Hostage (2 page)

Code

“You want out? This is your ticket.”

Sure, it sounds simple enough when Deke says it, but it’s anything but simple. It’s a plan that has a shitload of holes in it, and I’m the one taking most of the risks.

Fuck.

There’s some old spiritual about freedom. We sang it in a school choir when I was in elementary school, and I have no fucking idea what all the words are anymore. But the refrain stuck with me for some unknown reason. I hear it in my head sometimes.
Oh freedom. Oh freedom over me!

It seems like I spend my whole life looking for it, but never seem to find it. Sometimes I wonder if the idea of freedom is just some sort of fucking delusion.

For now, all I’m looking for is to be freed from being tied to this crew.

I don’t regret for one minute getting to this point, but it’s going to be a bitch to get out and move on. For a crew that was all about being badass and taking whatever the fuck we wanted, it all comes down to one selfish bastard making the rest of us do his shit.

Like now.

Like me.

I hate feeling like some sort of fucking peon, but there it is.

“Fine,” I say, feeling bored with the whole mess of my life. “Whatever.”

Deke looks at me through narrowed eyes. Right, like he’s intimidating. When this is all over, I’ll hand over those diamonds he wants so much and kick him in his fucking throat.

Then walk away.

He’s got an evil smile on his ugly face, and without blinking an eye he tosses a bag to me. “Once you’re out, dude, you’re gone. I don’t want to see your fucking face around here ever again.”

I shrug. “Not a problem. I’m doing this so that I don’t have to see your face again.”

“Then I guess we have a deal.”

Again, I shrug. Whatever. Honestly, this seems a little over the top for me. Either I’m gonna end up a dead man or in prison. I don’t see this going a third way. I’m screwed no matter what, though. At least in prison I can just stop thinking for a fucking minute.

I’m exhausted.

The price of freedom—no matter where it’s from—is sometimes too fucking high.

Deke starts rambling off his instructions again, and I pretend like I’m listening. He can talk until he’s blue in the face. Let all these other wannabe’s deal with him. Three more hours of this shit and then I’m done.

Walk in the bank. Get the diamonds. Get out. Be free.

“You just gonna walk in there like that?” Deke asked.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because they’ll see your face, asshole.”

Everybody can see my face, but no one knows who I am, so what’s the big freaking deal? “What am I supposed to do? Put on a kid’s Halloween mask like the other guys? Like that’s not gonna draw attention to me?”

“So what’s your plan then, hot shot?  Just gonna let the fucking cameras take your picture?”

“I’ve scouted out the place already.  I know where the cameras are and I know how to avoid them getting a look at my face.”

“Sometimes you’re so fucking stupid, Code. I don’t even know how the hell you got here.”

“Because I kicked your ass and earned my way in.” And I had, too. It hadn’t been intentional. Hell, I hadn’t even wanted in. I was minding my own business at some dive one night and Deke claimed I knocked into him.  I didn’t, but he wouldn’t let it go.  One bar fight later, suddenly I had the admiration of this crew – and Deke - and my fate was sealed.

I’d needed money then, having blown what I took with me from my family. Being a hired gun for Deke’s crew hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea.

Until recently.

Until now.

His eyes narrow darkly again. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope that you get lucky twice.”

I don’t believe in luck. Never have. If there’s such a thing, my life wouldn’t be in the shithole it is right now. I wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to shake myself free. Yet again.

Whatever. It’s over and done.

“Look, let me worry about my fucking self. You just worry about being where you’re supposed to be.”

Now the douchebag smiles. “Oh, don’t you worry. With what you’ll be hauling, I’ll be there.”

Yeah. I’m sure.

Without another word, I grab what I need and leave. No one says anything to me—no well wishes, not even a “fuck you” for the road. Like that matters. We’re not friends. They’re more like parasites. They suck the life out of you and then move on when they’re done.

I’m done.

I’m just so fucking exhausted. Maybe tonight I’ll actually be able to sleep.

In a prison cell.

In the morgue.

Either way, it will be a nice change of pace.

Once I leave Deke’s shitty apartment, I go back to where I’ve been crashing. Fuck. She’s still here. Ciji. Lying in the bed exactly where I’d left her yesterday. What the fuck kind of name is that? Anyway, she’s been hanging around since I won her in a poker game last weekend, and she won’t leave.

“Code?” she asks sleepily. Maybe to someone else she’s sexy, but right now I think she’s a hot fucking mess. Mascara smeared down her face, and her hair like a rat’s nest.

“Yeah,” I say distractedly, throwing my shit in a bag so that I can get the hell out of here.

She stands up completely naked. I’ve got mild appreciation for the look, but now’s not the time. She was a good lay—sucked cock like nobody’s business—but I’m done. Without a word she comes over and puts her hand right over my crotch and massages it. I push her hand away.

“I’m outta here.”

“Now?” she whines.

Clearly the concept of leaving is lost on her. Good. Let her stay here and pay this week’s rent. “Yeah, now.” Without a backward glance in her direction, I leave.

And breathe a little bit easier.

I’m not planning to go back there anyway. After the bank, I’m going to blow this town for good.

The walk to the bank takes a while. There’s traffic. There’s people.

Or maybe my steps are a little bit slower. After all, I’m technically walking to my own funeral.

There’s a pleasant thought.

With time to kill, I sit my ass down across the street from the bank and wait. There’s not a lot of traffic coming in and out of the bank at this time of day. It’s a good thing too. I’m just waiting for one old guy and then I go in.

Actually, there’s a lot of other traffic going on around the bank, but nothing really in it. Too bad we didn’t stage a car accident a few blocks over that would delay the arrival of the cops. Deke isn’t smart enough to come up with that one.

And I really hadn’t given it a thought until right fucking now.

Brilliant.

Way to try and save your own ass when it’s too late.

I see a flash of pink across the street and look up. A woman’s walking into the bank—young, small, long hair, great legs, short skirt.

Nice.

That got more of a rise out of me than Ciji’s naked body.

I’m losing it. Seriously fucking losing it.

I’m getting jittery because it’s almost time. My heart is racing, and I can feel the adrenaline starting to really pump.

I jump up and do a quick couple of laps around the block, keeping my eye out for the one old guy I need.

Then I see him.

I hear that damned spiritual song echoing in my head again. It’s like the fucking mantra of my life.

Let’s do this
.

Wren

My stepdad took me hunting once. I was ten, and I didn’t want to go, but my mother thought it would be some good bonding time.

My mother didn’t know much of anything. It’s one of the reasons she ended up dying.

But, back when I was ten, I did what I was supposed to. I went on the miserable, cold, early morning trip to the woods and waited in silence beside my stepdad for hour after hour. My hands were practically numb, no matter how tightly I tried to bury them in my coat.

Then, finally, finally my stepdad shot the deer.

I still remember the sound of the shot. And the sound of the deer’s body falling onto the autumn ground.

I heard it again when I was fourteen and my mother shot my stepdad. His body fell onto the carpet.

Anyway, that’s what I think of when I hear the shots in the bank. I watched the guy pull the gun out and aim at the ceiling, so there’s no reason to be so shocked by the sound.

But I am. I’m back to those woods when I was ten. I’m back to our apartment when I was fourteen.

The crack of noise just paralyzes me.

Everyone is screaming in the lobby around me. Throwing themselves onto the floor. Ducking for cover. Trying to run out the door. But I just stand like an idiot, completely frozen with a nauseated panic I thought I’d never experience again.

I’m still staring at the guy with the gun, the one I noticed before, but my vision is blurry. One small part of me recognizes that there are more guys who must be in on the robbery. They seem to come out of the woodwork—all wearing rubber Halloween masks.

Two of them go over to the row of tellers. I assume they’re demanding cash, since they’re handing over big empty canvas bags. Two of them seem to be in charge of crowd control because one shoots the security guard—in the leg—and the other is rounding up people into one corner of the lobby.

And here I stand. Still frozen. Feeling like that helpless ten-year-old girl.

“Move!”

I hear the voice, but it doesn’t really register. I don’t even realize it’s aimed at me.

“I said move!” This time, a skeleton mask appears right in my face with the words. Then hands comes out of nowhere, grab me, and throw me to the floor.

Literally throw me.

It hurts. It knocks the wind out of me. I’m not used to be thrown around like a garbage bag. I’m in an awkward heap on the floor, gasping and trying to figure out what part of my body is hurting so much.

Then another hand reaches down and pulls me back to my feet. “Stick to the plan,” a low, gruff voice bites out.

It takes me a minute to figure out he’s talking to the man who threw me and not to me.

The guy who pulled me to the feet is the sexy man I noticed earlier. His big hand is still wrapped around my upper arm, but it’s not hurting. Basically, he’s the only thing keeping me on my feet.

He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to me, though. He glares at his fellow robber until the other guy turns away with a muttered string of curses.

It’s starting to quiet down in the lobby now as people stop screaming. They’re being corralled into the corner.

“Two minutes!” one of the guys near the tellers calls out.

I’m sure someone has pressed the silent alarm. This bank has good security, and there’s no way to keep that from happening. Two minutes before the cavalry arrive.

I’m not sure how they expect to walk out of here alive.

The sexy guy, who is still holding my arm, reaches out to take a metal briefcase from an elderly man who is on his hands and knees on the floor.

“No,” the old man gasps, struggling to hold onto the briefcase.

The sexy guy easily shakes off the clinging hands and pushes the old man back down to ground.

Then, all of a sudden, a lot seems to be happening at once.

There are more shots and a lot of screaming, but I can’t quite figure out why. Something back over in the corner where most of the customers are corralled. I’m still in a state of shock, letting the sexy guy drag me back toward the offices.

That’s the wrong way. The exit is in the opposite direction. I have no idea why he’s going back there.

The guys with the bags filled with cash are following us. They’ve each grabbed someone from the lobby too—to use as a shield or a hostage or something. It’s all so surreal I can barely keep up.

I’m just being dragged with this sexy guy who is part of a bank-robbery crew, and there’s nothing in the world I can do about it.

It’s my birthday today, and less than an hour ago Philip was fucking me in the back of my Mercedes.

And now I see my father standing halfway down the wide, ornate stairs leading down from his office. He’s got silver hair and an expensive suit on, and he’s just as frozen with shock as I was.

But when he sees me being dragged toward the back with these criminals, he shouts out, “No! No! Leave her alone!”

I’ve never heard him shout before. Not once in my life.

And, strangely, the fear in his voice is what finally breaks through my stunned, panicked stupor.

I wrench my arm away from the guy’s grip and try to run back toward my dad.

I actually get away from him. I think I must have surprised him, since he’s obviously a lot stronger than me. My whole body hurts, and my vision is still blurry, and I smell a burnt scent from the guns that’s so familiar and makes my stomach roll with nausea.

But I stumble away as fast as I can. I don’t make it very far when a strong arm wraps around my middle and pulls me back toward a lean, hard body.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” the guy says—same sexy guy as grabbed me before. “I need you.”

I don’t want to be needed by a bank robber, even a sexy one with a tattoo and a five o’clock shadow. I’m used to going along with whatever people want, but there’s this surge of resistance that suddenly swells up inside me.

It explodes in one choked word. “No!” I struggle against his powerful grip, even though he’s a lot bigger and stronger than me. I don’t even think about that. I just need to get away.

“Damn it,” the guy mutters, dragging me with him toward the back offices again. “Stop your fucking wiggling.”

“Let…me…go!” I throw my elbow back, hoping to connect with something that will hurt him. Instead, I connect with the metal briefcase. The shock of pain is so intense that I momently see white.

He takes advantage of my brief limpness by repositioning my body so I’m even more under his control. “Stay still,” he bites out, gruff authority in his tone, “or you’re going to get yourself killed.” He pushes me down a hallway, after the rest of the crew.

It’s an outrageous thing to say to me. “Fuck you, asshole! You’re the one who’s going to get me killed.”

His arm is now tucked under my tits, and it’s trapping both of my arms. I can’t swing out to hit him. And I don’t have the leverage to use my legs, since he’s half-carrying me as he strides through the hall. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just borrowing you for a while. So shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

My mind is a whirl of terror, outrage, fury, and shock, and my body is completely out of my control.

This guy has control of it. Completely. He says he’s not going to kill me, but I have no reason to trust him.

He’s the criminal. He’s the bully. He’s the bastard.

He’s the one who is taking me hostage.