Game On (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (13 page)

              “Yeah, that went about as well as you’d think,” I scoffed. “They showed up high on blow and about ready to start throwing punches right there in the office.”

              Jamal shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of these two in action, Kieran. They’re obviously unstable in a lot of ways.”

              “Yeah, I know that,” I said, restraining my impatience. “That’s not even the worst of it, though. Danielle got tailed yesterday.”

              “What?!” he said, his eyes widening.

              “Black cadillac started following, so we took off in my jeep,” I explained, gesturing to all the dirt on the vehicle. “Had to lead the fucker on a chase around the whole fucking desert before we lost him.”

              “You take this thing off-road?” he said with a laugh. “Man, be glad the two of you are still alive after that ride.”

              “C’mon, Jamal, it’s me,” I said with a smile, but Jamal just raised an eyebrow at me.

              “Exactly.”

              “Well it turned out fine, and we stayed the night at some motel out there,” I said, “one of those tourist trap kinda places. It wasn’t half bad, in the end.”

              “Hold on,” he said, suddenly smiling. “You stayed in a room together? So the two of you are…”

              “Alright, alright,” I said, holding up a hand as Jamal’s grin broadened. “We’ll talk about all that when we have a better idea of where she is. She didn’t show up to work this morning after I dropped her off at her house. I’m so fucking stupid, I should have stayed with her.”

              “Kieran,” he said, serious. “You can’t blame yourself for this. She doesn’t sound like the kind of person who needs a babysitter. We’ll find her, don’t worry about that.”

              I took a deep breath, then nodded. “Right. But you’re not the only one I need some help from. There’s only one other guy I know who can handle this kind of situation under pressure.”

              Jamal raised an eyebrow, and before he could ask more, we pulled up at a quaint little house in Boulder City. I hopped out of the car and passed by the garden outside, complete with a birdbath and petunias. A smile came to me as I regarded the domestic scene on my way to the door. After all these years, there was still something I envied about this lifestyle, for all the shit I gave the guy.

              I knocked on the door and stood back, putting my hands on my hips and glancing back at Jamal, who just stared at me from the jeep, confused.

              Then the door opened, and the man who stood there greeted me with a warm smile, his eyes just as blue and shining as mine. “Hey, Kieran.”

              I nodded back and received his hug as he stepped forward. “Hey there, Carter. Can you talk? We’ve got a situation we need to handle. Together.”

              He was watching cartoons.

              From where I was, sitting bound and gagged in the back bedroom of an eighth floor apartment, I could hear the slapstick sound effects and old-timey music of what had to be a Tom and Jerry episode playing on the television set in the living room. I had no idea what kind of man my captor was, but I had certainly not expected him to be into vintage animated kids’ shows.

              Especially when he carried a big, shiny gun at his hip.

              My heart rate had slowed down, thankfully, from the thumping gallop it was hours earlier when I was first kidnapped. I had been correct in my suspicions about the black Cadillac that followed me yesterday. The man who drove it was the same one who brought me here, who taped my mouth shut and tied my ankles and wrists with cords. I could move, but only slightly. I was lying on a perfectly-made bed, the comforter beneath me patterned with red and green rocket ships. It was the kind of bed a child would have, but it was a king sized bed, in an adult’s bedroom. Between the bedspread and the cartoons, I was having a hard time sizing up my kidnapper.

              He hadn’t said more than maybe five words to me in the hours we’d spent together so far. I wondered if maybe he was slow or something, which might help explain his predilection for childlike interests. Either way, I had no doubt that he was a dangerous man.

              The guy was just shy of six feet tall, with the kind of paunchy but muscular frame that suggested he had probably been an athlete of some kind in his younger years. A boxer, perhaps, judging by his crooked nose that looked to have been broken multiple times. His face, once he removed the ski mask he wore when he first broke into my apartment, was pockmarked and lined from years of stress and sun exposure. He had cropped black hair and heavy five o’clock shadow, with droopy black eyes and a perpetually blank expression. He looked like a caricature of an Italian mafioso, which was only enhanced when I heard him speak and noticed the distinct New York Italian accent in his voice.

              He’d said, “sit tight” and “I’ll be back” so far, and that was it. He was a man of very few words, evidently, which suited me just fine. The less time I had to spend listening to him talk and breathing in his noxious, stale breath, the better.

              Hours ago, I had been in a much different headspace. Last night, after the getaway chase, I had spent the cool desert night time curled up against Kieran’s powerful body, my head resting on his chest. It had felt like we were tailored to fit each other, like we were interlocking puzzle pieces. A key and a lock, only that we were both at the same time, for each other. He unlocked my heart and shooed my insecurities and baggage away. And I shoved past his cocky bravado and tough guy attitude to unlock his true heart, too. Kieran had driven me back home and left me feeling giddy, on top of the world. Just as I was changing into a different outfit before heading out to work, I’d heard a weird clinking sound from the kitchen.

              When I walked out to check, thinking maybe Kieran had forgotten something and come back, I screamed. There was a man in a black ski mask standing in my kitchen, having broken in through the window after scurrying up the fire escape. I had forgotten that the building super hadn’t gotten around to replacing the safety bars on that window yet. And now I was face-to-face with the man from the black Cadillac. I immediately bolted, only half-dressed, toward the front door. But the man was faster, diving after me and tackling me to the floor. I was only in my tank top undershirt and pencil skirt when he caught me in his arms, and I immediately feared the worst: that he would rape me or kill me. Instead, he pulled a rag from his pocket and pressed it to my mouth and nose just as I tried to scream and claw at his face. Almost instantly my arms fell limp on either side of me and the world faded to black.

              When I awoke the first time, I was bound and gagged in the backseat of a car-- the same Caddy that Kieran and I evaded in the desert yesterday. I was lying down, just barely able to make out the tops of buildings whizzing by through the opposite window. As strength slowly returned to my body, I began to squirm and thrash from side to side, making as much noise as I could manage with my mouth taped over. Without even saying a single word, while we were stopped presumably at a red light, the man driving the car reached back and slapped me hard across the face. The blow stung, bringing tears to my eyes. It had the desired effect. I shut the hell up immediately. Clearly this was a man who wasn’t afraid to drug me or hurt me to get what he wanted. I remembered what I’d learned years ago at a self-defense seminar for women back in college: don’t fight your captor or attacker; give them what they want. Make it as easy and painless as possible for both of you. It’s the best way to ensure your own survival.

              So that’s what I had to do. I became the model captive, staying totally quiet and still, never fighting back. When we reached this apartment, to my horror, the man turned around in his seat and pushed the chloroformed rag back into my face despite my faint whimpers of protest. I still didn’t know how he managed to get me upstairs into this apartment while I was conked out completely. Either he was strong enough to carry me himself while also finding a way past anyone else who might possibly be in the stairwell or elevator, or perhaps he had help from someone else. Either way, I figured that I had to at least be on the eighth floor of this building. I could tell because from my current position on the bed, I could squint through the open blinds of the bedroom window to see another building across the courtyard from this one. I counted up from the ground and saw that the window level with this one was the eighth.

              But beyond that, I had no idea where I was.

              Or what was going to happen to me next.

              I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, either, but from my estimation based on the amount and quality of sunlight outside, it had to have been at least several hours. The sun was in that lazy, hazy position that usually accompanied the afternoon, so I assumed it was probably around two or three. My stomach growled, as I hadn’t eaten in at least twenty-four hours, and I urged it to shut up. I couldn’t even think about food right now. I was in pure survival mode at this point. Finally, I was getting frustrated with having my mouth taped. I mean, obviously it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant experience so far. But now I was determined to redeem at least a smidgen of my dignity by getting the tape off of my lips. So I started wiggling my lips and trying to work my mouth open, letting my tongue moisten the sticky tape as much as possible to lessen its adhesiveness. After what felt like another hour of doing this, I finally managed to feel it start to pull away slightly. My heart skipped a beat, adrenaline flooding my veins. Now I was getting somewhere.

              I continued on, pushing my bottom lip out as far as I could. When the tape was just crinkled enough, I somehow managed to maneuver it back between my front teeth to chew it looser. With one final spitting motion it fell away, mostly, with the tape still clinging to the corner of my mouth. But I could breathe more freely now, and I worked my jaw around, inhaling deeply. I wondered if I should make a sound or something. Scream, maybe. But then, I realized that any movement or noise on my part would probably just result in my captor rushing in here to bind my mouth again-- or worse, punish me for my transgression. Besides, Vegas was so noisy all the time anyway, and city-dwellers were used to just ignoring strange noises they heard. If someone heard me scream they’d probably write it off as just very vocal sex or something.

              But now that my lips were free, I was inspired and daring enough to try and free my hands or feet next. I started wriggling them around, my arms aching terribly from being pinned behind my back in the same painful position for so long. What was worse was that I could plainly see my purse sitting on a little dresser across the room. My phone had to be in there. I could call for help or at least turn on my GPS locator so that my mom or somebody could track my coordinates.

              So I started scratching and clawing at the cords around my wrists. They weren’t bound that tightly, I could tell, but the cords were wrapped in an elaborate design encircling both my wrists and doubling back. Without being able to see behind me and find out what it looked like, it was nigh impossible to determine how to get out of it.

              But I would not give up. I had to keep trying. If I’d managed to get the tape off my mouth, then surely this had to be within the realm of possibility too, right?

              I squeezed my hands together, looping the cord around two fingers of one hand while I tried to slide the other free. To my infinite surprise, it seemed to be working! It was definitely a tight squeeze, and as I tugged my hand through the circle of cord, I could feel the skin on my hands scraping painfully. I winced, biting my lip to keep from grunting in pain, and at last I ripped one hand free of the binding. My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest that I almost worried that my captor might somehow hear it and come barging in here to punish me for trying to escape.

              I was just reaching down to start loosening the cords around my ankles when I heard footsteps approaching. My heart sank. It was all over. He was going to find me like this and I was going to die.

              The bedroom door pushed open and the man walked in, giving me a lazy, unperturbed once-over. He sighed. I dared not say a word as he looked at me, blinking those tired, bovine eyes at me like I was merely some troublesome toddler he was babysitting.

              “Please don’t hurt me,” I murmured, my throat dry after hours without being able to open my mouth. The guy walked over to the bed and I instinctively recoiled, wriggling to the other side of the bed and staring at him in terror. He put one hand on his hip and the other reached up to rake back through his coarse black hair as he clucked his tongue in annoyance.

              “Why’d you have to do all this?” he asked, shaking his head. “Is it ‘cause I smacked ya when was in the car? ‘Cause I shouldn’a done that. My apologies.”

              “Why are you doing this to me? Who hired you?” I asked weakly. He cocked his head to one side and gave me a baleful expression, like a whipped dog.

              “Don’t ask questions you know I’m not supposed to answer,” he replied, sounding exhausted, like I was putting him through the wringer. “Besides, you’ll find out soon enough.”

              “What do you mean?” I persisted. He reached over to take my arm and I moved away, causing him to purse his lips as though offended.

              “They’ll be here any minute, alright? Now would ya just be still for two seconds? My clients won’t like it if they show up and you’re untied…”

              “Clients? As in multiple? So it’s not Brett,” I mused aloud, totally confused now. Who else would want to hurt me like this? I hardly socialized with anyone these days outside of work, except for Kieran.

              “I don’t wanna hurt ya, and I swear I won’t put the tape back on, but you gotta at least let me tie your hands,” the man says, his fingers enclosing around my wrist. Just as I cry out, a door thuds shut across the apartment and a moment later two more figures come into the room.

              I recognize them instantly: Paul and Janet. My stomach dropped. What the hell were they doing here? Could they have been behind this all along? And if so, then why? How did they even know I was involved with Kieran?

              Did they really want to hurt him
this
badly?

              “Tony, what kind of sloppy work is this?” said Paul, frowning. My captor, Tony, spun around and held his arms outstretched in a gesture of offense.

              “Whaddya mean
sloppy
? I got the girl, alright? Nobody knows. Nobody saw a damn thing. What more do ya expect?” he said defensively. Janet tapped her stilettoed foot impatiently.

              “We wanted her bound and gagged, don’t you remember? What kind of mafia hack are you? Ugh,” she complained, rolling her beautiful eyes.

              “What do you want from me?” I interjected, pulling my legs up to my chest. All three of them looked genuinely surprised to hear me say anything. As though they’d expected me to just quietly accept whatever was going on. Like they thought of me as more like a prop or a pawn in their game than a living, breathing, thinking organism.