The Heart Has Reasons (29 page)

Evidently
disconcerted by that fact that he evinced no fear, as most people would have
when faced with such a dangerous-looking group, a few of the thugs shifted
uneasily and exchanged worried glances.  Apparently not as perceptive as
his friends, Gold Grill snarled, “I just wanted the bitch to see what it’s like
to have a
real
man.”

There
was a lightning flash of movement as her kidnapper jabbed out one powerful arm
and hit Gold Grill in the throat.  The chromed weapon clattered to the
alley as Gold Grill fell backwards into the van.  The back of his head
slammed painfully into her ribs and an elbow dug into her bare thigh as he
thrashed, clutching his throat and making a garbled wheezing sound.  The
carpet was rough against her bare buttocks as she tried to scoot out from under
him.

The
thug with his hair in pom-poms had produced a revolver and was now aiming it at
her kidnapper.  Despite the weapon, Pom-poms was clearly frightened, his
eyes showing white all around like a panicked horse.

Larissa’s
heart surged into her throat.  Her lungs seemed to clench, making it even
more difficult to draw in each labored breath.  If they killed her
kidnapper, they’d have to kill her too, to eliminate the witness.

Her
kidnapper spun on one foot and Pom-poms’ revolver went flying.  Before
Pom-poms recovered from the shock of being so easily disarmed, her kidnapper
delivered an uppercut to his solar plexus.  Breath exploded from Pom-poms’
lungs.  He folded in half and dropped to his knees.  Lacing his
fingers into a single fist, her kidnapper hammered a blow down onto the nape of
his neck, sending him sprawling face-forward onto the ground.

As
Doo-rag lunged for the dropped revolver, her kidnapper grabbed his outstretched
arm and spun, redirecting the thug’s forward momentum.  Doo-rag slammed
face-first into the side of the van, then dropped to the pavement like a bag of
cement.

Only
two now remained standing.  The light-skinned one shuffled his feet
uncertainly as a nervous tic yanked at the corner of one eye.  The one
with the long, unkempt afro clutched a slim, black butterfly knife.  The
cubic zirconias in his ears glittered, mirroring the adrenalized gleam in his
wide eyes.

Her
kidnapper extended his hands toward them, palms up, and waggled his fingers in
a beckoning “come on” gesture.  Almost faster than Larissa’s eye could
follow, Afro flipped and twirled the blade in a complicated pattern, displaying
an enviable coordination.  “
I’ll cut you up, motherfucker!
”

Unlike
Larissa, her kidnapper was clearly unimpressed.  “Less talk, more
action.  I’m a little pressed for time.”

The
thugs attacked as one.  Her kidnapper delivered a front snap-kick that
caught the light-skinned thug in the pit of the stomach, lifting him onto his
toes.  He produced a strangled “
Uhmpf!
” before collapsing to his
hands and knees, frantically trying to suck air into his lungs.

Simultaneously,
her kidnapper avoided having his heart impaled by the simple expedient of
sidestepping.  As inertia carried Afro past him, her kidnapper drove an
elbow into the side of his head, then pistoned a kick to his side.  The
thug slammed into the adjacent building, slid down the brick face, and lay
crumpled in a heap.

Her
kidnapper calmly grasped the hilt of the dropped knife, placed his booted foot
on the blade, and snapped it in two.  Retrieving the two dropped firearms
from the ground, he placed them in the van, meeting Larissa’s panicked gaze for
just a moment.

Gold
Grill was still sprawled half on top of her, clutching his throat and making
sounds like an injured animal.  Her kidnapper grabbed him by his
shirtfront, hauled him out of the van, then slammed him up against its side hard
enough to rock the entire vehicle.  “Enjoy hurting women?  Let me
give you a little taste of what it’s like.”  He drew back and punched Gold
Grill square in the chest.

As
Gold Grill struggled to draw a breath, her kidnapper then proceeded to beat
him.  Larissa could only see a portion of what was happening, but she
could clearly hear every meaty
thunk
as fist or foot impacted with
flesh.

There
was a sharp
crack
like a wooden Louisville Slugger breaking.  The
resulting scream was raw and shrill, scraping across her consciousness like a
nightmare.  Was he going to kill Gold Grill?

Doo-rag
lurched to his feet.  He took one wild-eyed look at the beating occurring
less than ten feet from him, turned and, hitching up his oversized jeans with
both hands, beat a hasty retreat down the alley.

From
her limited vantage point inside the van, she couldn’t see any of the remaining
three men although, over her own loud wheezing, she could barely hear Pom-Poms
retching.  Someone else was moaning and gasping for breath.  The
fourth was either unconscious or, like Doo-rag, had fled.  In any case,
her kidnapper was now focusing his attention solely upon Gold Grill.

She
felt absolutely no pity for the man who’d intended to rape her. 
Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and concentrated on sucking air into her
constricted lungs while trying to block out the screams and cries of a man
apparently being beat to death.  There was another cracking sound,
followed by another piercing scream that made every hair on her body stand
upright.

Surely,
someone would hear and call the police.

Then
the sounds of the beating ceased, leaving only garbled moans and sobs. 
When a shadow fell across her face, she opened her eyes to find her kidnapper
leaning inside the van.  He tore the cardboard packaging from an inhaler
and quickly removed the gag from her mouth.  Cradling her head in one
hand, he held the inhaler to her mouth and depressed it.  She sucked in,
held the breath for a moment, then broke off in a fit of coughing that ripped through
her lungs like a saw blade.

When
it subsided to where she could speak, she gasped, “Another.”  He held the
inhaler to her mouth and depressed it again.

Gently
lowering her head, he tugged her bra and tee shirt back down into place. 
“Raise your hips.”  When she obediently did so, he pulled her panties and
pants back up.

“Another?” 
At her nod, he again cradled her head and held the inhaler to her mouth. 
“Did he hurt you?”

“Not
as much as you are,” she managed to say before another fit of coughing overcame
her.

Under
the ski mask, his jaw clenched.  He quickly freed one of her hands,
pressed the inhaler into it, and slid the door closed.  He had to force it
completely shut, but the lock was clearly broken.  With a curse, he
climbed in the front and drove off.

* * * * *

Now that the momentum of his rage had
slacked off, guilt ached away at the back of Chase’s skull.  Jesus, that
animal had nearly raped Larissa.  What if he hadn’t gotten back in
time?  She must have been scared to death.

He’d
driven several miles by the time she finally stopped coughing.  Pulling
into another alley, he stopped next to a row of trash dumpsters.  The
chromed .45 was a nice weapon and he wouldn’t have minded keeping it. 
Considering whom he’d taken it from though, it stood to reason that it may have
been used during the commission of a crime.  He unloaded and dismantled
both weapons, and distributed the individual components amongst the dumpsters.

When
he climbed back into the cargo compartment, she pleaded, “Please, I’m begging you. 
He’s going to kill me!”

“Save
your breath.  I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fuck
you, then!  I wish they’d killed you.”  She struggled wildly as he
shoved the gag back into her mouth again and then, armoring his heart against
the mute appeal in her eyes, blindfolded her as Keswick had requested.

The
sky clouded over as he drove toward Keswick’s estate.  The grayness seemed
to reflect the foreboding he felt, casting a pall of apprehension over
him.  When they finally reached Chatsworth, he pulled out the disposable
cell phone and dialed Keswick.

“Yes?”

“We’re
five minutes away.”

“I’ll
be watching for you.”

The
wrought-iron gate was opening before he’d even pulled to a complete stop before
it.  He drove up the long drive and killed the engine in front of the
house.  Keswick hurried down the wide, brick stairs to meet him.  His
brows rose at seeing the bruise at his temple.  “How’d you get that?”

Gripped
by a sudden, irrational anger toward the man, Chase barked, “Ask your wife.”

“Oh. 
Sorry.  I did warn you to be careful.”

“It’ll
take me a few minutes to release her.”

“Is
she gagged and blind-folded?”

“And
hobbled and handcuffed.”

“Bring
her in like that.  She’s gonna be pissed, and I don’t wanna be her next
victim.  I’m gonna have to keep her tied up until I’ve had a chance to
calm her down.”

“What
makes you so sure you’ll be able to?”

A
broad grin split Keswick’s face and he lowered his voice.  “I have a
four-carat diamond ring waiting for her inside.  When she sees it, she’ll
be ready to drop to her knees and blow me right then and there.”

Chase
barely managed to quell the murderous impulse to smash a fist into the grinning
face.  Obviously sensing his sudden rage, Keswick took an involuntary step
back.  He frowned at the vehicle’s broken side door.  “What
happened?”

“Some
punks crowbarred the door when I stopped to buy her a new inhaler.  You
didn’t warn me that she had asthma.”

Keswick
looked startled for a moment.  “It totally slipped my mind.  So, what
happened with the punks?”

“I
took care of them.”

“Are
they dead?”

“No. 
But at least one of them will be visiting the emergency room.”

“Did
they see your face?”

“No,
but they saw Larissa’s.”

“That
don’t matter.  Go ahead and bring her in.”

CHAPTER
18

Brian Sparrow went back inside the house
and watched as Mr. Special Forces helped the cunt out of the van.  Seeing
her again after two years made his dick swell at the thought of his impending
revenge.  She clutched something in one cuffed hand and, as promised, was
gagged and blindfolded.  It definitely wouldn’t do for her to get a look
at him in front of Mr. Special Forces.  She hadn’t seen him in two years
but, even with his face and body altered, she might still recognize him.

But
what was troubling Mr. Special Forces.  The cunt had told him about “Brian
Sparrow”.  Was he now having second thoughts about delivering her?

Maybe
he should simply kill the man.  With him dead, there’d be no loose ends to
worry about later.  Not to mention the forty grand it would save. 
Once Mr. Special Forces was inside the house, he could open the desk drawer as
if to get the money, pull out his revolver instead, and kill the man before he
realized the danger.

The
problem with this scenario was that one of his neighbors would hear the shot
and call the police.

He
could come up with some pretense to lure the man out to his soundproofed
“playroom”.  But Mr. Special Forces would see what was inside the playroom
before he could get the door closed behind them.  The thought of what might
then happen made his gut tighten.  No, too risky.  Besides, he might
have need of his services again.

Sparrow
grinned as the cunt fell to her knees, grasped Mr. Special Forces’ ankles, and
pressed her forehead against his feet in an unmistakable gesture of
pleading.  Looking both angry and miserable, Mr. Special Forces hooked his
hands under her armpits and hauled her to her feet.  When she refused to
walk, he hoisted her over his shoulder before grabbing a white plastic garbage
bag from the van.

She
struggled and fought as he carried her up the front steps.  Sparrow held
the door open and led the way into the living room.  Grabbing a thick,
leather belt, he silently directed Mr. Special Forces to deposit her onto the
upholstered seat of an armless, wooden chair, then immediately wrapped the belt
around both her and the chair, pinioning her arms to her sides.

Once
he had it buckled snugly behind the chair, the cunt sat there with the
apathetic despondency of one who has finally passed the point of hope.  Sparrow
hurried over to the desk, grabbed four paper-banded bundles of bills from a
drawer, and motioned for Mr. Special Forces to follow him to the front door.

Once
they’d stepped outside, he handed the money over.  “Thank you.  You
don’t know how much Larissa’s return means to me.”

Mr.
Special Forces took the four bundles and, with a distinct edge to his voice,
said, “This marks the end of our association.  Never contact me
again.”  When he turned and strode down the wide steps, Sparrow stared
after him, seeing the anger manifesting itself in the line of his broad
shoulders, in the fast, jerky movements.

Had
Mr. Special Forces grown attached to the little cunt?  How
sweet
.