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I lean back in my seat, while they talk back and forth about my fate. So, Stan wants me at his home? I wonder if they mean the place we shared in San Francisco. That would be crazy and the first place anyone would look. But then I remember that my ex is a wealthy man, his family probably has property all over the state. Another thought crosses my mind, if he wanted me dead then he would just do it, so what were his plans for me? Did he want to hold me captive as some kind of sex slave? A shudder went through me at that thought, but it gave rise to another idea—if he wasn’t gonna kill me outright, then that meant I had a chance of escape?
I wondered if Smoke and my brother knew I was missing yet. I had been due at court earlier today and surely by now someone would have raised the alarm. Though what good that would do I wasn’t sure, my purse had been thrown out of the van before they drove off, so no one had any way of tracking me down.
“Since the little bitch filed a protective order against me, I need show my face in public, so I have an alibi. Then the cops can rule me out of their investigation.”
“Yeah,” Tatts says, “That protective order puts you at the top of the list of people who might want her dead.”
Stan flashes him an evil grin. “All things in due course, my friend. There are some uses for her alive, at least until she gets boring.”
So, he wants both Smoke and me dead. Oh, happy fucking days, I think to myself.
The smile drops from Stan’s face and his voice turns weirdly possessive. “She’s still technically mine. So, that means no touching the goods.”
Tatts responds menacingly, “Fine. Just remember, I don’t work for free. That means if I don’t wind up getting paid, you become my next hit.”
Stan frowns at him. “Now, you’re being an asshole for no reason.” He reaches into his briefcase, takes out several banded bundles of cash, and hands them off to Tatts. “Take her and go straight to my cabin. No stops for anything other than gas. The minute you get here there, I want her chained and quiet. When the biker’s murder hits the news, I’ll transfer you the payment in full.”
The big brute looks pleased with his hard-won negotiation. As for me, I don’t look at Stan or yell at him or do anything that might make him more fixated on me than he already is.
When Mr. Tatts picks up his gear and slams the van door, there is a moment when our eyes meet, and I see the darkness of his soul. In that moment I think he’s going to kill us all, even his skinny sidekick.
When he climbs into the passenger side again, he glances at the driver. “What in the fuck are you waiting for? Back out and follow the SUVs. I don’t like having his security team all over us, but his cabin is the perfect out of the way place for us lay low until we finish the job.”
“Yeah, I hope they have food there, cause I’m fucking starving.”
Tatts just grunts.
I’m panicking on the inside because I’m in way over my head and have absolutely no idea how to get myself out of this situation. I feel a bit like a butterfly pinned to a cork board. Knowing that Stan will be along later to rape me, makes me want to scream with frustration and anger. I can’t believe they’ve talked in front of me like I’m not even here. It’s as if they all see me as toy they can do with as they please. Another horrifying thought enters my mind—maybe it’s like Stan insinuated, they plan to kill me, so it doesn’t matter what I hear. All I can think of is saving my baby. I’ll do anything, say anything to protect our unborn child.
***
Finally, after another hour on the road—or maybe two, as by now I have totally lost track of time—we turn into a side road, and head toward a fancy looking cabin. If anything, it looks more like a small ranch house. I vaguely remember Stan saying something about his family having a country retreat just out of San Francisco and I wonder if this was the place he was talking about. Once we get there, Tatts drags me down to a room in the basement, explaining, “Can’t have you in a room with windows now that you’ve heard what your boyfriend has in store for you.” He clamps a metal shackle around one leg and snaps it shut with a click of finality.
I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to argue, nor did I think I had it in me to gnaw my own foot off to escape.
Tatts walks over to the far side of the room and pulls out some mechanical parts from his duffle bag and begins to work on something that looks like it could be a bomb. Not that I’ve ever seen one being made in my life, it could be a toaster oven for all I know.
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Am I going to die?”
Tatts glances at me over his shoulder. “I’m not planning to put a bullet in your head if that’s what you’re thinking. Can’t really vouch for the others though.”
Somehow, I don’t believe him. I think he’s the most dangerous person I’ve ever met in my entire life.
“Who killed my friend, Gina?” I’m absolutely terrified, and only brave enough to ask because I have to know who to identify as her killer, if I ever manage to make it out of this godforsaken situation alive.
His expression turns cagy. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s the last person you would imagine.”
His cryptic response leaves me more anxious than ever. Before Stan alluded to killing me, I would have thought he was the least likely of these three men to be capable of such a thing. Now, between Tatts and Skin and Bones, I think Tatts is clearly more capable of killing, but his skinny partner seems more unhinged.
“I should have known better than to take a job from an Ivy League asshole like Stanford fucking Scott.” His voice was despondent and distant, like he was talking more to himself than to me. “I’d like to wring his scrawny little neck. He’s an uptight prick and irritating as fuck.”
I look down at the chair he has me chained to, it’s bolted to the floor and the whole thing looks ancient. I’m thinking this isn’t their first foray into kidnapping. Maybe Stan and his family have been into shady shit for a long time. Why else would they have mechanisms for chaining people up that are both old fashioned and rusty as hell?
I let Tatts get back to work and try not to aggravate him. My survival depends upon drawing as little notice to myself as possible.
My mind drifts to Smoke. It occurs to me that Tatts wouldn’t be able to pull up in front of Smoke and drag him into a van. Smoke would kick his ass, and snap Skin and Bones in two like a twig. No, they would need to devise a way to kill him from a distance. The image of someone lying in wait with a sniper rifle comes to mind. Then my mind grasps onto a much more likely scenario. Turning my head, I tried to figure out if the device my captor is working on was indeed a bomb. There were no red or blue wires, like in the movies. Something told me it wasn’t exactly a bomb but something else they were going to use to capture or kill Smoke.
Watching him hunched over the table, working away, I realize that I had to figure out a way to escape. Warning Smoke that they are gunning for him, moves to the top of my priority list. I have to either stop them or escape and warn Smoke. Nothing else is an option, especially laying low and pretending to be a good little victim.
