ends much sooner than I’d like. The wind knocks out of me, but my inner Starr shouts at me to suck it up and get moving. I sprint in the direction of the corner where I’m supposed to meet the guys, but one very large, very hulking figure looms between me and freedom.
I take off down the alley instead. No oversized ape is going to stop me. The pressure of the towering brick buildings on either side of me makes me feel incredibly small and incredibly slow. Another goon, three times larger than the first, blocks my exit.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he says.
“I’m going past you,” I smile sweetly and continue moving forward while I reach behind my back. The Taser can shoot from fifteen feet away. Ten is better. Five is best. His arms reach out for me just as I taser him. Fifty-thousand hertz could bring down the Hulk. Thankfully, my attacker is not the Hulk. His nephew maybe, but not the Hulk.
Unfortunately, he went down with all the grace of a prizefighter and now blocks my escape route. The average tase lasts about thirty seconds. Side effects may vary. I climb over him feeling like a fish flapping around on the sidewalk.
With Plan A out, I shift into Plan B mode. Plan B is always the courthouse, but it’s two miles away. I don’t have the freakishly oxygenated lungs of Starr or Frank. I need wheels.
“Hey!” shouts the other goon.
The bashed-in remains of the chop shop door gives me an idea. I slip into the shop, grab the keys, and hop onto the Kawasaki Ninja Frank sat on when we first moved to headquarters. When he straddled the thing, all I wanted to bite my wrist like a lovesick puppy. Never thought I’d be riding it, but I did spend a lot of time riding dirt bikes with Frank pre-puberty. I also hung out with a tatted biker for a short time. He wore black leather. What do you want from me?
Number 1, snap on the helmet. Number 2, make sure the visor is secure.
“She ran back inside!” Someone shouts.
But they’re too late.
The engine roars. I lift up my foot. Number 3, let it ride.
Chapter Fifteen
Starr
Any minute he’ll have my friends, my true friends in his possession and there’s nothing I can do about it, and, just like he said, it’s all my fault.
If there is anything right and true in this world, please let some major pileup on the interstate or a serious fender bender downtown hold up Frank’s discharge. I’d even take a rupture to his stitches that would cause the hospital to hold him for a few more hours. Coda would be the only one left at the apartment, and when he realizes I’m not there, he can tell the others and once Frank’s discharged, they can meet at the backup location. The backup location I never thought we’d need.
I wonder if they’ll wait for me at the courthouse or will they assume I’m a lost cause and be on their way? Will they search for me? Will they figure out I’m at the ranch? Will they storm the gates and set me free or will they return to their safe, non-Starr, non-Organization lives? These are questions with answers I have no control over. At least not anymore.
Without wanting to, definitely without meaning to, my thoughts wander to Christian. Did he return to headquarters or is he still with Sami and Jody in some seedy hotel? Is he doing things with them he never wanted to do with me? Things I was ready to do with the guy I thought I loved.
My entire life, I stayed away from boys, always considered them complications. I broke that rule the night Christian saved me from the club. I needed someone, anyone to believe me, and he did. When he fell asleep and I called him my guardian angel, I should have run away and never returned. I let love or at least the potential for love blind me. It blinded me for weeks. I won’t make that mistake again.
***
Di
Banking the Ninja to avoid a soft pretzel food truck, I fly through the streets of Asheville. Hard lefts. Hard rights. Zigzags. No one will find me. No one will catch me. I am a mighty warrior.
Raised fists with a menacing scowl greet me at every encounter I have with a pedestrian, or should I say when I zip by said pedestrian as he or she is using the crosswalk. There’s no time to heed traffic laws. Besides, the authorities can’t stop me. The Ninja and I are one.
My phone vibrates nonstop. I know it’s Frank wondering where I am, but I can’t carry on a conversation while driving sixty in the city limits. A solid sense of direction keeps me headed toward the courthouse. Rather than wait in traffic, I weave in and out of the stopped cars. I jump the curb on the corner of Lexington and Patton. I need to take a right to get to the courthouse. I swing the bike, but a giant Road Closed sign with long wood barriers blocks the entire street.
Shit.
I hop back into traffic, traveling the narrow lane between the stopped cars and the parked cars. Illegal, yes. Necessary? Absolutely.
The light turns green but no one’s moving. The cars are packed together like cheerleaders in front of a mirror. It’s not until I creep around a rusty Honda Civic with its taillight kicked in that I notice the swirling blue and red lights at the next intersection. My throat seizes. I cut right and rev the gas. I’ll escape down the side street before the cops can get me. Another roadblock has other plans. The Ninja’s front tire hits the barrier. My body flies forward, slamming into the handlebars. I freak. Full-on psychotic boogieman’s going to get me freak. I rev the gas instead of brake. Before I realize I’m going instead of stopping, the barrier inches forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a cop running toward me waving his arms wildly. Psychotic boogieman hits a new level of panic. I rev more. I won’t get caught. No way. I am a warrior. The Ninja breaks through the wood horses with a mind of its own. I speed down the empty street, making up for the time I lost in traffic. The courthouse looms in the distance. I’m so close. So freaking close. But really not close at all. At the end of the street, two cops order me to stop, but I can’t stop. Don’t they get it? I’ve got to get away from them, and the Organization’s goon squad, and all the other fucking bastards after me. I corner the bike to the left, skidding to a stop. The cops split ranks to surround me. I hit the gas and drive through the gaping hole they’ve left. I take a hard right, narrowly avoiding another roadblock and gas the bike. The Ninja eats up the open pavement until the asphalt disappears and there’s nothing between the Ninja and the metal barrier stretching from building to building. Several cops stand on either side of the roadblock. We aren’t getting through this battle together. I pat the Ninja’s neck, thanking it for its dedication to me, before dropping it and leaping through a café’s open door. Shocked faces gape at me as I push and shove my way through the patrons. I leap across tables. I run over chairs heading toward the kitchen, the back door, and freedom.
“Stop,” shouts one of the cops behind me, as if I was going to listen to him.
“Hey, you can’t be in here,” says a guy with an apron, a
hair net, and tattooed arm sleeves.
“Help me out,” I shout.
“That way,” he points at the screen door. “I’ll slow them down.”
“Thanks,” I say, ripping off my helmet and tossing it to him. “Bike’s outside. Keep it ’til someone comes to get it.”
“Right on,” he says, and I push through the screen door into the street. I sprint down the alley toward the courthouse. Mobs of people fill the park. Something’s going on. A concert. A protest. A parade. I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s a crowd. It’s distracting. I slip into an unsuspecting pack of hipsters meandering in the direction of the courthouse. My lack of height works as an advantage. Nestled among a few Timberland boot giants, no one will find me. I take out my phone and call Frank.
“Where are you?” he shouts. I yank the phone away. His voice carries above the din of Nietzsche’s philosophy on herd mentality. A cluster of flannel-clad girls take notice of me and my sharpie anarchy shirt and black jeans. The old Di would eyeball them while fingering her pepper spray. The new Di recognizes her need of this group while she plans her next move. I shrug with a small smile. Satisfied, they return to the conversation. One girl with two French braids falls in step with me. She points at my shirt and gives a thumbs up.
“Frank, I’m in the park by the courthouse. Where are you?”
I pull off the t-shirt and hand it to her. Her forehead scrunches as she studies the shirt. I gesture to her red plaid flannel. She takes it off and hands it to me.
“We’re stuck in traffic. There’s some event going on and all the roads are closed off. We can’t get anywhere near the courthouse.”
The group breaks away from the courthouse and toward a makeshift stage. I follow along, buttoning the flannel. When we round the edge of the stage, I point to the big round sunglasses perched on her head, then hand her a twenty. She smiles and hands them over.
“Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Starr
Treadwell explodes into the room. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or furious. I’m leaning toward furious.” He storms over to the bed. “How did your friends, your team, know we were coming?”
