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28
Cole
We pull up to the address from Roger’s phone, no idea how he got it or how he does anything he does, but I’m grateful. It’s an old historic house surrounded by acres of trees and a tall iron gate.
“This is the plan, Cole. It’s a strong possibility they know who you are, correct?” I nod to Roger as he lays it out. “Good. We’ll use that against them. You’re going to act hotheaded and start trying to break in. Feel free to knock them around but be sure they take you. Once you’re in, you’ll be wearing this.”
He sticks a small black pin on the collar of my black polo shirt.
“We’ll find a way in and turn shit upside down. Get Lyla out, Cole. Do not get distracted and do not stay to get revenge. Once you have her, get her out as fast as you can, you hear me?”
I nod, knowing he’s right and it’s the best plan. I have to get a grip on my anger that’s threatening to boil over.
“She may not even be here, and the last thing we want is to officially be on the shit list of the police and the mob. Play it smart. Once we know this is the place, which we’ll know pretty quickly, we make our move. You both ready for this? Now’s your last chance to get out of this mess before it gets worse.”
We both look to Marcus; I hate that he’s been dragged into this and might get hurt, and I wouldn’t judge him if he wanted out.
“No fucking way I’m leaving,” Marcus says, gritting his teeth.
I nod and he opens the door for me. Pretending I’m angry and losing my shit isn’t hard. I start shouting as soon as I see the front gates. A large H in gold is in the middle, and I wonder what king of family could be going along with a kidnapping.
“Hey! Open up, motherfucker! You know why I’m here! Come out and face me!”
I keep it up, yelling louder and louder but never say Lyla’s name. Finally, two thugs dressed in head to toe black come out of the house. As they get closer, the gate starts to open, and I can’t help the cocky grin that spreads across my face. If this was anyone else, they would call the cops, but they know exactly who I am and are playing right into our hand. I walk through the open gate quickly and land a solid punch on the nose of the douchebag still in sunglasses, even though the sun set hours ago. The other guy, with a bald head, tries to grab me from behind and pin my arms back. I let him but buck the back of my head into his nose as hard as I can. This unfortunately gives sunglasses enough time to get in a solid hit to my ribs and even though I’m no longer held back, I fall forward just enough to meet his knee with my face. Fuck, that hurts.
I stumble a bit but stand just in time to kick the little bald dude coming back for more but remind myself I’m supposed to lose, and as gratifying as it would be to knock these assholes out, they aren’t who I really want to take down. I want Lyla safe once and for all, and it’s clear these guys are only hired help, so I take a few shots to my stomach and one more to the face and finally let them trip me and take me down.
They haul my ass into the house; it takes both ’cause I’m not about to make it easy for them. I act like I’m spent and can’t keep my head up, all the while taking in every room and hoping the small camera I’m wearing is picking it up. We pass by a kitchen, and I twist and push closer, acting like I’m trying to fight them but really just wanting to see if it has a door leading outside. I get us in the kitchen and face the door I was looking for and land one more punch to sunglasses and let them take me down again.
They drag me down a long wide hall and finally make it to a set of double doors. They knock three times, and I hear an old voice with a heavy accent say come in.
As soon as the doors open, I see the back of Lyla’s head and resist every urge in my body to fight to get her. I stick to the plan, but it’s painful. I know my face is bloody and I play the part. I act weak and barely conscious and hope they believe me until Marcus and Roger can make it inside. I take a slow look around and notice another man in the chair beside her. He looks like he’s half dead and not pretending. He’s bloody and his eyes are swollen shut. I hang my head down again and notice two teeth on the floor by the man’s right foot. The old man clears his throat, and I guess this is the dismissal of the two thugs. They drop me the ground and I lie there. They don’t leave the room though and suddenly I hear a familiar voice. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s sweetheart came to rescue her. The question is how. How in the world did you find this place?”
I look up weakly, to lock eyes with none other than the greasy dude from the gym. Slicked-back black hair and a red t-shirt. I let my head fall back to the ground nice and hard for dramatics because I’m not sure how to answer yet. He comes over to me and pulls my hair. I can see Lyla’s sweet face looking at me with tears in her eyes, and she screams.
“No! Stop it! Stop it you dumb fucker; just stop!”
He drops my head and walks to her. I can see now she’s been taped to the chair, it’s rocking with her fit of anger. Probably for his own safety. Lyla could easily take this preppy cocksucker.
My eyes drift to the man behind the desk, and he watches the argument, and then the fucker backhands my girl across the face. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. This will all be over soon, and these men will pay dearly.
Lyla groans but I can tell it hurt her, and she’s not giving him the satisfaction of more of a reaction.
“You’re no longer in the position to be a stuck-up bitch.” He spits down in her turned face, and suddenly the doors open and gunfire erupts. The coward runs around the desk, and I use this as my chance and pop up to my knees and crawl to Lyla, bringing her chair down and covering her with my body. Chaos, as promised, fills the room. They stop shooting and start throwing punches.
I pull at the tape which frees her hands and feet, and we watch Marcus and Roger take on the two bodyguards that brought me in. As predicted, the wimpy pretty boy hits the ground hard and fast when he runs up to Marcus and is taken down in one punch. Finally, I stand with Lyla in my arms and look for the old man. He must be hiding under the desk, but I promised Roger I would get her out as fast as possible and leave the dirty work for him to clean up. I keep her solidly pressed against me under my arm and pull the pistol I have tucked in my boot. We move to the wall and swiftly make it out of the office as shots are fired once again. “We can’t just leave Marcus in there.”
She stops in the hallway and looks up at me in concern. My beautiful woman has bruises on her cheek, chin, and a black eye blooming, and I know it could have been so much worse. I take her face, no longer able to keep my lips from hers and kiss her like I almost lost her because I easily could have. I step back and pull the pistol from my boot and hand it to her. She smiles a sad smile at me, and without another word we make it back to the office.
We creep up quietly, each of us going to the wall on either side of the door to peer in. The office looks destroyed, and Marcus is pulling Roger over his shoulder, and all three men lay bloody on the floor around them. I rush to help Marcus as Lyla covers us at the doorway. The old man and the guy who was dying in the other chair seem to be gone. We make it out of the house and into Roger’s SUV, but he’s in bad shape. As soon as our doors are closed, another black SUV with dark tinted windows speeds out of the driveway, screeching on the cement as it takes the corner hard. Lyla jumps in the front seat and shifts into drive.
“Lyla, what are you doing? We can’t go after them; Roger has to go to the hospital!” Marcus shouts at her, but I get it.
She won’t feel safe until the old man is brought down. She knows as well as I do, he won’t stop coming after her.
“I can’t go to the hospital. Get my phone for me and keep going, Lyla,” Roger says, holding a bleeding bullet wound on his hip. Marcus pulls it out of the cupholder and hands it to him. He scrolls for a while and hands it back to Marcus. “Say the words ‘code red watermelon’ and tell Lyla the address. Lyla, get close enough to read the plates but not too close. Let’s get some help before we all get arrested,” Roger says, panting, and I grab the towel that’s on the floorboard and twist back to press it on his side. He’s lying in the back seat, and Marcus has the man’s head in his lap, looking lost and angry that he can’t do more for a guy he just met. He does as instructed, and Roger takes the phone, dials a number, and hands it to me. I take it and put it to my ear.
“Ready and waiting,” a man on the line says. I tell him the code words while Lyla gets right up on the other SUV, and I read the man the plates, describe it, and tell him the street we’re on. We turn into traffic and keep the guy updated. Roger finally says it’s enough information and we need to head to the address location in the text messages. I end the call and look. Only one of two messages and one unread. I plug it into the GPS, and Lyla turns off and follows the directions, groaning and gritting her teeth. I know this is for the best, and she would never let Roger die, but it’s hard for her not to fight.
We drive back out of the city, and Roger seems to be getting worse; the towel is completely red, and the man’s face is ghost-white. Finally, we make it to the address and pile out. An older man and woman come running with a stretcher. Marcus and I help get Roger on and into the backyard where they have a small shack that looks dirty on the outside but is perfectly sterile white on the inside. She instructs us to pull the SUV into the garage we parked in front of and take the red van inside and forget this address. We look to Roger, and he nods and salutes a goodbye that seems final.
“I’ll never forget this favor, my friend,” I say, shaking his hand and leaving with Lyla tucked under my arm and Marcus at my side.
