by Davis, Jo
Thank God I called Joaquin and confessed everything before we left for the bar. How he would locate them was a long shot she didn’t care to think about.
“Sit in the computer chair and hold out your wrist.”
She did, avoiding eye contact, trying not to flinch as the cuff tightened with a series of metallic clicks.
Alex smiled. “Lost some of your attitude, huh? Wait until you see what I have in mind for your boyfriend.”
She glared at him, holding her silence as he laughed and went out the front door again. The second he was gone, she jumped from the chair and ran to the bolt, twisting and yanking in a futile effort to loosen it.
Nothing doing. The eye was screwed deep into the log, so tight a tool such as pliers would be required to remove it. “Shit!”
Heavy tread on the steps sent her diving for the chair again. A series of thumps sounded on the porch. She was sitting again as Alex pushed the door open, walking backward, dragging Zack by the feet. Anger boiled in her gut. The thumps had probably been Zack’s head bumping up the porch steps, and God knew he couldn’t take any more blows to his skull.
Their captor wrestled Zack into a sitting position. Working quickly, he removed one of several sections of rope he’d carried around his neck and used it to bind Zack’s shoulders and torso to the back of the chair. Next, he wrenched Zack’s arms around the chair’s back and tied them, then secured his ankles to the legs. The rope bit into his skin, partially because of his weight sagging against the bindings.
Cori willed herself not to cry. His face was pale, breathing shallow. His glasses were gone. He’d come to, and then what? Things would only get worse. She didn’t see how they’d be able to break free of this monster. Zack might wish he’d died after all.
Stop it! He’d be so incredibly upset to hear her thoughts. They’d find a way out of this. They had no choice.
“Now we wait for the prince to awaken. Sit tight, Cori, dear,” he said, raking a hand through his cropped brown hair.
Alex disappeared into what she assumed was the kitchen from the swooshing noise of what sounded like a fridge and him rummaging around.
Like a bolt, the truth hit her.
Alex had never raked his hand through his hair. And he’d never, ever lifted a finger to do things for himself!
No, he’d have led her into the kitchen and beaten her as he forced her to fix him something to eat, then thrown it on the floor and ground it under his heel while shouting that her offering wasn’t fit for a dog.
Whoever this piece of feces was, he wasn’t her dead husband.
But for some reason, this man was content to let her assume. He was more patient and cunning than Alex had ever been.
And those traits, she knew, made him ten times as deadly.
Zack came awake by slow degrees. He hurt. All over. His mouth was as dry as cotton and his head pounded. Why?
He flexed his back and arms, tried to stretch his cramped muscles. Couldn’t move. What the hell?
“Zack, honey?”
Cori. Her voice nearby, thin with worry. Where was she?
He licked his lips, tried to swallow. God, he was parched. Thirsty. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt glued shut. He hadn’t drunk that much last night, had he?
Wait. His ass was sore, too. He was sitting on something hard, uncomfortable. Upright. He wiggled his wrists and feet.
Ropes. Ropes?
Last night.
A gun.
Their kidnapping flooded his memory in an awful rush. Bitter panic and nausea pushed bile to the back of his throat and he fought down the sickness. His eyes opened and the room whirled, fuzzy.
“Cori,” he rasped. “Where—”
“She’s here,” the hated voice interrupted. Footsteps, coming closer. “Glad you joined the party. The bitch refused to cooperate until she saw you weren’t dead yet.”
Zack concentrated on the blurry form standing in front of him. His vision was better, yet remained somewhat unfocused. His glasses. Missing. Which bugged him, because he had trouble seeing Cori’s face clearly. If he had to die like this, tied like an animal, he wanted to take the image of her lovely face with him.
More practically, he needed to be able to read her expressions. Oh, the fear in her huge, golden eyes was telegraphed plain enough. What he hoped to relay and catch in return were those subtle nuances their kidnapper might miss between them.
“Hey, baby. This isn’t nearly as much fun as last time I was tied to a chair.” There. A brave, tremulous smile. Holding her gaze, he thought, Help me stall him. Then he asked, “How long have I been out?”
“A couple of hours—”
“Shut up!” The man spun, his arm shooting out. A resounding crack echoed in the room as he slapped Cori’s face. Hard. “What information either of you need to know, I’ll tell it!”
“Noo!” Zack bucked in the chair, straining against the cords.
Cori’s tongue flicked out, capturing a smear of blood on her lower lip. Strands of hair hung loose over her eyes, which were glaring at the man with pure hatred, almost as potent as the red tide choking Zack.
You are so fucking dead.
“Untie me and try that, motherfucker.”
Their kidnapper turned his attention to Zack once more, apparently amused. “You wish. Comfy?” He chuckled, glancing at Cori. “You’re going to log in to your overseas account, or you’re going to watch me take your lover boy apart, piece by piece.”
Cori’s wide, frightened eyes collided with Zack’s, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Even if she knew how to make a transfer, there was no way she’d be able to empty the account of fifty million without assistance and verification from her bank’s representative.
And if she somehow managed the transaction, they were both dead.
“You’re not her ex-husband,” Zack said, hoping to distract him. “Who are you?”
“I never said I was.” Flexing his fingers, he waged a visible battle against gloating. And lost. “She assumed, probably because of the family resemblance. I suppose I should thank you for your part in my brother’s demise. I’m Lionel Gunter. Small world, isn’t it, my dear sister-in-law?”
Cori’s jaw dropped. “Alex never mentioned a brother. None of his family came forward after his death or even attended his funeral.”
“Despite the fact that I was the one who clued in my worthless brother about the advantages of marrying into the Delacruz hotel dynasty, I wasn’t named in his will, sweet thing,” he spat. “Even if I hadn’t been in prison, why would I go to his goddamned funeral?”
“To spit on his grave?” Zack suggested. Keep his attention from Cori.
Lionel grinned. Zack longed to rearrange his face.
“Under different circumstances, I might’ve liked you, Knight.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t find that much of a compliment.”
“Take it however you prefer. I don’t care. I’ll have the fortune that should’ve gone to me, not some cheap whore Alex was married to for, what? Five minutes?”
Cori’s expression hardened. “I already told you, Joaquin is looking for you. When he finds you, kiss your ass good-bye.”
“Oh, he’ll find me, all right. I’m counting on it.” The bastard let this sink in, smug. Unconcerned.
“He’ll kill you,” Cori said, voice wavering. Uncertain.
“Will he? Did you honestly believe I didn’t have a partner in my endeavors?”
Cori’s face blanched chalk white. “Joaquin? He’d never betray me. Never. You’re lying.”
“Am I? Let me share something,” he said, reaching out to caress her cheek. “In a few hours, your brothers will arrive here to save the day, as it were. One of them is my partner, the one who informed me of your husband’s untimely death and the mastermind of this entire scheme . . . and he will die with the others. I don’t share well. Being played is a bitch, huh? Guess which brother, Corrine, my love.”
Before Zac
k could protest, get her attention somehow, she reacted. Her bravado folded and she spat full in his smirking face.
For one heart-stopping moment, Zack thought Lionel would hit her. Sheer instinct caused him to surge, the bindings cutting his wrists and ankles, his need to come between them, to protect her, a physical agony.
Slowly, Lionel withdrew from her. Wiped his nose and cheek. Jaw clenched, he doubled his fist. Turned to face Zack.
Relief warred with dread. This was it, then. The monster intended to beat the shit out of him to keep her in line. Play on her emotions. Zack knew he’d hang on, however bad it got. He’d endure anything, for Cori.
But could she hold out?
The first punch connected with his jaw as Cori cried out, snapped his head to the side, wrenched his neck. So powerful he saw stars. Blood filled his mouth, ran down his chin.
“You hit like a girl,” he goaded, spitting blood in the direction of the man’s shoes. Too bad he missed.
The next blow took him in the stomach, dead center. Waves of nausea battered him and he struggled not to throw up. The third punch caught his ribs on the left side. Another, and another. Stomach, ribs. He doubled over as far as he could, absorbing the blows, tensing the muscles in his abdomen. Grateful his kidneys weren’t exposed to the brutality.
Body shots, he’d survive. For a few hours anyway. Unless a rib shattered and punctured a lung. Or his heart. Otherwise, it would take a long time for the bastard to kill him this way. The shithead might even break his hand in the process.
One could dream.
“Stop,” Cori begged. “Please!”
Lionel glanced at her, eyes cold. “Transfer the money.”
The laptop screen waited behind her, luminous. She hesitated, looking to Zack for guidance. Desperate, unsure what to do. He curled a lip at Lionel.
“She’s not doing it. Go fuck yourself.”
“She will.”
Lionel redoubled his efforts, keeping the blows concentrated on Zack’s stomach. Breaking him down, knowing his prey couldn’t hold out forever.
He punched, again and again. Zack hung forward in his bonds, gagging. Choking. Dry heaves twisted his gut, but there was nothing to expel. At least he’d been spared that indignity.
He’d lost count of the blows when Lionel took a break. Zack lifted his head. Smiled. Blood and spittle dribbled from his lips.
“Go easy, huh? I can’t afford any more sick days.”
Lionel laughed. “By God, you have balls.” He sauntered into the kitchen and came right out again—holding a large butcher knife in one hand. “I’m going to hate cutting them off.”
Cori gasped. Zack didn’t look at her. His wide gaze was fixed to the wicked, eight-inch blade. Lionel stepped between his spread knees, grabbed the neck of Zack’s polo shirt, stretching the material. Positioning the blade at the vee, he cut in a swift downward stroke, bisecting the material with a rending tear.
On reflex, Zack glanced down at himself as his captor parted the shirt, pushed the loose flaps back and over his shoulders. A line of crimson slashed his belly and he watched the liquid bead in numb fascination. The tip of the knife was so sharp, he hadn’t felt the cut, which was just beginning to sting.
Shallow. He’d seen much worse on stabbing victims before. No big deal, nothing more than a head game his tormentor was employing to get off.
Except the bastard was just getting warmed up.
Lionel placed the razor-sharp blade behind Zack’s ear, ran it along the vulnerable skin in an arc to his throat. There was no pain as the wet warmth trickled down his neck, his chest. The sting came after, but he ignored it. Kept his expression impassive, eyes locked on his tormentor’s, unwavering.
“Log in to your account,” Lionel said softly to Cori, not taking his gaze from Zack’s.
“No, beautiful. Don’t.”
The knife skimmed to his chest. Made another cut, across one pectoral. Then the other. Blood ran, and Cori stifled a low sob.
“Please, stop,” she pleaded. “I’ll try to log in.”
This got Lionel’s attention, and he glared at her over his shoulder. “Try? What the fuck does that mean?”
“I—I have to remember my account number. It’s really long and I’m n-not sure if I’ve got it right.”
That’s my girl. Zack knew her voice by now, heard the false conciliatory tone she was using to appease him. She was lying to stall him, buy them time.
Staring past Lionel, he met her solemn gaze, saw the flash of mutiny their kidnapper missed. She turned to the keyboard and he silently cheered her on, sent her love he hoped she could feel wrapping around her.
Her fingers clicked on the keys. Hesitated, backspaced. Continued, filling in a series of letters and numbers on two lines. Hit Enter.
Access Denied.
“Try again, dammit.”
Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder at Lionel, she started over. Every now and then, she paused. Pretended to think hard about which combination to use. Entered.
Access Denied.
“I’m trying! I’ll get it right!”
“You’d better,” he hissed.
With the third failed attempt, she and Zack knew he’d been pushed too far.
“You slut,” he snarled, jerking her chin up. “I’ll show you the consequences of fucking with me.”
Striding to the fireplace, he laid the knife on the mantel. Slid a heavy iron poker from its stand. His gaze fell on Zack and an evil smile curved his lips.
“No,” she whispered. “Please, I remember now. I’ll log in and—”
“Let this be a lesson to ensure you’ll think twice before yanking my chain.”
Fear stole Zack’s speech. His body went cold and he could do nothing. Say nothing as the man came to stand in front of him, the iron rod hanging loosely at his side.
“I’m going to break you apart,” the monster said, matter-of-fact.
Ah, shit.
Then he swung the poker like a batter hitting a home run out of the park. Zack’s side exploded in white-hot agony.
“Ahhhh!” His yell mingled with Cori’s scream. With the rushing noise in his ears.
He swore he felt the ribs shatter. Actually rip from their moorings to do untold internal damage. He struggled to draw breath, to—
A second blow sent his stomach into his backbone. The pain was unbearable, like nothing he’d ever been dealt. He hung his head and retched, then began coughing. Harsh, gasping, an ominous rattle in his chest. The flecks of crimson came next, splattering his jeans.
Coughing up blood. Bad, very bad.
The clock was ticking now, winding down.
Think of something, anything. Or you’re a dead man.
Vaguely, he became aware of Cori sobbing. Begging for Lionel to stop. The poker landed on the floor, discarded.
“You’re done fucking with me, I assume?”
“Y-yes. I swear. I know how to log in.”
“Get started, or your boyfriend won’t survive the next round.”
More clicking. A satisfied grunt from Lionel. Zack raised his head, tried hard to focus his swimming vision. A page was up on the laptop screen, though he couldn’t read the information from here.
“Now what?” Lionel demanded, waving a hand at the screen.
Cori worked for a few minutes, clicking on icons and typing in what Zack assumed to be a transfer request. Finally, she shook her head and sniffed, wiping her face.
“It’s blocking me. I can’t transfer that kind of money online, and my rep won’t be in now. It’s evening overseas.” Cori looked up at Lionel, halting his tirade before he started.
“But I know who can get us in.”
“You’d better know, because I don’t have goddamned time for this!”
Cori shot Zack a meaningful look, and his admiration for her grew tenfold, if that were possible. He smiled at her through the agony clawing at his body, and nodded.
“Zack can do it. He has a genius IQ, and he’s
a skilled hacker.”
Lionel shifted his stance, obviously not certain whether to be relieved or pissed. “And you’re imparting this news now? Why should I believe you?”
Cori shrugged. “Whether you do or not is up to you. But Zack told me he once hacked the FBI’s classified files—at age twelve. If anyone can make you a rich man in a short period of time, he can.”
Lionel fell silent, debating. Zack watched him sift through his options, knowing what he’d decide. What choice did the man have?
“All right,” he snapped at Zack. “I’ll let you up. You sit in her place and get the job done, or I cut her throat.”
Their captor retrieved the knife from the fireplace mantel, then went to Zack and sliced his bonds. Freed his wrists, then his ankles. Zack rubbed his hands and arms, sore and tingling from lack of circulation.
He stood slowly, unsteady on his feet. Racked by pain, he stumbled to the chair and lowered himself into it. Hunched over the keyboard, buffered by Cori’s presence at his side.
Placing his fingers on the keys, he called upon skills he hadn’t utilized in years. The part of himself he’d left behind long ago in favor of his dreams.
He’d wanted only to live an ordinary life.
Now he was being forced to perform an extraordinary act.
And he had a plan.
Zack sent a prayer heavenward that he and Cori would survive once Lionel discovered exactly what he’d done with fifty million dollars.
19
Minutes became a half hour. An hour? He didn’t know.
Sweat rolled down Zack’s face. Dizziness swamped his brain, and fatigue weakened his limbs. As he was immersed in code encryption, time ceased to have meaning. In the periphery, he was aware of Cori sitting on the floor by his feet. Lionel had finally given up and dragged over a kitchen chair to sit just behind his right shoulder.
Little else registered. Especially when he cracked the first level of the security system, and received clearance to proceed.
“I’ll be goddamned,” their captor blurted.
Zack didn’t answer. His sights were set on his goal, and nothing would stop him.
