Stealing Her

by Alexis Abbott

  I’m not the kind of guy who believes in that kind of thing, but one thing’s for sure: me and the rest of the gang chasing off teenagers who come snooping around every now and then sure helps the place’s reputation.

  Part of me is disappointed the old asylum has a worse reputation now than it used to. It’s much more peaceful now, and I kind of like the way the creeping ivy looks as nature slowly starts to reclaim the rusty old bars and weathered brick.

  The spirit of New England is a crumbling old asylum full of haunted memories.

  My eyes are turned up toward the sky as the last of the sun’s light goes away, starting to let twinkling stars show themselves one by one. I know the stars pretty well. Not many people know that. But having hours with nothing else to do gives you a lot of time to think, and over the years, I’ve gotten to know the map of the stars above me intimately.

  It gives me time to think.

  I hear a faint stirring from the root cellar, and my eyes flit down to the door for a moment. The girl moves around in there a lot. It’s understandable. She’s cold. The last few pieces of clothing I gave her should have been enough to keep her warm, but if her dad drags things out, I might have to get her something warmer. Maybe some thicker leggings and scarf, or a warm hat. She’s a small slip of a girl.

  Grabbing her was almost too easy.

  This is nothing personal. It’s how the guys and I make our living: ransom money. We track down bankers who’ve made their riches by foreclosing on people’s houses, and we take the most precious thing they have from them— usually a spoiled, bratty daughter. Rich men love treating their daughters like prized possessions. Pretty trophies just like their cars and their yachts. Taking them always gets their attention.

  It was my idea. I have no remorse. I have a special hatred in my heart saved up only for men like that.

  After all, they’re the sole reason I got dealt a sore hand in life— their greed. If it weren’t for men like that, my dad might still be alive. My mom might still have a house. I might have…

  I snap myself out of my trek down memory lane. I can feel the anger welling up in me like a storm. It happens every time I let myself think about everything that’s happened to me over the years, all to line the pockets of some assholes who didn’t even give a single mom and her scared kid a second thought after pocketing the profits. It gets my blood running hot and raring for a fight, and it has taken me a lifetime to get that side of me under control.

  Rage is a powerful tool, but only if you can channel it. Otherwise, it destroys you, gleefully.

  But I listen to the stirring of the dirt inside the makeshift cell, and I can’t help wonder what my life would have turned out like if things had held together for me. I wonder if I’d be a clean-cut kind of guy. I wonder if I’d be the kind of guy who could draw in a girl like Lila and give her the type of life she deserves.

  The kind of man she deserves.

  I run my hand over my face, rolling my eyes at myself. Now I’m just fantasizing like a stupid kid. There’s no point in letting my thoughts go in that direction. Just because the leftover smell of her perfume is still on my jacket doesn’t mean I should be letting her get to my head. It would be a rookie mistake. I have her here for one reason and one reason alone.

  I’m no Prince Charming sweeping anyone off their feet. I’m a gang leader clapping a hand over their mouths and dragging them away to the shadows.

  Just then, a sound reaches my ears, and I snap my attention to the left, back down the hall toward the building. As soon as I do, I feel all that rage boil to the surface again.

  Ryder is standing there, his green eyes staring right back at me as he freezes in place. I didn’t even hear the door of the building creak open. I hadn’t told anyone that I was taking up guard duty for our hostage.

  He was sneaking out here again.

  “Hey!” I bark, and without waiting for a response, my whole body roars into motion.

  Adrenaline surges through my body with nearly blinding anger as my massive frame barrels down the concrete, leather boots thumping hard against the ground as I race toward Ryder. In the split second that all takes place, his eyes widen, and he’s frozen like a deer in the headlights for a second before he turns to try to run to the nearest wall. He jumps up on it, trying to get a hold on one of the stones to haul himself up and over the edge onto the grassy hill surrounding the open pathway.

  I beat him to it.

  My legs thrust me up, and I wrap my thick arms around his waist before he can pull himself away. Between the two of us, nearly four hundred pounds of man come crashing back down onto the sidewalk.

  He grunts as he tries to pull himself away from me, but I have a hold on his jacket. He tries to struggle out of it, but I jerk it around, keeping him too disoriented to break free from me. He starts throwing wild swings up at me, and a few catch me on the arms, but there has never been any question about the pecking order in my gang.

  I’m the top dog, and anyone who tries to question that gets punished.

  Once I get my feet planted on the ground, I haul Ryder to his feet and immediately slam him back against the hard wall. I hear his head hit the back of the wall hard, and he lets out a grunt of pain. It’s nothing compared to what I’m about to give him.

  In the blink of an eye, I pull my fist back and swing. My punch catches him right in the center of the gut, and the sharp, pained wheeze I hear from his big chest tells me I’ve knocked the wind out of him.

  He starts to slump to the ground, but I follow him down, never letting go of his jacket. He squints up at me, desperately trying to get his breath back as I hold my fist just inches from his mouth and grit my teeth.

  “That,” I snarl, “was a lesson, Ryder.”

  Our eyes lock for a few moments, but his shuddering breaths can’t give me an answer.

  “Next time, it’ll be a knife. I don’t want to see your sorry ass past those doors anymore,” I growl, pointing to the doors he came through from the main building. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

  I let him go and stand up in the same motion, taking a few steps back. Immediately, Ryder staggers to his feet and hurries down the sidewalk back through the doors, coughing and spluttering as he goes. I glare after him, still feeling the urge to kill coursing through me, barely held back by the restraint I’ve trained myself to use over the years.

  My gang and I are close, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to keep them in line every now and then. And with Ryder, I have to do it more often than I’d like, as much as I hate having to beat the shit out of my high school best friend to keep him in line. I thought about putting Bear on guard duty for this girl, since this kind of thing wouldn’t be a problem with him, but I don’t fully trust anyone but myself with her.

  Nobody else can keep her safe like I can.

  I hear the sound of tapping on metal, and I look over my shoulder. It’s coming from the cell. Lila is knocking.

  I take slow, careful steps toward the door, breathing slowly as I go. I want to get my blood settled down a little before I talk to her. She’s scared enough of me as it is. It’s better that way, of course, but I don’t want her to be in a panic the whole time she’s here.

  My heavy footsteps bring me to a halt outside her door. The tapping stopped a few seconds ago. She must be able to tell how close I am.

  “Hello?” her muffled voice calls. “What was that noise? Is…is everything okay?”

  My jaw tightens. I sense the question behind her words is whether that scuffle was the sound of her rescuers arriving to save the day. I almost feel bad for her, but there’s no help like that on the way. I wasn’t lying when I told her there was nothing in the news. Her dad no doubt cares too much about appearances to go to the media.

  My hand flexes as she waits for a reply. I have to resist opening the cell window. Lila is different in a way that I can’t explain, and it makes me feel strange about her. Still, as the breeze blows over me again, I’m reminded that it’s a c
old night that’ll be hard enough on her as it is. She might not sleep if she’s worried something is going on outside, and that’ll only make her condition worse.

  Against my better judgment, I grip the metal handle and slide the food window open so I can peer through.

  Her frightened face is surprisingly close to the door when I put my face close to it. I remember the pencil I gave her, and I don’t push my eyes up against the window. I don’t know if she’s smart enough to try any bullshit like that, but I can’t be too careful.

  “It was nothing,” I say curtly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I put my hand on the window to close it again, but her eyes go wide.

  “Wait!”

  I don’t know why I listen to her. I’ve ignored that exact word so many times before slamming this very same window on all the other spoiled brats I’ve made a buck off.

  “What?” I growl.

  She moves her mouth, but no sound comes out. She seems as surprised as I am that she managed to keep my attention.

  “D-don’t close the slot!” she breathes, and I can hear the desperate edge in her voice.

  “It’s cold tonight,” I say. “A draft will come in.”

  “I…” she started, grasping for words, terrified that I’ll seal her away in darkness again so soon. “Please, can…can you leave it open tonight? I think- I think I’ll sleep better if I know you’re out there.”

  I glare in at her, searching those pleading blue eyes for her motives. This cell is secure, there’s no way she could get out even with the window open. I can see all the way to where she sleeps from here if it’s open. I just assume hostages would rather have privacy.

  Whatever. If this girl has some weird, harmless requests, at least it’ll make her more cooperative.

  “Fine,” I grunt, but I don’t move away from the door.

  A look of relief washes over her face, and a sincere smile crosses her features. After the rush of the fight with Ryder, her smile is strangely heartwarming to me.

  “Thank- thank you,” she stammers. “I… I appreciate it.”

  She looks like she wants to talk more, but she knows how little I speak by now. I do that on purpose. Getting too cozy with the hostage is a good way to let your guard down. After a few awkward moments, she bites her lip and moves back from the door, going to a pile of her old clothes she seems to have turned into a crude bedding area, and she lies down slowly.

  She glances back at me one more time to make sure I’m watching, and it puzzles me that she seems genuinely comforted by knowing I’m watching her. I figure it’s because of Ryder. Strange, but a cooperative hostage is better than a hostile one.

  I can’t shake the feeling that I’m acting like more of a protector than a captor at this point. I shouldn’t have to play that part, but now that I’m doing it, I can’t deny that it feels a little more rewarding than having to deal with some screaming and kicking little brat.

  Once she gets as comfortable as she can, I take a few quiet steps back to the other side of the wall, and I lean against it again, crossing my arms and watching her small frame rise and fall with every breath. It’s kind of relaxing to watch.

  My phone buzzes and snaps me out of it. I take it out and read the text I just got from Bear, and my heart jumps.

  The target’s ready to negotiate.

  Chains

  The headlight beams in front of the car light up the flecks of drizzle falling in the midnight darkness. We roll around yet another forested curve on the seemingly endless road to the meeting point, and not a word passes in the car among the three of us.

  I’m driving, and Ryder is in the passenger’s seat. I don’t want him out of my sight for a second. We’re away from Lila, but I need to remind him that I have my eye on him. I need to keep him in my sight, at least out of the corner of my eye, until I feel like he’s ready to fall back in line and not need to be watched as if I’m his babysitter.

  Hawk and Tank went ahead of us much earlier. They’ve been staking the place out, making sure things are safe— that meant keeping an eye out for cops setting up a trap, if the mark was foolish enough to go to the police. Those two brothers joined up as a team, and they’re fiercely loyal to each other. Not so much that I ever have to worry about them, though. They’ve been working with the rest of us for a long time, and I trust them as much as anyone else.

  Bear is back at the asylum, keeping an eye on Lila.

  I don’t like the idea of leaving her alone, even if there’s no chance of her getting out on her own, but Bear is the only one I can trust with her besides myself. He’s a giant of a man with body hair so thick I swear it could make a knife glance off of him, and his love life is full of men, not women. That, and out of the lot of us, he’s probably the softest soul deep down.

  That’s one thing I can’t compete with— I was hardened long ago, and I don’t think there would be any going back for me even if I wanted it.

  Our vehicle swings around the final bend to our destination, and we turn off down a narrower road off to the side with crumbling asphalt all around it. The trees and shrubs are growing more free and wildly out here, slowly trying to take back the road and seal off our destination forever. People don’t drive out to this place often, and that’s exactly why we picked it for this ugly business.

  Our headlights fall on the sign for the amusement park that’s been shut down since the early nineties. Rust and chipping paint have almost eaten through the old ticket price and kitschy artwork on the sign. A few yards further down the road, it opens up into the long-abandoned parking lot, already sprouting tufts of weeds that have burst through the black asphalt in open rebellion.

  We roll past it down a service road that leads to a small cul-de-sac surrounded by the trailers of what used to be part of a shabby amusement park. We bring the car to a halt while still in the woods, and my eyes scan the area warily.

  “Think we have something to worry about from this guy?” Ryder asks.

  “We have something to worry about from all of ‘em,” I say.

  “Yeah, I meant more than usual,” he says.

  “Assume the worst,” I say grimly. “Always. Guns loaded, eyes open. We’ve used this place before. You know what to look for.”

  They’re the same words I say every time we prepare to get out of the car and make this deal happen. It would be repetitive, but careless mistake that could be avoided with a simple reminder are what make operations like ours fall apart all the time. We don’t have to be geniuses. We just need to check the basics more than the other guys.

  We climb out of the car, and we start making our way on foot around the cul-de-sac to the big trailer that used to be used as a kitchen— one of those overpriced restaurants where you get a deep-fried version of just about anything you could imagine that you’ll regret later. Ryder walks a few paces to my right, and I sent them a text to let Hawk and Tank know we’re close. They should be holed up in the ruins of what used to be a petting zoo by now. It’s a good place to hide and watch, and it’s eerie enough that not even the teenagers like going there often.

  It’s also a great place to use for an ambush, so I always have the brothers investigate it while Ryder and I handle the business. I do the talking, and he stands at my side for backup. All four of us would make the contact jumpy.

  There are two other trailers and temporary buildings set up: a stage where magicians did tricks, and a funhouse that’s really just an elaborate version of the kids’ play areas they have in fast food restaurants. The place is caked in graffiti from the teenagers who’ve snuck up here from time to time to drink and break some bottles, but that hasn’t done much to lift the haunted feeling from the derelict park.

  We aren’t supposed to be meeting a person tonight. If anyone else is here, we have a problem. The mark has instructions to leave the money for Lila’s ransom in the last broken oven in the kitchen. Once we confirm that we have the money, we arrange to have the girl dropped off at a different location tha
t we don’t disclose until she’s dropped off and we’re long gone. It’s efficient, safe, and usually clean. For these rich assholes, it’s much safer and quieter to just pay the money rather than getting the police involved.

  The parents want the girl back, and they have far, far more than enough money to make it happen quickly and easily. Getting the police involved means publicity, and that’s bad for everyone involved.

  I climb up into the sea of broken glass and rubble that used to be a restaurant, or what passed for it at one time. My boots crunch against the glass as I make my way through, glancing around cautiously. My hand is on my gun, and I’m ready to act quickly, but I don’t take it out yet. There could be some teenager or a homeless person creeping around, and I wouldn’t want to even run the risk of pointing the barrel at a person like that who didn’t deserve it.

  Besides, if there’s a police trap set up here, our best bet is to split up and disappear into the woods before we can regroup. That’s our plan, and it always has been. A firefight is not productive.

  We take a few steps into the trailer, and I can see the oven from where I stand. The words ORDER UP are spray painted on the wall under the hole where fry cooks used to hand food to the serving staff, and there are a couple used needles lying on the floor just under that. Tables and chairs have long since either been carried off or the rusty ones left to decay. Everything looks just like we left it last time we were here.

  …but something feels off.

  I stop, and I look around with a furrowed brow as Ryder continues walking forward slowly, inspecting the place. We don’t say a word to each other while we’re on the job like this. Don’t want to risk drawing attention to this neck of the woods for any reason.

  As Ryder walks forward, he enters the kitchen, like I’ve seen him do plenty of times on his way to the oven. When he does, it hits me.

  The lighting in here is different.