by J. C. Cliff
“Then yes, Lance, to answer your question, I am threatening you. Which do you prefer: pushing up daisies or feeding fish?”
“You fucking asshole!” Dad’s voice booms through the doorway, and I have never heard him this mad. Holy crap! As I stand right outside his office door, my breathing turns shallow. I’m a little freaked out right now. God, I would really like to have a sneak peek, but I’d be exposing myself if I did. My gut tells me to stay out of sight to listen to how things will play out.
My imagination begins to run wild as I picture what this stranger looks like. His voice reminds me of an Italian mobster. It sounds overbearing, spine-chilling, and villainous, and it all fits perfectly together with his thick New York accent. He sounds so stereotypical I wouldn’t doubt it if he was holding a Tommy gun.
“Lance, you don’t seem to comprehend what I’m saying here; I have my orders from the boss. One week is seven days too long, and the time has come. We’re taking Julianna, and we’re taking her tonight. I don’t need your permission, or seal of approval. The boss wants her, and he wants her now. He always gets what he wants.
“The man’s steel voice resonates with a clear-cut finality that has his last words ringing in my ears. Taking Julianna…say what? Taking me?! Holy shit!
“He may be your boss, but he sure as hell isn’t mine. We had a business deal on my terms, not his. Get him on the phone; I want to talk to him.”
“Uh-uh, that isn’t going to happen, Lance. He said this may happen, and if it did, I’m to use any force necessary to see it through.”
Hearing this angry man who wants to take me only God knows where, my breathing starts to accelerate. Pressing my back harder against the wall, I try to inhale a calm, quiet breath. I really don’t feel like going anywhere with this guy, let alone meet his boss, so he’d have to take me kicking and screaming if he did. Shit! Maybe that’s what he plans on doing. Pure, raw terror overcomes me, making my stomach muscles clench.
Dad’s voice bellows again with wild rage, “The hell you’re taking her anywhere!”
The other man’s voice shifts from turbulent to eerily placid as he speaks calmly. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, Lance. Make no mistake, I will be taking her…by force tonight, if need be. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, I’m done here.”
It just dawns on me that come Hell or high water, this man means what he says, and I am witnessing the calm before the storm. I can feel it in the air; some serious shit is about to unfold, and all I can do at the moment is try to catch my breath. My thoughts get all jumbled up, vacillating between panic, confusion, what to do, and where to run. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut for a brief second, forcing myself to think on my feet as I run escape scenarios through my mind at Mach speed. There is no safety if I retreat to my bedroom; he’ll probably head there first. Shit, my purse and car keys are upstairs. I resign myself to making a break for it on foot; barefoot, at that.
With my heart pounding heavily in my chest, I realize every second here counts if I’m going to escape with success. Judging by the impatient tone of the man, I know he means business, and I’m not fond of the idea of him getting his way. I don’t understand why this is happening to me, of all people; I have nothing to do with anything. I’m more confused as to what my father could be wrapped up in that’s so bad. Why would they feel the need to use me as leverage? Panic begins clawing its way back into my chest, choking me. Breathe, pull it together, girl. You have to think, Jules.
I swallow hard, working desperately to shake off the fear, allowing my fight-or-flight instincts to kick in. I need to get out of here and find a safe hiding place to hole up in until this blows over. Once I’m safe, I’ll call my father, and he can help sort this out. He’ll know what to do; he has to. I talk to myself as my feet begin to move silently away from the danger. Just pretend it’s a game, just like old times, sneaking around the house playing spy for fun.
Moving swiftly and stealthily through the dark shadows of the house, I avoid all the noisy pitfalls in the floorboards. Soon, the kitchen door in the back of the house is within my sights. I stop, frozen in my tracks when I hear a strangled sound coming from the dark shadows of the kitchen. My brows knit together in confusion; it’s the sound of someone in pain. I slowly turn to find the source of the noise and lose my breath.
“Jake!” I whisper loudly, and I find myself by his side. I’m on my knees, hovering over his body, feeling for where he hurts. “What’s going on, Jake? Where are you hurt?” I’ve lost track of why I’m even in the kitchen at this point. Jake is my only concern right now.
Jake grabs my wrist and squeezes it almost painfully. “Run...Jules,” he croaks out in a whisper.
I shake my head. “No, Jake, I’m not leaving you.” My heart is beating wildly in my chest. “Can you walk? Are you shot?” He lets out a pained grunt and squeezes my wrist harder until I whimper in pain. “You’re hurting me, Jake.”
“Just run, Jules,” he growls out. “Shit’s going to get ugly. I can take care of myself.” He releases my wrist, and I just stare at him in shock. “If you trust me, you’ll listen.” When I just sit there stunned and wide-eyed at what I’m seeing and hearing, he barks at me, “Run, dammit!”
I shake my head, clearing the foggy haze. Instead of running, I try lifting him up. I grunt. Dammit, he’s too heavy. “You always were a stubborn little shit. I’ll be fine; I promise, but you won’t be if you don’t get the fuck out of here!” I’ve heard my dad say the f-bomb all the time, but never Jake.
“You promise me?” I whisper shakily.
The muscles in his jaw flex as he speaks through clenched teeth, “Yes, I promise. Now for God’s sake, run for the fucking hills, girl.”
“I love you, Jake.”
He murmurs a curse word then says, “I love you…now go!”
I lean down and give him a gentle kiss on his forehead before I slowly start to get up on shaky legs. I find my body moving away from him on his command. My mind is in total conflict. I don’t want to leave him, and this is gutting me. Jake has never lied to me before, and I have to believe he will be fine. I try rationalizing it; I can’t help him if I’m caught. Yes, that’s it: I will go and get help.
With a renewed purpose, I slip to the backdoor, reaching out for the doorknob with a shaky hand. Just as I open the door, I hear Jake yell. Before I can turn around to check on him, it’s too late. It feels as if a hulk of a man has encased my small body from behind, slamming his hand violently down over my mouth, preventing me from screaming. I can feel the pressure of the screams backing up in my throat. Silent muffles no one can hear but me are locked down tight. I can’t even swallow; my throat has constricted itself so tightly. Despite his iron grip on my body, I kick and thrash; I am not going down without a fight. Where in the hell are all the other bodyguards? I think, outraged as I’m dragged back through the hallway from where I’d spied.
I know we’ve reached the threshold of the front door when the hot, humid, southern air assaults my senses. I begin to kick and thrash harder in a final attempt to get free. In my adrenaline-induced panic, I almost breakaway. The man is forced to let go of my mouth to get a better hold on me. My diaphragm finally releases every suppressed scream in one fell swoop, piercing through the calm night air.
I scream like a banshee from the front steps all the way to their getaway vehicle. I realize I’ve lost the battle when I’m haphazardly thrown into the back of an empty cargo van and two men surround me. I hear my father’s booming voice laced with anger from the front doorway, but he and the bodyguards are too late. The metal doors on the back of the van slam shut with a force of finality, its sound ringing in my ears, and I believe those doors just forever sealed my fate.
I hear the tires squeal as the van takes off at top speed. The quick, forward momentum of the vehicle suddenly tosses everyone around in the back of the van, including me. I hear the men cursing as they clamber over each other, trying to get a foothold
. The van speeds down the driveway, taking me away from my home and family. I don’t realize I’ve never stopped screaming until a man yells from the front seat to the back of the van, “Shut her the fuck up!”
The same familiar, hulking hand is smacked back over my mouth in an attempt to stop my tirade. Like a worm on a hot rock, I find myself wiggling and thrashing to beat the band of men. They have a hell of a time trying to contain me, and I know I kick one burly man in the nuts. I’m glad; I hope he becomes impotent.
I feel the giant hand losing its grip over my mouth as I continue to scream and thrash, and it creates the perfect opportunity for me to inflict pain on the man in hopes of an escape.
My teeth find themselves sinking into the flesh as I bite through skin and into knuckle. The harder the man struggles, the harder I bite, trapping him in the vices of my maniacal snare. I begin to feel warmth spreading over my lips; it’s blood, and I hope the bastard needs stitches.
“Son of a bitch!” The man above me howls into the night with pain like a wolf in the wild. “Get this fucking bitch off me! Get the damn needle now!”
I’m backhanded ruthlessly across my temple, but I refuse to let my mouth open, keeping my jaw clamped down. Another man comes into my periphery, attempting to help his partner. He straddles his big body over mine and begins to wrap his thick, huge hands all the way around my neck, cutting off precious air. I feel beads of sweat beginning to form along my hairline, and my breathing becomes ragged as I begin fighting for breath.
The man choking me squeezes even harder, sneering through his clenched teeth, “Let go, bitch!” Lifting my head by the death grip he has around my neck, he then slams the back of my head down against the hard metal floor of the van. Shit! I see stars as the pain courses through my head, and it only serves to make me clamp down harder. The man howls with an ungodly scream. My body overrides my brain; it needs air, and I quit flailing around and automatically begin clawing at the man who’s choking me.
My fingers find his thick biceps, and I begin digging my fingernails deep into his skin. Starting at the top of his shoulders, I scrape down the length of both of his arms. I feel his skin rippling and curling underneath my nails, drawing blood—gives new meaning to blood-red nails. “Goddamn it! Motherfucker, who’s got the fucking drug?” he screams, both burning pain and seething rage lacing his shout.
The back of my head gets slammed against the van’s flooring again. As my lungs begin to run out of their reserves, I start to wonder if I’m going to die this way. Before I can feel the terror of my imminent demise, I am blissfully spared the experience. I feel the prick of a needle passing through the barrier of my skin and almost immediately, my muscles begin to betray me. My jaw loosens its grip, and the man yanks his hand from the snare of my canines.
“Thank God! What the fuck took you so long, asshole?” he sneers vehemently.
I feel every last one of my faculties rapidly losing their resolve and ability to fight. The man hovering above me graciously backs off his death grip, allowing me to suck in a gasp of air. My lungs frantically claw and inhale for deep breaths to keep my heart beating. Everything is peacefully beginning to fade into a dark haze, and the last words I hear are, “’Bout fuckin’ time, you asshole. Boss ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout the merchandise being knocked around like that.”
Then everything goes black.
CHAPTER THREE
I can feel the state between my drug-induced sleep and just waking up. In the background, I faintly hear men quietly chatting. I can only hear bits and pieces of what’s being said. I’m fighting to arouse my body from its drugged mayhem. My mind is telling me to feign sleep so I can eavesdrop on what these men are saying, but the urge to touch the back of my head is too overwhelming. I hear myself groan as aching muscles protest against any movement. My head is throbbing with a pounding pressure attacking me from all sides. My head is a Georgia pecan, and it’s being crushed ruthlessly in a nutcracker.
My mouth is dry and it’s somewhat welcome, since my throat hurts like hell for me to swallow. Remembering my struggles from last night, I can still feel phantom hands strangling the last breath from my body. I truly didn’t think I’d live to see today.
My heartbeat is pulsing in my throat as I fight to suck in a tiny breath of air. I feel as though my windpipe has been crushed. My nostrils flair, inhaling more oxygen, thinking it will somehow bypass my windpipe to add more volume in my lungs. I have to tell myself not to panic, to take tiny breaths. Small breaths will keep me alive just as much as big ones. Panicking never helps, especially when it comes to starving my lungs of vital oxygen. I hear another whimper escape from my cracked lips.
“She’s stirring now,” I hear a distant voice say. Chair legs suddenly scrape loudly on a bare floor, and I hear the heavy clacking of shoes making their way across the room, stopping at close range.
“Wake up, my sleeping princess.” The man’s voice sounds kind and sweet, yet firm and masculine. I’m confused as to who the hell would be calling me his princess; only my father calls me the endearment. I’ll set the man straight at another date and time. Since those men were so kind to do such a number on my throat last night, I don’t have the will to spit out fighting words. I don’t open my eyes, ignoring the command of my new captor. Fearing my head will disintegrate upon impact, I’m afraid to allow even a miniscule amount of light to filter past my eyelashes.
I can barely manage a whisper of despair. “My head…it hurts…so bad.” The pain is so severe; I almost wish the men would have killed me last night. The way I eased into the deep darkness of sleep last night was almost too easy. Since I have to contend with the living, all I can do at this point is signal to my throat and let out another whimper, wincing from the pain. I feel my hair being gently moved away from my face, baring my neck to the men hovering over me. I hear one of them gasp.
“Son of a bitch! This wasn’t supposed to happen! I told them to go easy on her; that’s why Jared gave the dumbasses the cocktail of paralytics!” He’s livid; his loud voice laced with menacing anger reverberates inside my head, and when I let out a helpless wince, he seems to realize the need to tone it down.
“Did you see this, Travis? She’s fuckin’ bruised all over her neck. Where the hell is Jared? Has he seen her?”
“Nick, calm down, man. Yes, she’s been looked after. I’ve been up all night taking care of her. It was close to one in the morning when one of the boys called me en route to the facility. He gave me a heads up about what transpired so we could have medical on standby. I had Jared meet me here before they even got her through the door.” Travis’ voice held a calm assurance, placating Nick, steering him away from his growing anger. I hear the men shuffling around beside me as the man with the rich baritone voice, Travis, continues to speak, inching his way closer to me.
“Jared left me everything I need; all her meds are right here beside her and labeled to help her stay as comfortable as possible. I’ve kept her medicated through the night.”
“What else did they do to her? I don’t even want to begin to imagine the things I can’t see,” Nick says with agitation mixed with anger.
I hear a package crinkling beside my head, then I feel a cooling sensation snaking its way through my veins. At this point, I don’t care what they’re giving me as long as it puts me out of my misery.
“The guys told me she put up one hell of a fight before they could put her out. They slammed her head around like a tetherball. She’s got a nice goose egg on the back of her head to prove it.”
I hear the man, Nick, curse under his breath, but I can’t make out what he says.
“The second they brought her into the clinic, I had Jared examine her, start an IV, and a regimen of pain meds. I wanted to be prepared for any scenario by having the IV available, especially since we didn’t know the extent of her injuries.” Travis pauses, but then continues with disgust and a hint of ire lacing his voice, “Other than the fact her windpipe was damn near crushed, she’ll be
black and blue for a bit. She was pretty shook up last night, but she will be all right. I wound up sleeping on the sofa last night anyway to make sure there were no complications.”
I hear more items being shifted around on the surface beside me. It’s interesting to hear about my kidnapping and the aftermath being told from a stranger’s perspective. I am relieved to hear I have no broken bones, and better yet, an unbroken skull. I’m even more fascinated and curious as to why these men seem to be doting over me, and the calm one who spent the night here to make sure I was going to be okay. I’m left perplexed.
“I was pretty pissed last night, Nick. I came close to snapping the bastard’s neck.” I can hear Travis inhale a large breath then exhale slowly in an effort to calm himself down. I can feel his tension whirling around me. “I have the full report on who did what, but I figured before I snapped any necks, you’d want to decide their fate.”
I’d hate to piss this man off. The tone of his words seem to hold serious promise, like he snaps necks every day and doesn’t blink an eye. He sounds so ruthless and cutthroat, and my heart rate speeds up, wondering how merciless he will be with me if I don’t walk his line. How can he sound so soft and calm one second, and then turn his emotions around on a dime, portraying a callous, brutal killer the next? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
“Damn right, I want to handle this personally. The bastard’s mine,” Nick says with seething disdain. “This one here…she’s a special one. They knew she was to be handled with kid gloves. It’s inexcusable; they had strict orders, someone messed up, and now they’re going to pay.”
I don’t get why these guys are so pissed; they are, after all, criminals. In all the movies I’ve seen and all the books I’ve read, this isn’t typical bad-guy behavior. Willing to risk a sneak peek, I’m more curious to see who these men are. Slowly, I begin to squint my eyes, willing them to open.
