Love For Hire (10 page)

His brain screamed at him to stop breathing, not to inhale the fumes, and he was still struggling when he began to feel the world falling away. Colors slowly faded from sight, sounds turned more distant with each passing heartbeat, and eventually, his body went completely limp, sinking into the ground as if he were being swallowed by the looming darkness.

His return to consciousness wasn’t quick by any means. A spark lit up inside of him, growing brighter and brighter, and then, as if he was bursting through some kind of invisible barrier, he woke up.

Something wasn’t right….

His eyelids might’ve quivered, he couldn’t be sure, but he was fighting valiantly against the torrent trying to drag him under. And eventually he won, bursting through the waves of darkness, coming wide awake and gasping for air.

Like a slowly approaching dawn, the gears in his mind started turning again, and everything came rushing back like yet another flood attempting to drag him under. This time it was fear that was trying to paralyze him, and for some reason, he idly thought it was no wonder rabbits were always twitching, because weren’t they always afraid of everything?

Had he gone blind?

His eyes were wide open, he was sure, but there was nothing but darkness. He squashed yet another spark of dread. If he gave in to those emotions then he would simply roll over and play dead. Eventually he would probably
be
dead, and wouldn’t that be a shame?

His lips parted, his lungs filled with air, and his vocal cords were straining to let out a piercing scream of terror, but some calm part of his brain made him close his mouth with a click that echoed through the otherwise silent room.

Don’t draw any attention to yourself
, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut for yet another moment before slowly opening them again. This time he was more prepared for the darkness around him, but his heart still hammered inside his chest, threatening to stop altogether.

He took a few measured, deep breaths, and eventually his heart calmed down to a somewhat normal level. Rational thought clicked in, and relief flooded his body and soul. He hadn’t gone blind; there simply was next to no light in the room, and since his eyes had now gotten somewhat used to the darkness, he could at least make out some shapes and things in the darkness. There was a light on the ceiling that gave off a few sparks of illumination, flickering on and off, and even when it seemed to be working on full power, it was barely bright enough to be able to see a hand in front of his face.

He craned his neck, looking left and right, trying to see if there was a window or some other source of light, but there was nothing, and for a second, panic tried to overpower him again.

Like a whirlwind threatening to suck up anything in its path, his panic tried to take control, but he sat tight, refusing to give in. If he did, then he would end up curling up in a corner, shaking like a leaf, waiting for someone to rescue him. His experience had taught him already not to expect a knight in shining armor. Those were romantic fictional stories, not real life.

He took yet another few measured sets of breaths, and the flurry of thoughts subsided somewhat. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, trying to get himself to settle down. No one was coming to his rescue; he had to accept that fact and move on. If he wanted to come out of this alive, he would have to do something, and while he wasn’t necessarily brimming with confidence in his abilities to set himself free, he refused to have come this far in life only to give up now.

He nurtured the stubborn streak flaring to life, knowing he would need it to see him through this.

Denial might be a comforting thought, trying to lure him away to where he was safe and life was all peaches and roses, but he wasn’t the sort of person to walk away from difficulties. He might try to avoid them—he wasn’t brave by any means—but he hadn’t yet learned how to stay down after getting kicked repeatedly. Much to the chagrin of his father, of course!

Being tied to a chair was a novel experience, and hopefully, soon it would be nothing but a bad memory to fuel his nightmares.

He flexed his fingers, testing the restraints. They were uncomfortable, and he had no idea how long he had been slumped over before he had woken up. The strain on his shoulders was horrible; he yearned to be able to flex them and alleviate some of the pain. He moved them, twisting and turning within the ropes, and while it didn’t do much, it at least lessened the agony somewhat.

He shivered, his whole body shaking, and he had to swallow hard to get himself under control again. The air in the room was damp and cold, making him shiver, goose bumps breaking out all over his skin.

“Hello?” he said tentatively, remembering having heard somewhere that you could tell quite a lot about an enclosed space from how the echo sounded.

Ello?
His echo returned, somewhat distorted.

Small room, he guessed, nothing much in it in the way of furniture, because only a nearly empty space provided that kind of sound.

He moved his feet, rubbing the soles of his shoes against the ground, checking to see if the floor was even, smooth or rugged. Something crunched under his movements. Not a clean floor, then. Maybe neglected?

Basement, maybe, or an old, abandoned house. Judging from the lack of windows and from the lack of any natural light, he was fairly confident in going with basement.

Now what?

Debris, dust, neglect… his breath hitched as his mind reached yet another terrifying conclusion. What did abandoned spaces always have in common? Spiders, lots of them.

This was kind of prime real estate for them, and this time he couldn’t suppress the shudder rolling through his body. Spiders in any shape or form terrified him, and just the thought of being helpless while they crawled all over him was almost unbearable.

Long legs scrambling along, a fat, wide body in the middle… it took all of his willpower to stop himself from retching out of horror.

There are no spiders
, he told himself, and eventually he had himself back under some sort of control.

The door suddenly opened, connecting with the wall with a loud thud. Somewhere a light switch must have been flipped. The sudden bright light had him wincing in pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

He was frozen in place, terrified to move. In his mind, any movement could set the man off, and then he would be dead.

 And he didn’t want to be dead!

His life might suck, but he still had plans! Places to go, people to meet, and surely his number couldn’t be up yet!

He relaxed marginally when he realized the man was wearing a mask. Wasn’t it true that if he couldn’t see their faces, they would let him live? Hope sprung eternal, and his chances just of getting out of this alive had just gone up a notch.

“You’re awake, then,” the man drawled, casually stroking the gun strapped to his side, and Jayden couldn’t help it—his eyes were transfixed by it.

“Don’t worry, once your boyfriend pays up, you’ll be returned to him.”

The leer was audible in his voice even though Jayden couldn’t make out any facial expressions through the mask. He shivered, not liking the innuendo at all. Revulsion was kind of new for him, and he only allowed himself to take a deep breath of relief once the door was firmly closed again.

Only then did the news finally settle in.

Matt was supposed to pay a ransom for him!

He gasped, struggling to breathe as he fought off yet another panic attack. Matt might like him, at least he hoped so, but there was no way the man would cough up an obscene amount of money to get him released! He was so doomed!

He allowed himself another moment of panic before he closed his eyes, firmly focusing on breathing in and out evenly. It was up to him, then; if he wanted to get out of this alive, he would have to somehow find a way to escape this cellar, and while he had no idea how to go about achieving such an incredible feat, he decided to take it one step at a time.

First: get out of the chair and lose the rope along the way. As long as he was tied up, he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Then… well, then he would pray hard and hope he was able to escape without anyone being the wiser.

But how to get out of the rope?
He was no escape artist. Maybe he should be thankful for small favors, because he would know even less about how to pick a lock. His chances of getting free from the rope were better than if they had used cuffs.

Carefully he twisted, rolling his wrists, testing to see if there was any room to wiggle free. He had small hands, so maybe, if he got really lucky, he would be able to slide free. Sadly, his kidnappers had made the bonds tight enough for him not to be able to get loose.

Gnawing at his lower lip, he pondered the situation for a moment.

What other options were there?

An idea came to him. Crazy, maybe, but what did he have to lose?

He shifted his weight to the right, then to the left until he was rocking the chair sideways, and then, just as he had hoped, part of the chair came free. Of course this plan had been a long shot, but apparently banking on his kidnappers not keeping the place in mint condition had paid off.

All the air escaped his lungs as he landed hard on the floor, the splintered pieces of the chair underneath him. Shaking his hands and legs like a wet dog, he finally managed to untangle himself from the mess. He raised his hands, staring at the blood oozing from a few minor cuts.

Oh well; if this was payment required to get out of here, then he would gladly pay in full.

He slowly got up, testing his legs before putting his full weight on them. Pins and needles assaulted him almost immediately, but soon enough, the pain ebbed away. Thankfully when the kidnapper had left, he hadn’t turned off the light, so Jayden was able to gauge whether he had done any damage to his stitches. He lifted the hem of his shirt, risking a peek, but as far as he could tell, everything appeared to be in order.

He let out a whoosh of air, relief washing over him.

He wasn’t completely free of the chair’s remains yet, so he continued to pull at the remaining rope on his legs. He had just managed to tear off the last bit when the door was opened again.

Jayden acted without thinking about it, giving him the element of surprise.

He snatched a broken chair leg from the ground, and when the door opened all the way, revealing a masked man, Jayden was already there, wielding the broken piece of furniture like a baseball bat, bringing it down on the man’s head with all the force he could muster.

Without any further sound, he crumpled to the floor.

For a moment, Jayden had to stop. He braced himself on his thighs, torso leaning forward while he fought hard to get his lungs filled with air. His heart was beating rapidly, getting ready to achieve liftoff, but he wasn’t done yet.

He had completed step two, which had been to get out of the room, but he was far from safe yet, and if he got captured again, there was no chance in hell he would get another opportunity like this.

He stuck his head out of the room, peeking left and right, and thankfully no one else was there. He had been right; he was indeed in a cellar. There was only a small staircase leading upstairs, nothing else.

He hoped there would be no guard posted upstairs, but just in case, he brought his lucky stick with him. It had served him well so far, and it might come in handy again.

He slowly put a foot onto the first stair. When he was convinced it wasn’t going to start creaking, he took another step. Terror coursed through his body while all his senses seemed to sharpen, becoming almost raw. Would the next step spell his doom? Would it creak and draw attention to his escape?

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was panting almost as if he had run a marathon. Sweat was pooling at the small of his back, and he had to raise an arm to wipe some of it off his brows.

It seemed to take hours for him to climb upstairs, even if maybe only a minute or two had passed. He paused at the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

Inching forward one painfully slow step at a time, he left the dingy basement behind. His eyes quickly darted left and right, but no one was in sight.

The house seemed old or at least neglected, because upstairs the place didn’t appear to be in any better shape than the cellar was, and since he had no idea which way to go for the main door, he simply headed toward the window at the end of the hallway.

Normally, he would never consider a window to be his way out, but he wasn’t about to run around looking for a door if it could mean being captured again.

It was because his eyes were trained on his goal that he didn’t hear a man approaching him from behind, and when a sharp pain in his forearm caused him to drop his lucky stick, it was already too late to make a run for it.

He yelped in pain as he was grabbed by strong arms that dragged his hands behind his back, pulling him into a secure hold. Cold, unyielding steel was pressed against his throat. He ceased to struggle, going limp.

“You’ve got spirit.” The man’s voice had him shuddering. It carried an appreciative tone, promising things to come he surely wouldn’t like. “I can see why your boyfriend would want you back. You must be excellent in the sack.”