Relentless: A Bad Boy Romance (Bertoli Crime Family #1) (42 page)

“I'll take a surgery or two to avoid dying,” Shawnie said, her breath coming fast and hard as she dropped again. Tears rolled down her face as she climbed slowly back to her feet, her head drooping. She shook her head, trying to repress the pain, and looked up at me, desperate for support, or at least a distraction. “Tell me something, Abby.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked, looking up at her hook. Maybe there was a way I could do something instead of stand there like a damsel in distress, waiting for some hero to rescue me. I suck at that sort of thing—it doesn't fit my personality.

“Tell me about Dane,” she said, taking a deep breath and tensing her forearms before dropping again. Blood trickled through her grip and down the chain looped around her left fist, and her face was a near mask of pain as she stood up. “Tell me that at least he was worth all of this damn trouble.”

“I don’t know if anyone is worth this shit,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “No, but really, beyond that Bad Boy exterior, he’s got a good heart. We’ve really only had a few days together spaced out over nearly a month, but I really like him.”

Shawnie stopped her dropping, looking at me in wonder. “Well, I hope something comes of it after all of this.”

“He's not perfect, but he’s perfect for me.”

Shawnie grinned and flexed her hands painfully. “When is your and Mr. Perfect’s wedding?”

“Well, let’s not quite go there yet,” I said, shaking my chains and looking up. “Hold on. You rest while I try something really, really stupid.”

When I was a kid, I used to go to Gymboree after kindergarten. After Mom and my sister died, Daddy still had me going for a few years, at least until my body started to shoot up and he worried that I was getting too tall for becoming a gymnast. I’d tired of the class by then anyway, but I still did cheerleading in high school, although our squad was more of the dancer type than the gymnastics type. I had a pretty mean booty roll back in high school, if I do say so myself, although that didn't do much for my shoulder and back strength.

So it had been a few years since I tried anything like what I was about to do, but I figured there was no time like the present, and I couldn't think of any greater source of motivation, unless there were poisonous snakes or huge, ugly spiders in the garage as well that I wasn't seeing yet. The light through the window dimmed, and I thought the sun was nearly gone outside, night approaching. At least that would let some of the heat fade from the garage. That was something I could at least hope for.

I first tried my maneuver the strict way, grabbing the chain and pulling it tight enough to take away the slack. Chris had used a pair of handcuffs that he'd separated and then apparently welded to the main chain, so there was some pull on my wrists as I wrapped my hands through the chain and pulled up. The pain was immediate as the links tightened around the bones in my hand, and I gritted my teeth, trying to pull my feet up and to the chains. I was able to reach the cuffs, but the next phase of my plan fell apart as I couldn't get the strength to straighten out my legs and extend my body to the point of hanging upside down. Falling back, I gasped, flexing my aching hands. “Well, that version didn't work.”

“Are you trying what I think you're trying?” Shawnie asked as she prepared herself mentally to drop again.

“I pulled it off when I was seven,” I defended myself, sounding stupid even as it left my mouth. “It's worth a try.”

Shawnie didn't have a reply, but dropped again instead, a scream tearing from her throat as she jerked to a stop. This time, she didn't get up so quickly, but pulled with her right arm only as she stood up. “Shawnie, what happened?”

“Left arm,” Shawnie cried pitifully as she regained her feet. She tried but failed to stifle a sob, burying her mouth in her shoulder. “Maybe my elbow. It hurts, and I felt something pop in it.”

“Then stop it,” I said, looking up at the beam over my head. “I'll try to get us out of here. I'll try the cheat way this time. I should have the first time, except I'll be swinging like an idiot the whole time. Last time I did that on rings. I puked hanging upside down.”

“I wouldn't, if I were you,” Shawnie said. “Puke, that is.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said, trying not to laugh despite the serious situation. I stepped back, and was just about to launch myself forward and up in the short amount of slack on my chain when the sound of a truck approaching came through to our ears. “Shit. Better hurry.”

“No,” Shawnie said sharply. “There's no way you can get that maneuver pulled off in time. Better to stay where you are. Maybe he gets stupid and we can kick him in the balls or something.”

I stopped, nodding at the wisdom of Shawnie's words. “Okay, but promise me one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Regardless of what happens, we fight this asshole until the end.”

Shawnie clenched her fists and nodded. “Oh, you can guarantee that. Georgia boy's gonna learn what it's like to fuck with a Sandhills girl, that's for damn sure.”

I heard the truck stop, and the door opened. Boots crunched on the dirt and gravel as someone approached. “You know, your accent gets stronger when you get angry,” I commented, trying to calm the fear in my heart. “You really need to work on that.”

“I love you too, Abby,” Shawnie said, her smile disappearing as the back door to the house rattled and the heavy tread of the boots came inside.

“Honey, I'm home!” a slightly unhinged voice called, giggling crazily at the end. “And I've got such a surprise for you!”

I looked over at Shawnie, who nodded. We were going to fight, no matter what.

Chris came in, flipping on another light that momentarily blinded us before settling in and letting us see better. He'd had some sort of rough time, his shirt partially torn and a little crust of dried blood on the edge of his mouth. He had his right hand behind his back, and a gleam in his eye that sent chills down my spine. “Hey, baby, did you miss me?”

“Like I miss the bubonic plague,” I spat back, literally, as I followed my words with the best loogie I could work up. Sadly enough, the garage was far too big and my spit was far too weak to reach the whole way across. It fell pitifully to the dust about two feet away from me, and I immediately regretted it as a waste of precious bodily fluids. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Well, I have some good news and bad news,” Chris said as he crossed the garage. He stayed just out of my kicking range, even when I darted forward and tried to lash out at him. He laughed and jumped back, his hand still behind his back. “My, my, my, such fight in you still. That's not going to be useful at all.”

“I don't plan on being useful to you, you sick, demented fuck,” I hissed. Suddenly, Chris pulled his hand out from behind his back, holding what looked like a pistol. He pointed it at me for a second, then turned and fired. I screamed, sure that he had just killed Shawnie, but instead, the gun made a hissing, spitting noise and suddenly, Shawnie had a red dart sticking out of her left thigh.

“He shoots, he scores!” Chris taunted us both. Shawnie stumbled back, her cry of pain fading as the drug in the dart took effect and she sagged down to her knees, unconscious. “Too bad. She's not going to be able to feel it. Ah well. You know, they say you should never eat chocolate before having your main meal, but in this instance, I'll break the rule.”

“What the fuck are you going to do?” I asked as Chris walked toward Shawnie's body, squatting down and pulling the dart from her leg. “Get away from her, you psycho fuck!”

“Patience, my sweet. There's plenty of me to go around. But I want you to get a preview of what you're in store for, and I needed little Shawnie here to be . . . compliant.”

I shook my chains and tried to kick him again, but he was still too far away. “What did you do to her?”

“Oh, nothing much. You see, I happen to have a rather fond interest in pharmaceuticals. It's what led me to making that little spike for your drinks, by the way, even though I got it on the Internet. Cheaper that way. But this baby,” he said, holding up the red dart, “is my own special cocktail that I developed through a lot of experimentation. Little bit of Ecstasy, little bit of LSD, little bit of some other stuff . . . it's quite the ride, I've heard. Fact is, if I shot you up with this, Abby, I could fuck you three ways from Sunday, and not only would you not remember it, but during the whole thing, you'd be begging me for more and more. Too bad you two won't be getting a repeat performance though. Your boyfriend ensured that.”

“What?”

Chris turned and threw the dart at me, bouncing it off my chest. His voice broke into a high-pitched, wheezy scream, the last vestiges of his sanity disappearing as his voice jumped an octave. “Knowing that stupid noble fuck, he's probably trying to convince the cops right now that I'm doing what I'm doing. So, I can't have any evidence left behind. Damn shame, though, what'll happen tonight afterward. Two young women, so close to graduation and chasing their dreams, decide to go camping up in the Chattahoochee National Forest. Of course, being unprepared, they both disappear, only to be found later badly decomposed near Blue Ridge Lake.”

“You're a monster,” I gasped. “A real monster.”

“You have no idea,” Chris said with a chuckle. “But at least I'm honest about it. I know I'm a monster and relish the fact. Now, the monster must prepare for his first lesson.”

Chris turned and walked back into the rest of the house, humming to himself as he went.

I started to pray. First to God, and then I took something from Dane’s Book. In a last gasp of desperation, I said a quick one to Odin. Maybe the Norse deities could bring Dane to me. Something or someone had to—I was all out of ideas.

M
y heart was
in my throat as I got out of the taxi, giving the driver twenty bucks. “Keep the change,” I told him. “Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem, man. It ain't my business, buddy, but you want me to wait? You don't look like you're expecting to be received too well.”

“No, I'm good,” I answered, waving him off. “One way or another, I'm not leaving for a while.”

“Your choice,” the driver said, looking around. I could understand his concern. I looked like shit, with a half-torn shirt, my hair all messed up, and a mouse growing under my left eye. Still, I wouldn't be stopped.

Smoothing my hair back as best I could, I for the first time wished I'd kept the short hair I'd had in the military. At least that way, I wouldn't look like a total lunatic.

Approaching the door, I squared my shoulders and rang the front doorbell. There was a long chunk of silence, and I reached for the doorbell again when I heard steps coming toward the door. “Coming!”

The door rattled, locks being thrown back before opening, and I saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was about forty-five, or maybe a well put together fifty, with a certain coldness to her features that told me that she was from upper crust society. I guessed I had just met Brittany, Abby's stepmother.

I cleared my throat and spoke in my most polite voice, regardless of the hurricane of emotions roaring through me. “Mrs. Rawlings, I need to speak to your husband. It’s very important.”

Her look told me everything I needed to know. I'd seen it over two hundred times before, applying for jobs before starting at Lake Ford. It was the look that said
fuck off.
“I'm sorry, but Patrick is not available right now. I suggest trying him at the office on Monday.”

She closed the door in my face, but before she could lock it, I stepped back and kicked as hard as I could. I wished I had on my work boots, but the running shoes were enough to do the trick, and the door flew back, Mrs. Rawlings tumbling to the floor from the force. “Can't wait,” I said, stepping over her and walking inside. “I’m sorry.”

“Brittany?” a man called from the back, followed by the sound of rushing feet. “What the hell was that?”

Patrick Rawlings came around the corner into the main hallway, stopping dead in his tracks. “You.”

“Me,” I said, dismissing the venom in his voice. I couldn't deal with his bullshit right now. I needed his help. If he wanted to hate me after that, I wouldn't stop him. “We need to talk.”

“I'm calling the cops,” he said, stepping back and heading down the hallway. “Your ass is going back to jail.”

“Fine, call the cops, but tell them to rescue Abby first!” I yelled after him. “She's in trouble, and I need your help!”

Patrick's footsteps stopped, and I heard Brittany start to get up off the floor. I waited for Patrick to return, and in the meantime I held out my hand to Brittany, offering her assistance up off the floor. “Sorry about that. I just couldn't waste any more time.”

She didn’t respond, but took my hand and let me help her up. “I need your help,” I repeated to her instead.

“You said that already,” Patrick replied as he came back into the room. “Tell me what you mean.”

I wasn't sure where to begin, so I started from the day before. “Yesterday, Abby and I spent the day together,” I started, pausing when I saw the expression on her father's face. I'd mentally punched him in the gut, or maybe a few inches higher, right in the heart, but I couldn't afford the pity right then. “She knew you'd object, so she told you that she was invited to a party.”

“Yes, with Chris Lake,” Patrick said. “They used to date, back when she was in high school.”

“I know. To try and make up for it, Abby asked her friend, Shawnie, to go in her place, with an excuse and apology. This morning, she was supposed to tell you the truth.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, nodding. “When she found me this morning, she said that her friend hadn't replied to a text message, and she just wanted to check to see if she was okay.”

“I got a text saying that she had to do something,” I said. “We exchanged a few more messages, the last a bit after noon. Then, about an hour ago, Chris came home to the apartment. Mr. Rawlings, I know this is crazy, but Chris kidnapped both girls. He plans to drug them, and I think . . . well, I don't want to say it.”