Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (56 page)

Chapter 51

I’
ll be more polite to men like Brick Verbote in the futur
e—
if I live
. 

That was my last thought before lights out. 
I’
d had that cheesy lawyer I hitched a ride with drop me off at Bric
k’
s office. 
I’
d wanted to ask him to help me use his HVO to match up Stok
e’
s bite on the Twizzler package with Megalo Do
n’
s. 

Then boom!  Someone cracked my skull.

“
Alaina
,”
I mumble, my mouth tasting like cotton
,“
you better learn to be nicer to guys like Brick Verbote.  I think he just tried to kill you
.
”

I’
m out of it, sort of. 
I’
d kill right now for one of those Mountain Dews Stoke sucks down all the time.  Smacking my lips, trying to generate spit, I search the room.  I
t’
s huge, the size of four or five of my campus classrooms.  When I move, my head hurts.  My survival instinct kicking in and my eyes adjusting to the bright lights, I search the walls for windows.  There are none.  Fighting panic, I stretch my legs out in front of me. 
I’
m duct taped at the ankles, but my hands are free.  I struggle with the tape, and then try bending double and chewing it.  Ca
n’
t. 

Grotesque images from my criminology textbooks flash through my fuzzy aching skull.  Strips of duct tape cover the victim
s
’ eyes and mouths, making them look abandoned in their own darkness, voiceless.  Duct tape is the serial kille
r’
s friend. 
I’
m immobilized. 

Inhaling deeply of the moldy air, I let my gaze drop to the body beside me.  For a second, I want to scream.  Sh
e’
s prone, curled in a ball.  Dead?

“
Unnn
,”
Officer Barbie moans.

Screamin
g’
s not my style.  When my surviva
l’
s on the line, I fight.  I
t’
s another of those survival skills Berta Colby taught me.
 “
Wake up
,”
I hiss, jabbing her prone shoulder.  I do
n’
t see any blood or wounds, so
I’
m assuming sh
e’
s been cold cocked the same as I have.  Then I see the burn marks on her neck.  Sh
e’
s been tased. 

“
Unnn
,”
she goes again, struggling to drag open her eyelids.

I punch her hard with my fist.
 “
Dammit, wake up!  I
t’
s me, Alaina Colby.  W
e’
re in trouble here.  I need your help
.
”

Some cop Officer Barbie turns out to be.  I ca
n’
t get her to respond, other than to grunt.

Before she can get out another groan, the door opens. 
I’
m expecting outside light to flood the room, but it does
n’
t.  Taking deep breaths, I try to see wha
t—
and wh
o—
is beyond the door.  Nothing.  Darkness. 
I’
m in someon
e’
s basement.  Fighting to control my skyrocketing heartbeat, I cringe and shrink back.

Bric
k’
s huge form is backlit against the darkness flooding the doorway behind him.

“
Yo
u’
re awake
,”
he says.
 “
Good
.
”

He says it like
I’
m a lab rat, which
I’
m getting the feeling I am.  I glance at Officer Barbi
e—
w
e’
re both lab rat
s—
and then at Brick.
 “
Wha
t’
s going on?  Why am I here
?
”

Brick steps in the door.  Stoke follows. 

“
What are you two doing here?  Why am I tied  up
?
”

I glance at Officer Barbie.
 “
Untie us right now.  Ca
n’
t you see she needs an ambulance
?
”

“
You sound frightened
,”
Stoke says.

I try acting, his forte.
 “
Not at all
,”
I say, then abandon all pretense. 
I’
m scared shitless and do
n’
t mind saying so.

“
Stoke, what are you doing here
?
”

I gaze back and forth between the two, looking for telltale reactions, facial expressions or clues as to wha
t’
s about to happen.

“
And what are you doing with
him
?
”

Brick strides toward me.  I shrink back. 

“I’
m painfully disappointed in you
,”
he says.
 “
I worked so hard to help you, Alaina.  I tried to teach you what you needed to know.  I wanted to keep you safe, but yo
u’
re just not the kind of girl who deserves that.  Yo
u’
re a whore, like
her
.
”

“
Her . . .
who
?”
I ask.  My survival instinct kicking in, I scoot as far back as I can from Brick, bumping into the leg of a gurney.

Professor Levin says it helps women to talk to their abductor, but my gut is screaming:
not a good idea.
  Bric
k’
s normally placid facial expression has turned wild.  H
e’
s not the same Brick Verbote I went to see earlier, seeking help.  H
e’
s someone else, a psychopath.  Working not to stare, to give him the satisfaction h
e’
s craving, I cower, vying for time while I fight to keep calm.

“
Yo
u’
re . . . Megalo . . . Don, are
n’
t you
?”
I ask.  How could I have mistaken Stoke for the killer?  I
t’
s obviously Brick. 

Brick does
n’
t laugh.  Not his style.  He instead shakes his head.
 “
You make my point, Alaina Colby.  Yo
u’
re
not
my best pupil when it comes to forensic dentistry
.
”

“
Then . . . who. . . .
?
”

I switch my gaze back to Stoke.
 “
You
?”
I whisper.
 “
Yo
u’
re . . .
him
?
”

He cackles.
 “
Yo
u’
re getting warrrrrrmer, Blaze
.
”

“
What did you do with Aurelia
?”
I ask.  Desperate to figure out which of these two is Megalo Don.  The
y’
re toying with me, I know, so I decided to see what I can learn I watch Stoke look to Brick for permission to enlighten me, their worst student. 

“
Oh, fiddlesticks
,”
Brick says, chuckling.
 “
Le
t’
s just say you were right about our little Aurelia.  Such a puta, that one.  She had an acid tongue. 
Acid
.  I had to cut her down to size
.
”
 
He makes a noise, like h
e’
s sucking in food, and then nibbles his fingers. 

Oh, hellfire.
  I think of all the times Aurelia reported me to Brick for being late.  She gave him a running report of my schedule, where I was, and when.  Tha
t’
s how Stok
e’
s been able to keep track of me.  I gaze with as much menace as I can.
 “
Stoke, you punkass bastard
!
”

“
Yes, Aurelia helped us keep close track of you
,”
he says.
 “
But she was becoming too nosey for her own good
.
”
 
He shrugs.
 “
And ours
.
”

I slip my hand inside my hoodie pocket and cup my razor.  Cutting is taking on a whole new meaning.  Gazing at each monster in turn, I envision my razor slashing across their faces.

“
Yo
u’
re no Mormon, are you
?”
I say to Brick.  Hoping to anger him so h
e’
ll give up more information, I fly into him.
 “
In fact, yo
u’
re just a common thug who got his hands on a degree and a business that helps you front your criminal activity
.
”

“
Criminal, maybe
,”
Brick says
,“
but of course not common
.
” 

I stare, telegraphing my loathing.
 “
Wrong.  You are common, Brick.  Yo
u’
re a sadistic pric
k—
very common on your tur
f—
and I bet you got a two-inch dick.  Bet you ca
n’
t get it u
p
—”

Bric
k’
s face reddens, anger suffusing the roots of his wintry blonde hair.
 “
No need to insult me
,”
he says, struggling for calm. 
I’
ve angered him, but h
e’
s too smart.  He wo
n’
t blow up, giving me extra time, over a few remarks
I’
ve lifted from Berta Colb
y’
s playbook.

Instead, he walks with all the agility of a predator to a gurney across the room.
 “
Le
t’
s see how mouthy you feel when
I’
m done, Alaina
.
”
 
He pats the gurne
y’
s stainless steel top.
 “
Come
.
”

How better to show his power over me than this chilling act?

“
Just please tell me what yo
u’
ve done with her
,”
I say, switching from Bert
a’
s playbook to one of my own
I’
ve been developing since I first started majoring in criminology.
 “
Tell me why yo
u’
re doing this before you prove how impotent you are by killing me, too
.
”

“
I will give you one tidbit, Alaina, since you made a feeble attempt to learn what I worked so hard but failed to teach you.  I am not a Mormon, but I met Aurelia in church.  I told her my son would marry her.  She was so desperate to become a citizen, you see, and those Mormons are so big on helping, so I knew
I’
d find someon
e—
I like to think of each of them, as I do you, as my next communio
n—
in church.  He nods toward Stoke.
 “
Works every time, does
n’
t it, son
?
”

Stoke nods.
 “
Poor Aurelia.  She was panting to become a part of this big American system.  She wanted it all, the dream
!
”
 
He chuckles.
 “
I gave her a more . . . tormented version.  A nightmare
!
”
 
He cackles.
 “
Do
n’
t look so sad, Blaze.  She was going to give you a scathing performance review
!
”