Starr Gone

by Kim Briggs

  “I’ve got pepper spray too.”

  A black SUV flies around the curve. “Shit! We’ve got company!”

  Ben depresses the accelerator. The engine revs so loud I think it might explode, but suddenly, whatever mechanical thing that’s supposed to happen with the engine does, and the van takes off so fast I think it sprouted wings. Unfortunately, the black SUV’s faster. It flies up behind us.

  “Hold on!” Ben shouts as we hit a bump. I jerk backwards.

  Frank squeezes me so tight I can’t breathe. “Turn around and put your seatbelt on now.”

  “Do you think they know it’s us?” Rebecca asks.

  The SUV slams into our bumper in answer.

  “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?” I shout. “I can’t tase them. I can’t spray them. We don’t have any guns.”

  “Guns. I don’t want any part of guns,” Rebecca says.

  “They would come in handy right now,” Coda says. “We could solve this whole situation by shooting out their tires.”

  “How far until the boundary?” Rebecca asks.

  “Too far, ten miles at least,” Ben says, his voice shaking. “We’ll never hold them off that long.”

  As if to prove the point, the SUV knocks into the side of the van. Frank and I are sent flying into Coda. The seatbelts rip into our chests.

  “Fuck!” Frank shouts, gripping his side.

  I push him back into position. “Coda, help me!”

  Coda reaches over and we brace Frank shoulder to thigh.

  The SUV slams into us again. The van fishtails. “Shit, shit, shit,” Ben yells.

  “Ben, it’s okay. You can do it. I believe in you. I believe in us,” Rebecca chants in a slow, steady tone that I instantly feel calmer. She’s holding his shoulder.

  We jerk backwards.

  I swing around surprised we were hit from behind when the SUV is on the side. Then I see why. “Fuck,” I shout. “We got another bogie.”

  Frank grins at me. “Guess Starr and I weren’t the only ones who watched Top Gun. Thought you said Tom Cruise was too pretty.”

  “I’d punch you, but I’m too busy saving your ass,” I say. “And by the way, I learned it from Call of Duty.”

  “Hold on!” Ben shouts. Our heads jerk forward, then backward, just as they smash into us sideways. Engines rev. Tires screech. The van fishtails. Tires slide across gravel. Something slams into the front of the van. Screams. Shouts. We twist in the opposite direction. Glass shatters. More screams. More shouts. We spin and spin and spin. Then the van starts to flip and I know our entire team will be destroyed in one mighty swoop. All except one.

  My last thought before I die? Christian, save her.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Starr

  The day stretches far longer than it should as I wait for Samantha’s vengeance to reveal itself. I remain in the chair by the window with nothing left to do but watch the two horses from earlier frolic with each other. The bay dashes along the fence. The chestnut follows. The chestnut sprints across the field. The bay races after him.

  By 6:00 p.m., my fears are confirmed. Someone else delivers my dinner. “What happened to Alex?” I ask, fearfully.

  He stiffens. “He was relieved of his duties.”

  I grab the garbage can and heave. I did this. Another life destroyed because of me. Because of me.

  When the contents of my stomach are emptied, I climb back into the chair and stare outside. The sun sits low on the horizon, painting the sky purple and orange and every shade in between. I’m reminded of our stay at the cabin. The evening of our first kiss. And then our second. Everything comes rushing back to me. Everything is too much, and I no longer possess the strength to fight it.

  Someone places something on my lap. I glance down at the box of tissues. Only one person in this room would put them there. It makes me cry harder. The friendship, our great friendship, a complete lie. My entire life a lie.

  And when my day couldn’t get any worse, Treadwell returns. Upon seeing my red swollen face, he sneers at me. “I will break you yet. Enjoy tomorrow. It will be your last.”

  His threat means nothing to me. I’ve nothing left to care about. I have nothing left period.

  ***

  Hours later, I’m still sitting in the chair staring out the window trying to make sense of my life.

  “Will you at least sleep in the bed?” Jude says. I ignore him. Of course, I ignore him.

  “Please, sleep in the bed,” he says, refusing to be daunted. He’s so damn stubborn. “I don’t want you sleeping in the chair. I know how uncomfortable it is.” His words remind me of a similar conversation with him weeks before. That night he joked about his virtue. After the other night with Samantha and Jody Lynn, I’m sure his virtue is no longer intact.

  My nails dig into my palms. I’d like nothing more than to slam my fist into Jude’s face for reminding me yet again of Christian and what he did to me. Not that I hoped for sweet dreams tonight. Sweet dreams won’t ever come my way again. I am broken.

  ***

  Di

  I don’t die. That’s a nice surprise. The horn blares loud and clear enough to let me know my hearing is still at full capacity.

  “Oh god...,” Frank groans next to me.

  “Ben,” Rebecca says, “Ben!” She shouts, then reaches over and shakes him. He groans but doesn’t move. She shoves him.

  I remember vaguely from First Aid class that victims should remain calm and not move injured victims unnecessarily until injuries can be assessed by first responders. Those instructors have never been chased by two SUVS that run you off the road because they want to kill you.

  “Everyone okay in here?” A male voice yells from outside the van. Frank grips my hand and shakes his head. He doesn’t need to tell me to be quiet. I don’t plan on giving the Organization’s assassin squad the opportunity to kill me a second time. Rebecca, however, is not so cautious or she has death wish. Take your pick.

  “We need some help getting out of here,” she says, “and Ben is badly hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbles, “just shaken up. Di, Frank, Coda, how you doing back there?”

  Oh my god, my team is a bunch of idiots. Nice idiots but still idiots.

  “Don’t say our names,” I hiss.

  “Ow,” Frank grunts as he clutches his side. Blood spills over his fingers.

  Any caution I felt about our rescuers disappears with the red liquid spurting out of his body. I rip off my hoodie and shove it into his side. “Your gunshot wound. Someone get help!”

  “I got it! I got it!” Coda says. He pushes himself out of the van. “Hey, over here!”

  Within minutes, four hands gingerly extract Frank from the van, then me, then Rebecca and Ben. “What are you doing out this way?” asks a guy, mid-forties with his hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  The other guy who pulled us out examines Frank’s side. “He reopened his injury. Was it a gunshot wound?”

  Frank twitches his head at me. The message is clear: Not a word.

  “Frank, he’s not going to tell anyone,” Ben says. “We’re safe. We’re in the Qualla Boundary.”

  “How?” Frank says. “I don’t understand.”

  The guy with the ponytail smiles. “This farm falls about nine miles from the Qualla Boundary, but it’s been farmed for over three hundred years by the Cherokee, and officially owned by my family over one hundred years. Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Wish there was a sign advertising it back on the road!” Coda says rubbing his head. “Ben could’ve driven through the fields instead of rolling through them.”

  “For once Coda, I absolutely agree with you,” Ben says. “But don’t get used to it.” He takes a pretend swipe at Coda’s head.

  Rebecca rocks back and forth from her toes to her heels and back to her toes with a giant grin on her face. “What’s with you?” Coda asks.

  “I told you Right was on our side,” she says.

  �
��That you did Rebecca. That you did. What happened to the SUVs on steroids anyway?” I ask.

  “Far as we can tell, once the van started rolling they left. We could hear their tires screeching from here,” the guy examining Frank says. “Okay, stand up,” he says to Frank, extending his hand.

  Frank accepts it and pulls himself up. “Good as new,” he says, brushing off his jeans.

  I’m so happy he’s alive, I forget every ounce of composure I possess and fling my arms around him and kiss him as if I will never kiss him again. Because I almost didn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Starr

  Yesterday I spent the day staring out the window. I didn’t eat. I didn’t drink. I barely slept. The damage I have caused to those around me is unfathomable. I didn’t think I was capable of breaking so many things.

  Christian once promised me I’d have as many lives as I needed. He didn’t mention other people would lose theirs in return.

  Naomi bustles into the room. Samantha and Jody Lynn follow behind her. Fan-freaking-tastic, I get the whole squad together.

  “Shower,” Samantha orders.

  “You are not my boss,” I snap at her. “You are my servant.” I push off the bed and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  “Jessica,” Jody Lynn says, blocking the door with her foot, “we’re not supposed to leave your side.” Her round brown eyes almost seem apologetic to anyone who’s foolish enough to believe her. I will not be that idiot anymore. I’m also not about to give her sympathy.

  “Fine,” I snap. “Thomas,” I shout, “you may as well come in too. Wouldn’t want anyone to miss the free show!”

  General Clone is not a total beast. He doesn’t come barging in. If Jude were here, I’m sure he’d be in .05 seconds after my invitation, “just to make sure everything was going okay.”

  I strip off my shirt, pants, underwear, and socks. When I’m completely naked, I stand with my chin raised and my chest flared for one, two, three counts. With each passing second, I feel myself begin to unravel and that won’t do—not with my present company. I quickly step into the shower and crank the hot water. I need to rid myself of the tear stains. I am done with feeling sad and sorry for myself. I am not hopeless. I will not care about anyone. I will not allow such weakness to rid me of my survival instincts. I will not be bossed around. I will not be pushed around. If Samantha hated me when I was nice, wait till she meets the new me. I will flash my money, my wealth, my power in her face. She will pay for her betrayal and so will Jody Lynn.

  “Towel,” I shout.

  “Here,” Jody Lynn says, handing me a large, fluffy white towel.

  I almost say “Thank you” before I remember that I don’t do that anymore. Those words are eradicated from my vocabulary.

  “I’m ready,” I snap.

  Naomi waddles in. She pokes and prods my face. She layers on makeup. She fits me with a new wig. She takes a dress from the hook and crouches down. “Step in,” she orders me.

  “Help me,” she orders the other two. I step in, and they slip the dress over my hips. After she zips it up, she asks, “What do you think?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, actually.” She fluffs up my hair and then says, “Voila,” as she turns me to the mirror. I didn’t anticipate this maneuver though I should have. New look for a new person. Samantha and Jody Lynn gape at me. Their reaction gives me courage. I brush past them like they aren’t even there. I stalk into the room. Thomas even takes notice before he comes to his senses and rushes over.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I purr.

  A few minutes later, Treadwell walks in with Jude behind him. Jude gawks at me. Of course he does. I am the dress-up doll he’s always wanted. I walk past them and out the door.

  “That’s more like it,” Treadwell says. “I knew you had it in you.”

  Di would die a little with that compliment. As for me? I know that I’m working toward something bigger. A grand escape if you will. The escape artist bides her time until the perfect opportunity to escape presents itself.

  I stop at the front door. Opening doors is one task I will not be doing as far as Treadwell and Team Asshole are concerned. Jude rushes to open it for me.

  I brush past him and down the stairs. Steven, aka the test proctor, aka the driver, opens the door to the black SUV. I allow one small nod before climbing in. I’m ready to be rid of the ranch and all the cruel reminders of old prisoners.

  Unfortunately, I’m forced to wait while my bodyguards load up their bags. I notice that no one held the door for Samantha or Jody Lynn nor helped them with their bags. I find some satisfaction in this.

  The chestnut and bay continue their frolicking game. I turn away. Fun is no longer a part of my vocabulary either.

  As for love?

  Love is for the weak. I will never be weak again.

  Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Di

  RING...RING...RING

  I press accept call. “Hello? Hey, Christian, what’s up?” Pause. “Uh huh, okay. Remember, there’s been a lot of cars coming and going from the ranch over the past two days.” Pause. “Okay, we will. If it passes through town, we’ll follow it. I promise.” Pause. “Christian, calm down. The likelihood that it’s her...” Pause. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll call when I know anything.”

  Click.

  Frank curls his arm around me. “So, what was it this time?”

  “He said a large black Escalade just left the ranch. He swears Starr is in it.”

  “The same one Coda saw the other day entering the ranch?”

  “I assume so.”

  “The same one that rammed into the back of us or the one that smashed our side in? Oh and by the way, are you even going to mention it to him?”

  “We weren’t rammed by an Escalade. Hummers maybe or Land Rovers, maybe Land Rovers. I didn’t really pay attention to the make and model when they were busting up our ass.” He sweeps his hand down to mine. I swat him away. “Besides, what good would it do? We’re all in one piece, and with Rebecca’s spin-doctor reporter friend, the Organization, and authorities think we’re dead. We’ve got the perfect undercover op going on.” I glance over at him. His expression hasn’t changed. “It was genius of her to come up with that tragic accident for the paper, and because of the number of casualties, Asheville’s Citizen-Times caught wind of it. With Coda running the social media campaign, thousands of mourners are retweeting it all over the web. He’s a genius. A totally bogus accident made the biggest event to hit North Carolina since the shooting of the presidential nominee.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Everything’s worked out perfectly—Starr would be proud.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Yes, Rebecca and Coda are awesome. Christian’s still an ass. He can’t even see in. Coda said the windows were tinted.”

  “When are you going to give him some credit?” I grab the keys.

  He follows me outside. “Never. I will never give him credit. He also has the worst timing these past few days. The second I start to get really comfortable and cozy with you, he calls. I don’t think he wants anyone to be happy if he isn’t.”

  “Yeah, that must be it,” I snap. “He’s apologized to us a thousand times for what he did to Starr. Can you cut him some slack?”

  “No, not until she’s safe. His apologies mean nothing to me. Besides, it’s her that deserves them. Her heart is breaking because of him.” He punches the wall. “How dare he?”

  “How dare he take a roofie and not remember one thing from the other night?”

  Frank rolls his eyes. “Excuses.” I raise my fist. He cowers beside me. Good, he should be scared. I am terrifying.

  “You’re right. You’re right,” he says. “Who do you think gave it to him—Jude or Sami?”

  “I don’t think it makes a difference, but if I had to guess, I’d say Jude. Christian would never willingl
y go into a bar or do any of the things Jude accused him of. He wouldn’t have gone for the pizza if he trusted Jude. He went to keep Jude away from the Organization.”

  “The plan backfired.”

  I twirl the keys around my finger. “Huge fucking explosion. Let’s go.”

  “I’ll drive,” he says.

  “Nice try. I’m not trusting your woozy, Percocet-doped ass.”

  He grabs my hand.

  “Yes?”

  He wraps his hands around my face, leans in, and kisses me. I mean really kisses me. He pulls away just as quickly.

  I shake my head. “What was that?”

  “To prove I’m not the only one who gets a little woozy.” He grins as he climbs into the passenger side.

  It takes me a full sixty seconds to recover enough to drive the car. Another four minutes to return completely to my senses. I’ll never admit that shit to Frank. I don’t want him to know the power he has over me.

  We drive down the road and park in front of the KFC. I’m not going to lie. I flashback to the accident the other day. “I know we’re driving in one of Rebecca’s friends’ cars, but what if they recognize us? What if they know that we’re hiding behind the tinted class? Do you think they tracked us?”

  “Excuse me?” he says.

  “Tracked us. You know like they did in Fifth Wave. They shot the tracker into the back of the kids’ necks and the only way to get it out was to cut it out. Also did it in Pretty Little Liars.”

  “We’d know if we were shot with a tracker.”

  “Would we? What if trackers are food soluble now? What if they laced the milk at school or something?”

  “I thought you were lactose intolerant,” Frank says.

  I smack him. “Be serious.”

  “I am,” he says. “The chances that food soluble trackers exist are one thing, but that the Organization would go to such great lengths for one assassin recruit is quite another. Aside from the fact that even if the technology did exist, they’d have to be in fairly close proximity and know more or less the location of the targets. As far as they know, we’re off the grid because we’re still in the Qualla Boundary. Which is pretty freaking awesome by the way.”