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“Look, Flower, either you come willingly, or my brother here will drag you out kicking and screaming. The choice is yours.” He leans back into the chair and crosses his legs.
“I will kill him and then you if you touch me.” I move to my knees, ready to pounce.
“No, you won’t.” He laughs. “You have ten minutes.”
Deciding I’d rather go out fighting, I play their game. “If I go with you, are you going to kill me?”
“No. I’ve already told you. You’d be dead if we wanted you dead.”
“Why should I believe you?”
He shakes his head and stands from the table, his tall muscular body towering above me. His voice deepens. “Believe what you want, I don’t care at this point. I’m only doing as I was told. Now—” He raises his chin and straightens his firmly pressed suit. “—go get dressed.”
I take a deep breath and allow the aroma of the flowers on my table to embody my nostrils before hurrying off to the bathroom.
My gun is gone, and I’ll be damned if I am going to leave my place with no way to protect myself. I throw on some dirty sweatpants and a T-shirt from the floor. I can smell the sweat incorporated into the clothing from a prior workout session. I begin to scramble around my linen-strewn bathroom, trying to find anything that can be a weapon.
I notice my razor atop a perch in my shower. I grasp at it in haste, almost hurling myself into the bathtub. I tuck it into the elastic of my pants that hug my ankles. Feeling confident it won’t move from its spot, I continue my search. I pile my hair into a messy bun and stick way too many bobby pins into it. I have lotions, face wash, and soap galore, but none of it can be easily concealed.
Worried I am taking too long, I grab my rat-tail comb, making sure its metal point is facing up, and shove it into the waist of my pants. I keep my eye on the door, convinced that at any minute Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will bust in.
I exit the bathroom on high alert, watching them as I make my way to the front door. I push my feet into my dirty Nike runners, then stand, showing them I’m not scared even though the trembles racking my body and the flush in my cheeks probably show otherwise.
“Ready, Flower?” one asks.
I nod, biting my lip.
He looks to his brother, who hasn’t moved an inch, and juts his head toward the door. “Let’s roll, Jules. You know he doesn’t like waiting.”
Tweedle Dum, or Jules as his brother called him, nods and walks out the door, not giving me a second glance. I follow him out, walking slowly, trying to watch behind me out of the corner of my eye as the other follows.
The short walk down the stairs is torture, like walking down an upward-moving escalator. My mind races as my feet attempt to navigate the motion of the steps. They both move so swiftly and reserved while close to me, monitoring my every move. I can’t make a break for it. I try to focus on everything my dad has taught me and keep my guard up. As they watch me, I watch them. When they move, I move. They are both so similar yet individually different. It’s intriguing on so many levels.
Pausing on the sidewalk at the bottom of my stairs, the quiet one gestures in front of him to a shiny black SUV with an impeccable wax job. It is sitting perfectly lined with the curb. The contour of the vehicle flickers in the sun. Emerging from within the dark tinted windows is an older man with thinning white hair. His loafers are ragged and aged. He is wearing corduroy pants, and, on the air, there is a faint smell of Old Spice. He rises and stands by the back door, flashing a warm smile.
It’s odd to say the least. The man gives off serious grandpa vibes. Rosy cheeks, bushy brows, and his smile all say heart of gold. The lines and wrinkles on his face are tales of the life he has lived, yet only he knows that story. Honestly, you would look at him and expect him to smell like sugar cookies. Why he would be with the Bobbsey twins, who seem like they break knees for fun, is beyond me.
I stand staring at him longer than I should. “Get in. Now,” the one twin demands.
I glance over my shoulder and give him a dirty look but comply as the older man opens the door. I slide over the perfectly upholstered leather seats and plant myself next to the window on the opposite side. Crossing my ankle over my knee casually, I let my hand run over it, making sure my razor is still in place.
“Whatcha got there, Flower?” he asks as he slides in beside me.
I drop my leg, planting it to the floorboard. “What are you talking about?”
He smiles, showing me his perfectly white teeth. “I’m not stupid. Well, maybe I am. Because if I was smart, I would have searched you. I know you have something there.” He points to my ankle. “Give it to me.”
I curse myself in my head. The razor was probably the best weapon I had and could find in my bathroom, and somehow, I’ve given it away. I grind my teeth, then reach for it, popping the cap off with my thumb as I grab it.
I bring it between us and dare him to grab it. Once his hand is an inch from mine, I turn the blade and yank it toward me, catching his inked skin in the process. I drop it with a satisfied smile on my face as he jerks his hand back to inspect the damage.
“You’ll regret that,” he spits.
I shrug. If I’m going to die, I might as well go down fighting. Most people wouldn’t have gone with them, but knowing their boss knew my dad gives me a newfound hope. I need answers, and maybe he can help me get them. I don’t care what I have to do at this point.
