by Kim Briggs
I keep my stomach tight and stare at the floral wallpaper across the room. A small chisel chips away at Starr Bishop. If I’m not careful pretending to be something I’m not, it will be the end of me.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Di
Cell phones don’t work throughout much of the Smoky Mountains. This might seem as an advantage to some, but not when you’ve got part of your team out in the field. Then you want all the cell service you can get.
I push the side button of the walkie-talkie. Coda’s idea so we can keep some sort of eyes on the ground. “Ice Cold, we need to retreat. Over.”
The walkie-talkie crackles. I huff in exasperation. “I can’t believe in this day and age we need to rely on these to communicate with one another.”
“It does not seem like there is much communicating going on,” Rebecca says.
“No, there isn’t,” I reply without the growl I normally reserve for annoying situations. I don’t know if it’s because Frank’s softened my edges with his undivided attention or because Rebecca’s straightforward, no bull, enlightened approach has ruined my crusade for random acts of violence.
“Try again,” she says.
“Ice Cold, we need to retreat. Over.”
Crackle. Crackle. “This is Ice Cold. No retreat. Over.”
She nods in confirmation. “You need to believe in something for it to work.” Ben stares at her with new appreciation. Ever since she diverted the guard’s attention away from the van and its passengers and into giving her directions, our respect for her has grown with every non-compromising confident remark she makes.
“Identity possibly compromised. Need to regroup. Over.”
“Negative. I’m staying. Over.”
“Bear, are you coming? Over.”
Crackle. “Dark Cloud, that’s a negative. I’ll stay with Ice Cold. Over.”
“I never knew Christian was so stubborn,” Rebecca says. “I’m glad Coda is there to keep him safe. He won’t do anything rash, will he?”
Ben grips the steering wheel. “I hope not. Should we call them one more time?” He glances in the rearview mirror, adjusts it, then checks again. “I don’t like sitting here. We’re on a side road, but this land abuts the Organization’s land.”
I push the map between the seats. “Ben, look.” I point to where we’re parked, more or less. “We’re over two miles from them.” I trace my finger along the state forest lands separating our van from their property lines. “They have no way of knowing we’re even here.”
“Still,” he says, “what if they followed us? What if they set up motion cameras?”
Rebecca rests her hand on his arm. His shoulders round in. “Ben, we are safe.”
The radio crackles, followed by, “Dark Cloud, prize coming your way. Over.”
Frank sits up. Rebecca stiffens. Ben’s eyes open wide. I forget to answer.
“Dark Cloud, keep eye on prize. Over.”
Starr’s coming. Holy shit. Starr’s coming this way. “Copy that. Are you coming? Over.”
“No time. Do. Not. Lose. The. Prize. Over.”
“Copy that. Over.”
“Do. Not. Lose. The. Prize. Over.”
Ben shifts in the front seat. “I’m not comfortable with this. We aren’t a team of Black Ops.”
“We are now,” Rebecca says.
***
Starr
Any successful escape artist recognizes the importance of lulling their audience—or guards—into a false sense of security. For instance, the guards will assume the attempting escapee will always go for the obvious escape or should the escape attempt fail, the escapee will fall back on his, or her, past practice of resisting orders.
To combat this assumption, I plan to begin building my way to what I hope will result in a successful escape because, let’s be honest, my past attempts have not amounted to freedom.
“Let’s go,” Thomas says.
I stand up and walk out the door without a fight. There’s tripping and rushing and from the sounds of it, some shoving in order to regain their appointed positions around their assigned target. My cooperation has left them foundering, which is the first building block to a successful escape. By their reaction, I know I’m behaving exactly as I should to build their trust. I also know I should remain obedient for the duration of my imprisonment so I can bide my time for an opportunity to escape, but patience has never been one of those admirable qualities I’ve been able to latch onto. I might talk a good game about the building blocks of a successful escape, but the truth is, I just don’t see the point in remaining in an inescapable room with four impenetrable walls and four assassin trainees sucking the oxygen out of it.
Besides, I do my best thinking on the move.
Thomas leads me over to a giant black SUV with tinted windows. The very same type of stretch SUV I saw leaving my grandparents’ estate all those weeks ago. Had Treadwell known it was me running on the side of the road, we could have saved each other a lot of trouble and even more heartache. Di and Frank would be bored but safe back in Webster. Coda and Ben would be bored but safe working at the hospital, and Christian, well Christian, could crawl back under the rock he crept out from, casting sneers at other, unsuspecting females along the way.
Thomas nudges me from the back. “Move,” he grunts.
So much for my role as obedient prisoner. I’m still working on the finer nuances of the position. I’ve never actually considered myself obedient. Rule follower, yes. Obedient, not so much.
Jude runs around to the other side of the car to get in. Now I will have no choice but to sit next to him. The sneaky bastard.
When I climb in, his eyes meet mine. Hopeful. Begging. I hesitate. I don’t want to be in the same room, breathing the same air as him. Let alone sitting next to him.
“Move,” Thomas growls, pushing me in the rest of the way.
I bury my emotions and sit next to Jude. Thomas sits on the other side of me with Samantha, Treadwell, and Jodi Lynn directly across. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Treadwell says with the cold indifference that makes me want to slit his throat. Brewing with murderous thoughts, I glare off into the distance. Two horses joyfully frolic together. Neither one of them aware of what’s really going on at the ranch. Neither one of them aware that their freedom could be limited in such a way. The last time I felt remotely similar was when I raced Little Miss through the meadow with Demon and Christian chasing after us. The next day Treadwell bound and gagged him and brought him here. That night after I untied him and he fell into my arms, he joked we were even. I guess we were.
A stray tear falls down my cheek. I swipe it before anyone notices. Revealing weakness in this vehicle will only result in boosting their egos, and they already spend far too much time thinking about themselves.
A movement in the woods pulls my attention away from myself. The outline of a male with a Mohawk slips through the trees. I swear it’s Coda. I blink a few times, positive my mind is playing tricks on me. When I see the outline of Christian but with a shaved head, I know I’ve lost it. It’s wishful thinking on my part that he would come back to save me, and wishful thinking won’t fill the void in my heart.
The SUV drives past the KFC in Cherokee. Instead of turning left to the hospital and the Qualla Boundary, we continue straight to Asheville. I know the road well. Every sharp curve. Every school bus stop warning sign. Even the tiny cabin overlooking the pond that reminds me of his granpappy’s cabin.
Open wounds left to fester. By the time this is all over, I wonder how much of Starr Bishop will be left.
***
An hour into this new form of hell, the peak of the courthouse juts out above the shoulders of the other buildings. Again, I wonder if my team, my friends, my family waited for me at the courthouse after I went missing in hopes that somehow I’d get away and make my way back to the backup location.
Did Christian wait for me? Does he think about me at all? I finger the corn beads on the necklace he gav
e me. He told me they represented tears shed. Does he have any idea how many tears I’ve shed for him?
Enough to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
The SUV stops in front of Beauty First Day Spa and Salon. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Let’s go,” Treadwell says.
The driver opens the passenger door for us. Jude pushes me from behind as Thomas pulls me out of the car. Without stopping, they hustle me into the salon. Aside from Naomi and a dozen chairs, the place is empty. No doubt, she sent her employees home early because of the “big” client she had to work on. They’re probably hiding in the closets with their cellphone cameras waiting like paparazzi to catch a glimpse of Naomi’s red carpet client. How disappointed they’ll feel when all they get is me. A girl no one will allow to be a Starr anymore.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Di
“I wonder if they’re going to Asheville,” Ben says an hour into our pursuit of the Prize—aka Starr.
“Might be tricky maintaining a safe distance once we get onto the city streets. Wish we had another car. We could play tag team,” Frank says. He scoots up between the front seats so much, he may as well have sat shotgun.
“A mammoth black SUV should be easy to keep track of,” I reply.
He reaches back to touch my knee. His pinky finds skin. I try not to jerk because I don’t want to reveal how much power he holds over me. Not that he’d notice my reaction anyway. His eyes haven’t left the Prize. He might care about me, but he loves her. “Yes, but we’re driving a giant van. We can’t exactly hide, and if Jude spots us....”
“We have right on our side,” Rebecca says. “We will not lose the van.”
“I hope you’re right Rebecca,” Ben replies. “I hope you’re right.”
“They’re taking the exit ramp,” Frank shouts. “Keep cool with your turning. Don’t make any sudden shifts to draw attention to us.”
Ben glares in the rearview mirror. “Leave the driving to me. This ain’t my first rodeo.”
Rebecca shifts to face him. “You have chased people in cars before?”
The tops of his ears turn red. “No, but I started driving the ambulance. You have to be careful with your passengers, and I’ve been a volunteer fireman since I was fourteen.”
“Hmmm,” she says nodding her head. “I did not know that, Ben.”
He swallows. “Well, you’ve been busy studying the stories with Grandmother Mary.”
“Yes, but that does not excuse me from knowing what my friends are doing. I’m sorry, Ben.”
He taps the steering wheel. “It’s not a big deal. Huh..., they’re parking. Should I pass them or park behind them?”
Frank slides back into the seat. “It’s too late. Pass them, then park on the next street. Duck Di,” he says and pulls me down on the seat with him.
“Is this really to hide or are you just trying to cop a feel?”
“Both,” he teases. He lands a kiss square on the lips, as he squeezes my ass.
“I’ll tase you, if you don’t watch it.”
“The Prize is moving,” Rebecca says.
Frank shakes his head. “Shit. I got distracted.” He shifts me off him and sits back up. “I’ll follow them.”
I hit him in the shoulder. “Are you on crack? You can’t follow them. You’ll be seen. I’ll follow them.”
He tries to scoot around me to get to the door. “No way. You’re not only wanted by the Organization but by local authorities, as well.”
“I’ll go,” Rebecca says. “No one knows me.”
“I don’t like it,” Ben says.
“You don’t need to like it. I’m going.”
Yep. I am Rebecca’s number one fangirl.
Chapter Thirty
Starr
Samantha and Jody Lynn flutter around the driver. They bat their eyelashes. They pat his biceps. He makes no indication he’s even aware of their presence. His gray eyes front and center. His back straight. His black boots polished and buffed. He is impervious to light banter or what one might call flirting.
He’s familiar to me. I keep staring, trying to place him. I always remember faces, but sometimes it takes a while to remember where I know it from. He scratches the spot just above his right eyebrow, the spot where a small hole is all that remains of a piercing.
Then I remember.
My first taste of this nightmare began with him on the day of the test.
Our test proctor turned Samantha and Jody Lynn’s personal instructor in the fine art of murder. He moved through the ranks quickly that day.
They flutter around him, with such ease, such finesse, they remind me of butterflies newly hatched from the cocoon. A metamorphosis from cheerleader with a killer front round off to just plain killer.
I wonder if he still trains them or are they so adept at their chosen vocation that they no longer need his instruction?
But there’s no time to consider the extent of their education because Naomi is pointing at the chair, a place where she’ll exact her own lesson in cruel and unusual punishment. I won’t make this easy for anyone. Not even for her.
After the torture this morning, especially her.
Treadwell nods at Jude and Thomas. With the swiftness I’ve come to expect at Treadwell’s mere suggestion of an order, they force me to sit.
In front of me on the counter is a new form of torture—a wig with long blonde hair. Naomi puts some tape on my hairline, then slips the wig on. She makes some adjustments. None of them gentle. All of them jabbing at my temple or the nape of my neck or the peak of my forehead. All of them cruel and unusual punishment. “There,” she says, “much better.” I keep my eyes down. They can force me to sit. They can force makeup and hair products, but they cannot make me look. She clucks her tongue. “You’re going to wish you didn’t shave your head.” She clucks again. “Wigs get itchy. Very itchy.” Insert a cackle here because the noise from her throat closely resembles one. “Brush your hair with these combs,” she says, shoving combs in my face before putting them in a bag. “Put the wig on this head at night.” She waves the foam head in front of me as if I don’t see it, before placing it in a box and then the bag. “Don’t go swimming with it—you’ll destroy it. Got it?”
“Got it.” Go swimming. Destroy wig.
“I’ll get to work on her permanent hairpiece. I’ll bring it out to the ranch either tomorrow or the next day. Is there anything else you need today?”
“That will be all. Steven will take care of the bill,” he says. Team Asshole leads me out into the street and back to the car.
“Excuse me,” a female drawls. I fight to break lose. Jude’s hand tightens on my bicep. He pushes me toward the car. “Excuse me,” the female says again. “I need some directions.”
“We’re not from around here,” Samantha replies in the same Southern twang. “You best get back to wherever you’re from.”
I jerk around as Jude shoves me into the car.
“Is that Carrie Underwood’s sister?” she says, trying to push past Samantha, but Samantha and Thomas block her path. “Can I get your autograph?” she shouts to me. I catch a glimpse of her. Her twang doesn’t match the face. “Re—” I say aloud before I catch myself. The driver, aka Steven, aka the test proctor, steps in front of her and effectively moves her away.
I try to lean forward to see if it really is Rebecca. Unfortunately, Jody Lynn and Jude keep me pinned to the seat.
Less than five seconds later, the excitement’s over, and everyone’s back in the vehicle with the doors locked. I jerk my head to the side to try to see out the window but my view’s blocked by Thomas’s fat head. I twist to break free, but Jody Lynn subtly applies pressure to a point on my deltoid that makes my arm go numb.
“When are you going to realize that fighting is useless?” Treadwell laughs as we pull away from the curb.
“Never,” I hiss, still trying to buck. A flash of blonde hair roils my stomach. I feel like he won and that doesn’
t sit well with me. They restrain me until I collapse against the seat. Jody Lynn lets me go as soon as she feels my muscles relax. Jude continues to hold me, enjoying himself more than he should. His overuse of Axe spray is dully noted.
My mind spirals. Was that Rebecca? Why was she in Asheville? Was she here with Christian? Did he send her to check on me? But how did they find me and why would she do that for him or me? She didn’t seem to like me much during our brief interactions. Did she need proof that Christian was available again?
As I reason my way through different scenarios, I keep coming back to a single question—how would I feel if Christian sent her? I don’t have a solid response, and that’s a vulnerability I’d like to live without.
A short while later, the car stops again. I keep my eyes closed. I dislike stopped cars.
“Jessica, sit up and smile when we open the car door. I want your grandfather to see you happy and healthy,” Treadwell says. I ignore him completely. “Samantha?”
This won’t be good, but I decide to play the game a little longer. I won’t make it easy for Treadwell.
A hard, exacting pinch just above my knee pops my eyes open.
“You’ve wanted to do that for a long time, haven’t you?” I snap at her.
She smiles her satisfied Cheshire grin. “More than you can imagine.” Jodi Lynn shifts next to her. If she’s so damn uncomfortable with aggressive maneuvers, then she should’ve stayed back in Webster.
