In Ruins (34 page)

“Do you know where Art lives?”

“I have his old address, but I'm sure they would have had to sell that house.”

Unlike you. You just had to send your husband to prison to keep it.

I call Manny, who is as talented with hacking as he is with digital editing, and remind him that he fucking owes me. He still grills me about why I'd want to find out Zayne's address, but the truth would take time I don't have, so I offer him money instead. One hundred buys his interest, but not without curiosity, but five hundred buys his services no questions asked. He agrees to help, and minutes later he e-mails me the information for Zayne's on-campus apartment. I doubt that's where he's keeping Carl, and I ask him to try and track down any other addresses he's had, including any under Arthur Stevens.

Then I grab my car keys and hurry down the stairs.

Billy stops me in the foyer. “I'm coming with you.”

“No you're motherfucking
not
.” I don't have time to argue with him.

He chases me into the driveway. “She's my fucking sister!”

“And she would kill me if I put you in danger, Billy.”

“You can't go alone!”

“I'm not.” I shove him out of my way, jump into the driver's seat, and dial Cap as I peel out of Carl's driveway.

“It's our professor, man,” I tell him. “Zayne Stevens. His dad was Carl's dad's old business partner.”

“Shit.”

“Is that Glock still in your dad's old safe?” Cap and I guessed the combination when we were fifteen, and broke into the safe in Mitch Caplan's study, shocked to find the handgun.

“Yeah, I doubt he's moved it since he's been back around.”

“Does Bits know the combo?”

“Do you think I'd give her access to a fucking
gun
?”

Yeah, fair enough
. “Call her and give it to her. Tell her to grab the gun and the bullets, and to meet me out front in ten minutes.”

“You sure about this, Tuck?”

“Do it. Now.”

I get a call from Manny just as I hang up. He tells me Art Stevens is in an assisted living facility for the mentally ill, and their family home was sold almost nine years ago.

Fuck, where the fuck are they?

I doubt Zayne would use his own apartment, but I send Cap there anyway, since he's on his way from the city and he's closer to campus than I am. Bits is waiting for me when I pull into her driveway, hesitantly holding a bag like it might explode at any second, eyes darting around like she's worried she's being set up or something. I almost want to laugh, but there's nothing funny about any of this shit.

I fly out of the car and grab the bag from her, checking inside to make sure it contains both the gun and bullets.

“Tuck? What's going on? Sammy said you needed this, but…you guys are really scaring me.”

“I don't have time to explain right now, Bits. But thank you.” I race back to the car. “Stay in the house and don't tell anyone about this!” I call back to her.

And then I'm driving toward campus. Cap should be there by now, and just as I'm thinking it, he calls. “No one's here,” he says. “The apartment is empty, and his neighbor says he hasn't been home in days.”

Fuck.

“Okay. I'll call you back.”

I try to stay calm, but I'm out of ideas.
Where the fuck are they?

My phone buzzes. It's that fucking stealth app, and my pulse races in terror as I go to answer.

But it isn't a call.

It's a text. With a photo.

I click it open, and my stomach boils over with nausea and contempt at the sight of Carl's half-naked body, marked with the evidence of Zayne's possession, his release spattered over her bare stomach.

I have to pull over, and I open my car door just in time to vomit onto the pavement.

Zayne will fucking pay for this. He will
die
for this.

Nicole chooses that moment to call me.

“What?” I rage at her. She is the perfect place to direct my fury.

“Did you find her?” she asks shakily.

“No.”

She sniffles.

“I need you to
think
, Nicole. Where else could he have taken her? Did they have a vacation home? A close relative who lived nearby?”

“I…No. I don't think so.”

“Think harder!” I snarl at her, but she just cries harder instead.

Then I remember something he said. Right before he violated Carl, he said some weird, cryptic shit about how it was fitting that it would happen where it all began. I didn't think anything of it at the time.

Manny already said their family home sold years ago, but Art would have bought that house after they started making money. I read that Will and Art started the company the summer after their sophomore year at UPenn. So he could have still been living with his parents then.

“I gotta go.” I hang up on Nicole and get Manny back on the phone. I ask him to find out Arthur's parents' address the year they incorporated Stanley Stevens, which takes him about five minutes since it's a matter of public record.

I'm about to make a very dangerous U-turn to head there, but then Manny tells me that house also sold. That a new family currently lives there.

Fuck!

Nicole beeps in and I answer with a short-tempered grunt.

“Maybe…maybe we should just call the police, Tucker.”

“We're not risking her fucking life. Will e-mailed me the wiring instructions, and I'm going to wire the money.”

“Yes, yes, you should,” she says hastily. “But…what if he still doesn't let her go?” She voices my darkest fear.

“He has to.” But he doesn't. And we both know it. “I have to find them.” But I don't know how. “He said something about being back where it all started. But the house his parents owned back when they started the business—it sold years ago. I can't figure out where he'd take her.”

“Art wasn't living with his parents that summer.”

What?

“No, they'd gotten into some big fight about Art wanting to take a leave of absence from school to start the business with Will. They gave him an ultimatum, so he ended up staying with his grandparents. They actually started the business there—in the garage.”

Where it all started.

That's it! It has to be.

It takes Manny minutes to find the address, which is on the company's original incorporation documents. The house is still in Morton and Edith Stevens's names.

I slam my foot on the gas pedal and race up Old Country Road, flying through the tail end of a yellow light and nearly getting T-boned by a driver too impatient to wait for his light to actually turn green.
Asshole
.

I call Cap, read him the address, and tell him to meet me there. He tries to make me promise to wait for him, but I can't. He doesn't want me going in alone, and while I know he's probably right, I can't let Carl suffer a moment longer.

The ten-minute drive is the longest of my life. Every other car on the road is my worst fucking enemy, and I swerve around them, changing lanes like a lunatic. I honk at the jerkoff who doesn't pound the gas the second a light changes, and cut off car after car without a second thought. All I can think about is getting to Carl, and I silently pray that she can forgive me for not getting there sooner.

Present Day

The sun is setting by the time I reach the address, and sure enough, his stupid fucking premature-midlife-crisis-mobile is sitting out front, parked right on the street. The house is nondescript in every way, a mid-century colonial just like every other one on the block. The once-yellow paint has faded to a urine-like hue that has peeled and chipped away in an obvious lack of care. The grass has been cut at some point, but other than that, the house doesn't appear to have seen any landscape work in years. And the windows are all shuttered up.

I park across the street, pull the gun from Bits's bag, and carefully load the magazine. I've never been more grateful for my visits to Pennsylvania to see my cousins, because without Uncle Jerry taking us shooting all those times, I would have no fucking idea what to do with this thing.

But as it is, I'm a pretty damn good shot.

With the windows covered tight as they are, it's impossible to tell if there's any light coming from the inside, so I decide to take a cautious walk around the perimeter. I keep my gun held out in front of me, silently praying I don't have to use the thing, but ready to do whatever the fuck it takes to get Carl out of there. I'm a long way from my comfort zone, and I try to tell myself I can do this. But in the back of my mind I know that firing a bullet at a bull's-eye is a far cry from shooting a living, breathing human being.

But then, Zayne is not human. The man who took my girl, hurt her,
violated
her…he's a motherfucking
monster
. And the thought makes my fingers tighten around the trigger.

There are only two entrances—one in the front and one in the back. But I can't exactly just bust one of them in and rush inside, gun blazing.

My phone buzzes with a text from Cap, announcing his arrival.

Thank fucking God.

I meet him at his car, parked two houses down, and we make a plan. It's a shit one, but it's our best shot, and we have the element of surprise, so we have no choice but to hope it's enough. Cap FaceTimes my phone, and I put mine on mute so nothing can be heard from his end. He'll have to hold it casually so Zayne won't guess it's on, but it will give me insight into where he is, and hopefully a view into the front of the house. I head around to the back and position myself beside the door, keeping my gun at the ready as I wait for Cap to ring the doorbell.

Ding dong.

It echoes through the house, and I wait. There's no guarantee Zayne will even answer it, and we don't have a Plan B if he doesn't.

I lower the volume on my phone and hold it up so I can see the close-up view of the front door.

“Who is it.” The voice is muffled through the door, but it's definitely Zayne's.

“Mike, your neighbor,” Cap calls back.

Then the door opens, and my screen displays Zayne's jeans, and behind them, the house's entryway.

“Yeah?” Zayne asks. He already sounds suspicious. Not good.

“Hey, man. Uh, sorry to bother you, but is that your car out front?”

A pause. “Yeah…”

“Oh. Yeah, I thought so. I just wanted to let you know—the front tires are slashed.”

“What? What the fuck?”

“Yeah. Uh, there were a couple of kids walking around drinking a forty. They were being loud so I yelled at them—you see, my grandmother's sick and she was trying to sleep. I think they thought it was my car. They whipped out a Swiss Army knife and went at two tires before I chased 'em off.”

Cap sounds good. Convincing.

“Motherfucker!” Zayne shouts.

From my view on the phone, I watch him run down the walkway toward his car, where I know he will find the tires we sliced up before making our move.

Cap follows him slowly, directing the camera behind him so I can see into the house, and I instantly see the only door with light flowing under it.

Cap's phone moves again, showing me Zayne at his car, and I make my move.

I jam my foot just below the doorknob, leaning all of my weight into the kick. I feel the door give, but it isn't enough. Two more heavy kicks send the wood splintering and then the door flies from the frame, bouncing loudly off the opposite wall. I wince as the bang reverberates through the house, but a glance down at my phone shows that Zayne is still at his car, ranting and cursing about the
little shits
who slashed his tires.

The house is small. One story, no more than two bedrooms. There is only one closed door I can see, the same one with the light on. I pray Carl is in there, and I rush down the hall, gun drawn.

The door is unlocked, and I go right in, and even with the pictures I saw earlier, the motherfucking video, nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the girl I love, eyes wide and terrified, gagged and tied helplessly to a bed. Her shirt has been draped over her breasts and her skirt pulled down over her thighs, at least offering her some semblance of modesty. But her day-old mascara paints shadowy watercolors under her eyes where her tears dried in abstract shapes of fear and hopelessness.

Her face registers shock that shifts to the most beautiful shade of relief when she realizes it's me. I hurry over to her, conscious that we don't have much time. She tries to talk through the gag, but all I make out are desperate whimpers. I shove the gun in the back of my waistband and retrieve the pocketknife I used to slash Zayne's tires, and proceed to carefully slice through the gag before hastily moving on to the cables binding her wrists to the headboard.

“Tuck,” she breathes my name with such reverence you'd think I'm some kind of divine being, and her word, a prayer.

“I'm here, Princess,” I assure her, and as soon as she's free, she flings her arms around my neck. I grab her waist and haul her into a crushing hug so fierce I fear I may do her harm. But she clings to me with equal ferocity.

Carl buries her face into my chest, my shirt growing damp with her tears. “You're really here,” she mumbles into my shirt.

“I told you I was coming for you,” I say meaningfully.

She sobs louder.

“Shh. We have to go. He's still out front. We need to sneak out the back. Can you walk?”

Carl nods. My strong, beautiful girl.

I draw the gun, and wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Cap's out front distracting him. We need to make our way around the side of the house, and then Cap will make an excuse to get out of there. Once the coast is clear, we haul ass to my car. Got it, Princess?”

She swallows anxiously. “O—okay.”

She's obviously overwhelmed, but all she really needs to do is stay close, and I will get her home. “Come on.”

I lead her out of the room and turn left toward the back hall. “Almost there.”

But I speak too soon. Suddenly I hear Cap through my phone. “Are you sure you don't want me to help you find them, man?”

“No.”

And then Cap's whispering urgently, directly into the phone. “Get the fuck out of there, Tuck, he's coming back.”

But we can't move fast enough.

“Not another step!” Zayne shouts.

In one smooth motion I shove Carl behind me and aim the gun at Zayne, but his is already pointed right at my head.

“Get out of here,” I order Carl. “Find Cap, and go!”

“I can't!” she wails.

“Go!”

“That's right, Carleigh. Run away, and leave loverboy here to fight your battle for you. I'll put a bullet right in his fucking head,” Zayne sneers.

“This was her father's battle, asshole!” I spit. “Not hers.” I'm tempted to turn to Carl, to convince her to get out of here, but I can't let Zayne out of my sight for even a second. “Baby, please. I love you. I've always loved you. If you care about me at all, then you need to listen to me for once in your goddamn life, and get. The fuck. Out of here.”

“If she leaves, I fucking shoot you,” Zayne threatens.

“Not if I shoot you first, motherfucker,” I growl.

Carl lets out a whimper. “
Tuck
.” My name is nothing but a broken whisper resembling an apology. And I know. She's not going anywhere. My heart sinks. “I can't, Tuck,” she cries. “I love you, too. And I can't leave you.”

Fuck
. One of us is going to get shot. And I can't let it be her. “Let us go, Zayne. I have the wire instructions. Let us leave and I'll still get you your money.”

He laughs. “Why would you wire the money once I've released your entire incentive for doing so? Wire it now, here, in front of me, and I'll let you both walk out of here alive.”

Yeah, not falling for that.
“Not a chance, Zayne. I'm not putting the gun down until my girl's safe.”

“I'll let Carleigh go, then. You stay, give me the gun, and wire the money. Once it hits my account, we go our separate ways.”

“Deal,” I readily agree. I'm aware the chances of him actually letting me go aren't great, but I'll worry about that once my girl is out of the line of fire. Nothing else matters until then.

“I'm not leaving you here, Tucker!” Carl shrieks hysterically.

My heart pounds like a snare drum at rapid-fire speed, my adrenaline spiking dangerously. In most fights, the side with greater numbers has the advantage. But in this situation more people just means more targets. I may have no choice but to shoot and hope Zayne doesn't notice my aim and pull his trigger first. But he's watching me so damn cautiously, just like I am him.

And then I see Cap in my peripheral, edging through the door, careful not to make a sound. He could have waited safely outside, or even left, but I never thought for a second he'd do either.

I keep my eyes trained painstakingly on Zayne so I don't give away Cap's position. But Cap is unarmed, and I need to keep Zayne distracted to give my boy a chance at helping us all walk out of here. So I continue trying to convince Carl to flee, inwardly praying that she either doesn't notice Cap, or has the presence of mind not to draw attention to him.

“Princess, I need you to listen to me, okay? Once I wire Zayne his money, he will let me go. He has nothing to gain by hurting me.”

Cap charges. He pounces from behind and Zayne falls forward from the force and surprise. He manages to flip onto his back, and Cap delivers punch after punch to his face and gut, Zayne grunting with the impact. A resounding
crack
resonates through the hall as Cap's fist shatters Zayne's nose, blood spraying everywhere.

Zayne doesn't have a good grasp on his gun, but he gets a grip on the barrel, and slams the butt into Cap's jaw.

Shit
.

Carl gasps behind me, and I wish I could reassure her, but I can't turn around. Every instinct I possess tries to thrust me forward to help my friend as I have so many times before, in fight after fight, first in schoolyards then in bars, but rationally I know my advantage lies vastly in the weapon in my hand.

But Cap knows how to fight, and he can take a couple of blows, and though it feels all fucking
wrong
to stand on the goddamned sidelines while my best friend fights my battle in my stead, I have no choice but to be patient—something that doesn't exactly come naturally for me. But my utmost priority is protecting Carl, and knowing I'm a wall between her and Zayne's gun makes it easier to just stand here and fucking aim, readily waiting for a clean shot as Cap and Zayne wrestle for it.

I try to keep my gun trained on Zayne, but the two of them are a single unit as they each struggle for the upper hand.

Zayne's elbow nails Cap in the stomach and he finally gets a firm grip on his gun, but instead of focusing on his assailant, he turns his back to him. A maniacal smirk stretches across his face, and he ignores Cap as he points the gun at me.

No. not me.
Carl
.

I hurl myself in front of Carl just as Zayne's gun goes off.

My arm explodes with searing, blinding pain as the bullet rips through muscle and tissue.

Motherfuck
that hurts!

But it isn't enough to take me down, and just as Zayne shoves Cap off his shoulders and turns to aim another shot, he gives me a clear line to his fucking chest.

I don't hesitate. I pull the trigger.

My bullet hits about two inches south of my target, and for a moment Zayne just stands there in shock as wet crimson gushes from under his shirt, the spot growing and growing until, without warning, his gun falls from his hand and he collapses to the ground. Cap dives for the gun, but Zayne's fight is over.

I lower my weapon, and Carl is on me in seconds. “Tuck! You're shot! Oh, God.”

Fucking fuck!

Agony shoots through my arm as she tries to touch it, and I shrug her off.

“It won't stop bleeding!” she cries.

It fucking hurts like death, too. But I can't think about that just yet.

“Don't move,” I order her. Keeping my gun at the ready, I tentatively approach Zayne.

A river of red rushes to paint his formerly white shirt, its mirror image flowing in a puddle beneath him.

Not good for him
.

But he is alive. His face contorts with a grimace of torment, his eyes blinking in shock at his turn of fortune. Randomly I recall overhearing him boast to his ex-boss yesterday about coming into a large inheritance. I realize now he'd meant Carl's ransom. Well, it didn't quite work out that way. But even in his failure, he stole something vital from my strong, innocent girl. Something she can never get back.

My hand tightens around the gun's grip, my trigger finger itching with intent.

“He's down, man,” Cap points out the obvious. But I know what he's really saying. That it can be over. Carl is safe and Zayne isn't in any shape to threaten us anymore. But he's also saying that it's my choice. And I know the one he would make if it was Rory.

I raise the gun.