Frankie has done the same from her truck, with Brighton and Trish on her heels. But these guys are way better armed than we are and we’re so not a match for them. As he leans around the truck bed to take a shot, Vlad gets struck. Screaming, he goes down.
“Get to him!” I yell to Caitlin. “I’ll cover--.”
That’s the most I’m able to say before out of the blue, I get pinged by what looks like a rock that I don’t have time to dodge. My world goes black.
When I wake up it takes a few seconds to realize my surroundings. Then I see him. After seven years he’s got me exactly where I fought so hard not to be. I’m in the cush back of the black SUV sitting next to Carlos Escalante. “You have been a very hard woman to locate,” he says, calmly with his hands folded deceivingly relaxed in his lap.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to choke him until the last breath leaves his lungs. Instead, I lift my chin and look him in the eye.
“That was purposeful,” I answer, trying not to give away any emotion.
He snickers as if what I’ve said is funny, but he launches at me with his fist. The first blow hits my stomach with so much force, it knocks the wind out of me. I sputter and cough but can’t suck in a breath. As I’m bent forward, he slaps me upside the face, hitting my cheekbone, and I swear he splits my cheek open with that slap, though there’s no blood, only pain, so I know he didn’t.
“Look what you’ve made me do,” he says as he clucks his teeth in kind of a tut, tut, tut sound. I still can’t breathe, so I don’t answer. “What? Nothing to say now?” he asks. Even as the tears pour from my eyes, I glare murderous daggers at him.
I have no idea what’s happened to the women or to Vlad. Did he survive his gunshot? God, what if his helping me got him killed? I couldn’t live with myself. Escalante sips champagne from a crystal flute while violin music plays softly in the background.
Somehow, I have to get word out to Blood.
“Would you like a drink, dear?” he asks.
“No,” I answer.
“No, what?” He backhands me once again and this time I do feel blood from my nose.
“No, el maestro.”
The windows in the SUV have been blacked out so I can’t see where we’re traveling and with my head woozy from the small beating I received, I’m more than a bit disoriented and have no sense of time.
We keep going, no stops. By the time we actually do stop, the door is opened for us by one of his goons and I’m yanked from the backseat by Escalante. It’s dark out, but I hear ocean waves or possibly that of a very large lake, and stars twinkle in the sky. It’s warm, however, which means it has to be the ocean because any lake large enough to make waves that strong would have to be a great lake or the like.
Think, Hannah. Oceans. Okay. There are two. Atlantic and Pacific. We certainly weren’t in the car long enough to reach the east coast of, say, Florida or Georgia. It could be the Pacific, but even that seems a bit far. That leaves what? The Gulf, right?
He wrenches my arm hard enough that I know there’ll be a bruise in the form of fingers when he pulls his hand away. I stumble forward a couple steps before finding my feet. He doesn’t lead me to a big house, though. It’s one of those private bungalows that resorts have for rich people.
Take it all in, Hannah. I try, but I get another backhand across the face, as if he knows what I’m thinking. I cry out, shooting my hand up to soothe the burning skin. That one lapse of weakness is all he gets from me. I harden myself to the situation again and this time discreetly get a feel for the neighborhood. The closer to the bungalow we get, the closer to the shore we get. Water laps the wet sand and moonlight glistens off both. It would be quite a romantic scene if I weren’t here by force.
He pulls me to a stop waiting for one of the goons to unlock the door. The second goon follows behind us inside the lavish space. The bedding is pure opulence. Fabrics of silk and satin all in white, cream, and gold. The threads are actual spun gold. And the copious amount of mosquito netting draped and tied from the poles of the enormous bed gives it yet another romantic touch. There’s something so tropically colonial about the dark carved wood of the bed and all that white and cream. If not for the modern upgrades such as the kitchen and flat screens and whatnots, it would feel like I’ve stepped back in time to eighteenth-century Jamaica or some other island in the Caribbean.
“May I use the restroom, el maestro?” I dare ask. Nature doesn’t pick when she calls and I need to check out the place.
He nods his head and seems content with my compliance. Goon One leads me to the restroom, opens the door, and pulls it shut. I have a feeling he’s going to keep standing guard there until I’ve finished my business.
The bathroom has a jet tub, a shower big enough for a small town to shower together, double vanities, and a commode separated off from the rest of the room by a partition wall made of reeds. All in light, airy white, cream, and golds.
There’s a bright spot too. A window. It’s not big enough for say, one of the goons to climb through, but I think I might be able to fit. As I plot out my escape, I use the facilities and wash my hands. It’ll be a stretch. I’ll have to stand on the seat of the commode to reach the window and pull my body weight with my arms. Most people would have a problem with that, but with all the dancing I’ve done over the past seven years, I’m sure I can do it.
The reflection staring back at me in the mirror isn’t the girl he tried to buy seven years ago. Now I’m a woman with a loving family and I have Raif. I splash water on my face to rinse the dried blood away from my nose. I refuse to hide and be scared the rest of my life.
When I’m finished and figure if I spend too much more time in here, Escalante will get suspicious, I pull open the door to Goon One still standing next to the opening, his arms crossed.
“He’s ordered you food. You are to eat,” he says, and a terrible Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his face that I don’t trust one bit. “If you don’t, I’m allowed to make you,” he finishes.
I nod, not giving him the fight that he thinks he’s going to have, and walk over to the table. Again carved, dark wood. It’s gorgeous. Taking a seat, I casually ask, “Will el maestro be joining me?”
The asshole laughs. “Nah. Not tonight. He’s pissed you forced him to smack you around. You being his prize and all. Now me? I’d smack you around while I was fucking you just so you didn’t get any ideas that you’re special—but that’s just me.”
He doesn’t get the response he clearly wanted from throwing out that little barb. But I won’t cower to him. Instead, I simply load my plate with fruit, cheeses, crusty bread, and other delicacies.
At the end of the meal, I change into the clean, red satin nightie that Escalante has requested I wear to bed and I climb in. If Goon One is here with me, then Goon Two has to be with Escalante because he’d never go anywhere without protection.
I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. Goon One moves to the sofa to sit down and turns on the television. After about an hour of lying with my eyes closed anding at the clock, listening diligently, the goon gets a phone call.
He moves from the sofa to step outside the front door of the bungalow. It’s dark, but this is my chance. I tuck pillows under the blanket to give the brief appearance of a body and quietly slip over to the bathroom. Without even giving off the tiniest click from the door and lock engaging, I pad over to the commode, stand on the seat, and unlock the window. There’s a screen to remove. I shove my fingernail through the mesh to create a hole that I then tear at until I’ve torn out all the screen mesh.
I grab on to the window and heft myself over to the slight sill, then bend forward and walk with my hands down the side wall, pressing my feet against the wood to keep me from falling forward. It’s a complicated maneuver that most wouldn’t be able to execute. Once I’m down, I right myself, pressing against the wall, and walk first to see if the goon still stands outside guarding the front door. Then I walk to check the opposite way and
the coast is clear. There must be only one door in the bungalow to not have the back guarded.
Running low to the ground with the damp, lush grass cold against my bare feet, I take off not toward the beach, that’s too open, but in the direction of the golf course, which should be empty this time of night. In the distance I see what can only be the groundskeeper’s hut. Checking to make sure no one is around, I run across the expanse of grass until I reach it, collapsing under the window to give myself a chance to catch my breath. When I feel ready, I stand and peek inside. It’s shut down for the night. But I see a phone on a desk.
Right. Time to get to business. The door is locked, which sucks, but that’s a minor setback. I pull off the nightie and wrap it around my arm as I sneak around to the window on the farthest side of the hut, the side least likely to get me seen. Using the nightie to somewhat muffle the sound of breaking the glass and protect my hand, I use every bit of force I can muster to punch a hole in the glass. It takes two tries but I’m able to slide my arm through the hole in order to reach the latch and unlock the window.
My arm catches a sharp point on the way out that slices my skin and even though it hurts like a mother, I don’t make a sound. The only place to land once I crawl through the window is onto the floor with the broken glass. Pieces get embedded in my feet, cutting those too. Despite that, I reach the phone and try as hard as I can to remember Raif’s number. I usually just hit his contact.
Think, Hannah. Think. After a few precious moments wasted, I remember the number and push it into the number pad on the desk phone. It rings twice and then I hear the sweetest sound in the world.
“Who’s this?” Blood asks.
“Raif,” I whisper.
“Hannah? Hannah, baby? How are you? Where are you? Fuck…”
“He has me. I think we’re at a private resort on the gulf coast, but I don’t know where. I escaped. I’m hiding in the groundskeeper’s hut. Oh.” I sniffle, trying to hold back the tears. “I don’t know who I can trust. He has his goons.”
“Breathe, baby. I’m coming for you. Are you hurt?”
“Some cuts and bruising. But I’m in nothing but my bra and panties and I don’t—”
“Shh…” he says and the way he says it, so loving, so reassuring, calms me down. “I promise, baby. I’m coming for you. Just lie low. Is there a closet you can hide in?”
I hear clicking on his end. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Looking up private resorts. It’s not a private residence; therefore, it must be listed somewhere.”
He’s so smart.
“It would be the most expensive—the most exclusive,” I direct him. “Maybe target your search there?”
A bit more clicking from his end and then. “Looks like he’s got you in Mississippi. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Stay hidden, baby. I’m only a few hours from you. We’ve been all over the west trying to get to Elise. She’s safe. When Caity contacted us, the uninjured brothers rode out.”
“She’s safe?” I ask, ready to sob with relief.
“Elise is safe. The other old ladies are safe. They headed back to Missouri, I kept going in the direction Frankie said they took you hoping like fuck I’d find a lead to get me to you.”
“Please hurry. If he finds me…”
“He won’t fucking find you, Han. Love you, baby.”
“Love you too, Raif.”
Before I find the closet to hide in, I use the first aid kit they keep in the hut to take care of my cuts the best I can and then I clean up the glass from the window hoping that if he doesn’t get to me before dawn, it’ll take the groundskeeper a bit longer to see the broken out window and alert anyone I don’t want alerted. Then I wipe down any blood from my arm and feet and move to the small closet inside the tiny restroom. This is where they keep cleaning products and extra toilet paper. The bottom shelf is the biggest, though I have to fold myself like a shirt to squeeze my body inside, then I arrange the toilet paper in front of me. A pain shoots through my leg, but as long as I feel pain, I’ll be okay. It’s when it goes numb that I have to worry. That means the circulation is cut off.
After a while, there’s a startling crack of a door hitting the wall behind it. It cracks hard enough to shake the little shanty. I bite back a gasp, holding my breath.
Then I hear Goon One. “Cunt ain’t here,” he says, and I wonder if he’s talking to Goon Two or Escalante. “Just a second,” he then says right before the door to the small bathroom slams open. My heart pounds hard enough against my ribs that I’m sure it’s going to give me away. In a worst fear scenario, the door to the closet slams open. Between the slim spaces of stacks of toilet paper, I see his legs. “Just a closet inside the shitter,” he says into the phone. “Shelves. Nowhere to hide.”
“Fuck,” he screams, punching the cleaning products on the shelf above me. Bottles and cans fall to the floor cracking and clanking. But—thank you Jesus—he leaves.
My heart keeps speed-beating for a while after he disappears from the room. Maybe it’s the tight space and lack of fresh air. Maybe it’s an adrenaline crash. Whatever the reason, I pass out.
I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious when out of the blue my eyes pop open. I shake my head to wake up a little more. There’s another noise coming from inside the hut.
Panic grips me. I feel like I could puke. Like I could pee myself. It could be a worker, but what if it’s a goon or worse, Escalante himself? What if Goon One had been messing with me earlier? Trying to get me to let my guard down? What if the groundskeeper had orders to detain me? What if he has a weapon?
The questions keep coming, faster and faster, until the noise, though slight, stops in front of the door of the restroom and I’m ripped from my thoughts. It pops open. My heart thunders again. I think this night has taken ten years off my life. The door to the closet opens.
“Han?” I hear. Oh god, he’s here. My Blood—my Raif.
“Here,” I whisper. He bends down, shoving the toilet paper out of his way, and using both hands, he pulls me from my hiding spot, throwing his arms around me in the fiercest hug of my life.
“Baby, it’s not safe. We gotta get out. Now.”
I nod but keep silent. He runs me the opposite way from the golf course, moving us toward the beach. It’s still dark, but I can see the hints of daylight in the distance. Our time truly is running out.
Hidden under a dock off one of the piers, he has a two-person kayak. “Where did you get this?” I ask.
“Stole it,” he says as he helps me climb in to keep it from tipping. Then he climbs in front, lifts the paddles, and begins to move us. We keep to the shadows heading for the dark, so going west. As I’m not good with miles, I have no idea how far we paddle before we reach another dock. There’s nothing else around it save for what looks like a large shadowy blob sitting among the tall grass that I assume to be a vehicle. It’s so dark that I can’t make out anything more than a rough shape.
He runs the kayak to ground next to the dock and throws the paddle on the beach. Then after climbing out, he helps me to stand, carrying me up over the stony beach to what turns out to be a van.
I’ve seen this van a thousand times sitting at the compound.
He unlocks it and has me slip inside the back. “We’re alone here, but I need to get us off the coast before we stop for rest.”
That’s the last he speaks to me. As we drive through the blackness, he makes a quick call to probably Hero. “Tell Brin I got her. She’s safe.”
Once we reach a paved road the van’s speed picks up. I can’t sleep. My heart is still racing too fast, even though Raif has me. My mind won’t shut off.
I stifle any sound as I let the tears I refused to show Escalante fall. I’m tired. Body, mind, and soul-deep tired. When the sun begins to rise, the sky appears purple and orange. It’s a gorgeous view.
Eventually, he clicks on a blinker and merges onto a different
road. He turns and then turns again, then stops.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Rest stop,” he answers. “We’re sleeping in the van for now. Don’t want you seen yet.”
“Okay.”
This is the first time I notice the rolls in the corner. The white van has no back windows. He pushes from the front seat to climb in back with me. Though strangely, he doesn’t hug me again or even speak. I figure he must be tired from driving all that time. Raif sets to work rolling out the sleeping bags. They have pillows stowed at the very center of the roll.
Then he drops his cut over a seat, pulls off his boots, climbs under one of the covers, rolls over away from me, and goes to sleep.
What the hell is going on? Is he mad?
I lie there watching him breathe and realize he’s trying to sleep, but he’s worked up, too. That’s when I make the mistake of placing my hand on his arm.
“Don’t,” he says. And oh, yeah—he’s pissed.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Dammit, Han. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t. My brain won’t shut off,” I admit.
“Funny, it didn’t turn on before.” Uh, ouch. That’s a dick thing to say.
“Right. Okay. Got it.” Then I roll over, facing away from him.
He sits up and rolls me back. “You don’t got shit,” he spits.
“Kindly take your hand off me, please.” It’s an order, not a request. He immediately pulls back his hand and I hear the grinding of him gritting his teeth.
“Why the fuck did you leave?” he asks. “You promised me you’d stay put.”
I figured we’d have to get into this. I just thought he’d give me a little more recuperation time first. “They took Elise,” I answer with what he already damn well knows.
“And we were on it. You—” He cuts himself off, running his hands over his very red face and I can tell he’s got a tentative hold on his temper.
“They thought she was me. Of anybody, I knew what they were going to do with her. Those men don’t care if she’s got a husband or a son. She’s young and hot and would fetch a great price for some foreign asshole who thinks because he’s got a billion dollars that gives him the right to do whatever the fuck he wants.”
Blood Revealed (Brimstone Lords MC Book 6) Page 12
