Beyond Fear (23 page)

‘Okay,’ he said, like he was pulling his thoughts together. ‘Okay.’ He looked over at Kane. ‘Now we check it out properly.’ He pointed at him with the bottle. ‘Start out the back. And don’t fuck about. We’ve already wasted enough time making nice with the wine.’

Kane grabbed the bottle from him, took a quick swig. ‘Fuck that. I’m staying here. Got work to do.’ He hooked a thumb at the girls and snorted a laugh.

Travis lurched forward, smacked an open hand across the side of Kane’s head, ripped the bourbon from his hand and shoved him hard up against one of the old tree trunks. He lifted his index finger from the neck of the bottle and pointed it at Kane. ‘
You
don’t get a fucking say.’

Kane bristled, balled a hand into a meaty fist.

Travis took a menacing step forward, pulled his gun arm across his body, ready to hit him with it.

‘This is
bullshit
,’ Kane spat. ‘Kruger was a fucking prick.’

‘And you’re a goddamn fuck-up. You should’ve waited till we were paid before you beat the shit out of him. Now we got nothing, you fuck.’ Travis got closer, lowered his voice to a growl. ‘So you’re gonna do what I tell you or I leave you for the cops.
Got it?
’

Kane glared at Travis for a long moment, his flat, colourless eyes narrowed in anger. ‘We do the bitches first.’

‘We do them
after
.’

Neither man moved. A small muscle pulsed in and out at the side of Kane’s jaw. Travis’s gun arm was rigid at his side, still ready to strike. They were just centimetres apart. Same stocky build, same bulky upper-body muscle, same belligerent aggression. But Kane was fair – Scandinavian blond, ice-blue eyes, lashes so pale they looked like they’d been dipped in peroxide. Travis was his negative – black hair, deep, deep blue eyes, skin tanned dark enough to suggest something more than just the obvious white European heritage. Brothers, Jodie thought. Or at least one common parent. Maybe cousins. Whatever it was, there was a blood tie – and some kind of power struggle.

‘So get the fuck outside!’ Travis roared.

Kane finally moved, pushing himself away from the tree trunk and slamming a fist into the big bowl on the counter as he made his way to the back door. The huge glass basin slid across the marble and smashed to the floor.

On Jodie’s left, Corrine whimpered and jerked away from the sound. That one small movement pulled Jodie backwards, tipped Hannah sideways and made Louise grunt from the weight of the bodies on her. Jodie looked at the door Kane had disappeared through, turned fearful eyes to Travis. Two vicious men had made Jodie and her friends more in sync than they’d been all weekend.

‘
Fuck.
’ Travis barked the word after Kane. He used the back of his gun hand to wipe across his top lip, ran it over his short, dark hair. He stood facing the glass at the rear of the barn for a long moment, body rigid, breathing hard, gun in one hand, bourbon in the other. Then he turned, studied the women across the room and, like before, his eyes found Jodie. They stayed there as he stalked towards her.

She kept her face down as he stopped in front of her, listened to his hard, angry breaths. He took a step closer.
We do them after.
Christ, what did that mean? Maybe he’d changed his mind. Please don’t shoot. Not while I’m tied to my friends. Don’t leave them with that memory.

He lifted his knee and drove the sole of his boot into Jodie’s shin. Pain rocketed up her leg.

‘Where’s your fucking
husband
, bitch?’ he yelled. ‘You fucking wasted our time. We coulda been fucking miles away by now.’ He slammed his boot into her shin a second time. She cried out, pushed back against the others as she tried to get away from him. ‘Thought you were real tough, didn’t you?’ He loomed over her, raised his arm, gun butt aimed at her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, let out a whimper. ‘Oh, yeah. You’re a real fucking tough bitch.’ His leg came down again but this time it was a painful, desultory shove.

Jodie’s leg felt like it was crushed. She hoped to God it wasn’t broken, struggled with Hannah to get a hand to it. Travis watched her with a sadistic sneer as she felt for damage, cautiously moved her foot. Then he stepped slowly to her left, stood in front of Corrine. Her shoulder trembled against Jodie’s. Slowly, silently, he made his way around their circle of bodies, stopping in front of Louise then Hannah, the only sound the sloshing of alcohol as he lifted the bottle to his mouth one more time. If he was trying to scare them, he was wasting his time, Jodie thought. They were already terrified beyond belief.

‘Try to get up and I’ll shoot the first person I see. Got it?’ he boomed.

Louise’s voice rang out. ‘Oh, we got it, Travis. Got it loud and clear. We got the whole damn picture, you bastard.’

Jodie held her breath. What was she doing?

‘Shhh,’ Hannah hissed.

‘Shut up,’ Corrine whispered.

He walked around to Louise’s side of the circle. Her head snapped back, cracked against Jodie’s. Then she was pressing against Jodie, being pushed backwards, breathing in sharp gasps. No one spoke. No one moved. Jodie couldn’t see Travis, could only imagine him holding the gun to Lou’s face like he’d done to her. Hoped that was all he was doing.

His voice was calm, almost quiet. ‘You got it?’

Don’t say anything, Lou. Don’t open your mouth.

Seconds passed. Three, four, five. Lou’s breathing slowed, the pressure against Jodie’s back eased up. A moment later, Travis’s boots thumped on the timber as he stormed towards the other end of the barn.

The bodies around her loosened up just a little. Travis was in one of the bedrooms, throwing stuff around. Jodie strained to hear him, frightened he’d find something that would make him come back and kill them.

‘Jodie, are you all right?’ Louise whispered.

She should be the one asking Lou. She should say something. But she couldn’t. Her lungs were racked with sobs, her face and leg ached, her hand stung, her shoulder felt like something was loose and she was as scared as she’d ever been in her life.

‘Jodie? Jode, try to take some deep breaths,’ Louise said.

She tried. It helped a little.

Lou whispered, ‘Are you hurt?’

Jodie pushed her tongue around her mouth, moved her leg around. ‘Just bruised, I think. How about you?’

‘Just terrified,’ Lou said.

‘Me, too,’ said Hannah.

‘Me, too,’ Corrine repeated.

It was better than dead. ‘Don’t talk back to him, Lou. He’ll hurt you.’

‘I can’t help it. It just comes out.’

Jodie thought about Louise’s Afghanistan nightmare and wondered what kind of hell she was in right now. Guilt drummed in the back of her head. Lou had stood up to Travis, yelled at him, tried to protect Jodie – and all she’d done was cower against the wall.

‘How’s your head, Jodie?’ Hannah whispered. ‘Did you lose consciousness when he hit you?’

Jodie thought about the numb, spinning sensation in her head when she was on the floor. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What about your leg?’

It felt good to hear Hannah’s nurse’s voice, even with a frightened tremor in it. She wished Hannah could do that double-handed rub of the shoulders that she’d pulled away from last night. She wouldn’t pull away this time, she’d lean right into it, wrap her arms around Hannah and hold her tight. ‘It hurts but I don’t think it’s broken.’

‘What about your hand?’

Jodie looked down. ‘It’s started bleeding again. Oh, sorry, Corrine, there’s blood on your trousers.’ Tears filled her eyes. The state of Corrine’s trousers was the least of their problems but it felt like another way Jodie had failed her.

‘Don’t worry,’ Corrine sniffed. ‘I’ll sue them for it.’

Her words hit Jodie like a blow to the gut, as though she’d been winded all over again. Corrine thought they were getting out. She thought they were going home. She thought they were going to get back to their kids.

20

All Jodie felt was the weight of defeat.

Eighteen years of training herself, of staying fit and strong, of trying to make sure no one would ever hurt her again and she’d fallen apart at the very first moment of aggression. Travis had hit her and her armour had crumbled. She hadn’t done anything. She hadn’t fought, hadn’t assessed, hadn’t even kept her eyes open. She’d only panicked and reacted. Huddled against the wall and cried like a child.

Face the truth, Jodie. Eighteen years was long enough to deceive yourself. She squeezed her eyes shut and shame consumed her.

The truth was, Jodie, that the real you, the
core
of you – melted down and forged in one horrifying night – was just pure fear. Hard, cold, lonely fear.

A cry pushed its way out of her mouth.

‘Jodie? What’s wrong?’ Louise asked.

Jodie couldn’t tell her. Because the thought that was going through her head was so appalling she had never been able to say it out loud.

That maybe all she had ever been was frightened.

That eighteen years ago she hadn’t run for help.

That eighteen years ago she’d just run.

And left her best friend to die.

Down the hallway, Travis slammed a door. Jodie jumped. She wanted to run again. She wanted to drag the others to their feet and get them all the hell away from there. But it wasn’t going to happen. None of them could get a hand to the tethers, let alone undo a knot. To get anywhere, they had to move as a group. It was worse than a three-legged race, even before Corrine’s sprained ankle was added to the equation. They wouldn’t get two metres before Travis or Kane caught up with them. And if Jodie herself miraculously broke free . . .

She looked up. Travis was back in the hallway, stomping down the corridor.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he roared.

He was waving the gun in her face. He meant her. She was crying. Hiccuping and snivelling and she hadn’t even realised. He kicked her again – same leg, one great big pain – then laughed as he turned towards the kitchen. Dread throbbed inside her like an open wound but she forced herself to remember.

Eighteen years ago, she’d stood by Angela’s freshly dug grave, put her hand on her heart and vowed she would never, ever leave a friend behind again.

‘Jodie,’ Louise whispered. ‘Are you okay?’

No.
‘Yes.’

‘What’s he doing?’

In the kitchen beyond Jodie’s view, cupboards were being opened and closed. She had a side view of the island bench, was maybe two metres away from it. If she tipped to her right a little, she’d be able to see around it, into the alcove. But she didn’t want to. If she couldn’t see Travis, maybe he wouldn’t see her. Wouldn’t want to blow her brains out.

‘Jodie? Can you see?’ Lou said.

Jodie took a deep breath, leaned a little to her right. She could see past the island to the big windows at the back of the barn. She leaned a little more, snapped her head back as he moved to the fridge, listened as bottles rattled in the door, as crockery clunked and plastic wrap crackled.

What
was
he doing? She leaned over again, saw him bent at the waist, head silhouetted in the fridge light, gun tucked into the back of his jeans, bottle of bourbon now on the island bench. He was munching on chips from a packet in his hand and pulling out the apple pie Jodie had brought for dessert.

‘He’s eating,’ she whispered.

With one hand, he lifted an edge of crust off the pie plate and took a huge, gluttonous bite. A spark flared in the pit of her stomach. He was eating
their
food. The indulgences they’d planned and bought and baked for each other.

She watched him take out a plastic-covered bowl, a tub of dip, a carton of cream. He kicked the door closed, dumped the food on the island bench and took another hunk out of her apple pie. The small flame of anger edged its way through Jodie’s fear, all the way into her consciousness. It felt like a whiff of eucalyptus through the haze of a head cold.

Choke on it, you bastard, she thought.

The guy had smacked her in the face and held a gun to her head but what really ticked her off was that he was helping himself to the contents of their fridge. It didn’t make sense but she didn’t care. It was good to feel something other than fear. And anger was better than fear any day of the week. Even a tiny spark of it. She closed a mental hand around it, felt its heat, its weight, its texture. She took a deep breath. Then another one. The fear was still there, still strong, still pounding in the back of her head but anger had given her new eyes.

She wiped the tears from her face with her shoulder and looked around. They were sitting about halfway between the front door and the marble-topped bench. On her right was the hall doorway, on her left, the back of a sofa. Ahead she could see the kitchen, the island, the dining table and most of the windows.

The curtains were pulled across the glass now but she could tell it was dark outside. Cold air drifted under the front door and from the hallway. The halogen bulbs over the bench were on and a couple of lamps either side of the fire were spreading a soft glow up the wall. Down on the floor, the light was muted and the air was thick with a fearful silence.