Tousle Me (14 page)

“Keep her talking,” Hunter mutters. “I’ll get her call traced.”

“Is this what your Facebook status was about earlier?” I ask. “The Russian mafia?”

“They’ve captured him. Anonymous, E.Z., Captain Purity. Whatever his name is. They’re trying to extort money out of him and they’re using me as bargaining chip,” she whimpers.

“Listen to me, Enid. Hunter’s tracing your call right now. We’ll be there as soon as we can, and we’ll get you out of this.”

Hunter grabs my wrist. “Got it.”

I try to put on my best reassuring tone. “We’re on the way, okay?”

“You better hurry!”

I hang up and take a deep breath. This is followed by a pleasingly outward sigh. “Oh Hunter. What are we gonna do?”

“Don’t worry, gosling. We’ll get her out of there.” He leans forward to pull back the privacy screen. Labron’s Jordin Sparks CD booms through the gap. “Dude! Emergency.”

Labron turns the music down and glances at us in the mirror. “Wassup?”

“It appears we’ve been hijacked by a poorly foreshadowed thriller subplot.”

“Dang.”

“Comes with the territory.” Hunter holds up his cell. “Think you can spin us around and find Warehouse Fourteen, on the quayside? Near Dublin Street.”

Labron gives a single nod. “It’s a done deal.” Then he goes back to singing along to
Battlefield
.

I have a little sniff at how relevant the music is.

“You’re shaking.” Hunter wraps his arms around me and brushes a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Maybe—maybe Captain Purity will escape, and save her,” I whisper.

Hunter snorts. “Not likely. Enid’s a whore.”

“Or maybe she’s just safe anyway. The virgins always die first,” I point out.

“Only in horror. This is new adult.”

I flinch. “Is there a difference?”

While we drive, I play around on Hunter’s iPad to take my mind off Enid’s imminent doom. Sparkles von Fancypants has Instagrammed some cupcake shots, which I instantly Like (unicorns sure can bake up a storm). Then there’s a blog hop where we’re making wish lists of our fantasy titles; Clamtasy’s Erotica has gone with a steamy romp called
Ten Cock Summer
, while Pegworth25 wants a college romance about losing your virginity to your AA sponsor—
Skintervention
. My own personal contribution is a tale of ghosts and dark love called
Fingering Echo
. Somebody needs to write these books.

Hunter gives my knee a squeeze. “We’re here.”

I peer out of the limo’s tinted window at a dock yard resembling the one from
Dexter
because that’s the only one the author is remotely familiar with. Storage spaces sit in lines of wind-worn wood, seagulls bleating atop them. As we get out, the night air is crisp and tinged with sea salt, the sky shot through with inky ribbons.

Wow, the description really improves when we’re stealing stuff from TV.

“So which one is it?” I ask Hunter and Labron.

“We’ll need to count them down. Start at Warehouse One, over there.” Labron points.

I grab Hunter’s elbow. “A little help here?”

“Hmm?”

“English major, remember?”

“Gosling. We need to teach you to count.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve counted on at least two occasions already. Still.” I smile knowingly. “Who am I to ruin a running gag?”

We stalk down the walkway between the warehouses, using our cell phones to light the way. When we reach Warehouse 14, there’s a battered van parked outside, and a low, twangy bass line plays somewhere close by.

“You hear that?” Labron hisses. “Stakeout music.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “You’ve been watching too much
Starsky and Hutch
.”

“I know stakeout music when I hear it!”

“And this is a hostage situation, knobhead. Get your mystery clichés right.”

“Dang.” Labron’s upper lip twitches. “Looks like Velma’s panties are in a bunch.”

“Will the two of you snap out of it? We’ve got to help Enid!” I ball my fists.

“She’s right.” Hunter pauses. “Never thought I’d say that.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, I give him a soppy grin. This is what I love about badly foreshadowed thriller subplots—they’re guaranteed to bring us closer together.

“Guys?” Labron, who’s now standing behind the van, gestures for us to come closer. “Around here. I can see a way in.”

Hunter’s eyes light up. “I love a good back entrance.”

My butthole contracts. Calm yourself, anus! This is no time to panic!

Together, we creep around to the half-open trade door at the back. Labron holds a finger to his lips.

“Reeks of piss around here,” he hisses.

I guess that would be my Uggs. Cringe.

We can see McKenzie Crook guy and Fat Guy through the crack in the door. They’re standing over a chair, waving handfuls of what look like bananas.

“Think you’re really ‘ard, dontcha, eh?” McKenzie sneers. “Captain
Purity
. Gonna catch a little Creeptonight?” He tosses one of the banana things and it lands with a crash on the floor. “No? Bahahaha!”

McKenzie and Fat Guy laugh their evil laughs together, scaling octaves with maniacal skill.

“This is worse than the Russian mafia,” Hunter says darkly. “So much worse.”

“Who are they?” I ask, grasping his arm in fear.

“Cockney rent-a-thugs.”

Tears swarm in the corners of my eyes. “Oh God. Poor Enid.”

“Time to break out your cagefighting skills, bro.” Labron glances at Hunter, his brown eyes wide with worry. “Think you can handle them?”

“Oh, I can handle them.” He lands a fist in his wide palm. “Dr Emuson was just the warm up. Now I’m going to really kick some arse.”

“It’s ass,” says Labron. “You kick
ass
.”

“And I’m English,” Hunter says through his teeth, “so I kick arse.”

I could strangle the pair of them. “I don’t care what you kick, so long as it’s those two guys.”

“Okay, okay.” Labron holds up a hand. “Let’s just calm down before they he—”

Too late.

Holy Mexican-cantina-slash-VD-clinic, Fat Guy is LOOKING RIGHT AT US.

“Sure hope he’s not hungry,” Labron mutters.

“Oi!” Fat Guy yells. “Whaddaya doin’, ya little shits?”

He steps aside to reveal Captain Purity, who is dressed in his black onesie and cape, and is bound to a chair with thick chains.

“Anonymous!” I yell. “It’s okay, we’re here to save you!”

He scents the air. “I smell…virgins.”

McKenzie Crook looks sheepish. “Shaddap.”

“You!” Anonymous spots me. “The one with the evil unicorn!”

“You can talk,” I shout back. “You dragged my friend into your sorry mess! Where’s Enid?”

“You looking for that bint?” Fat Guy booms. “You’ll never find her. We locked ‘er up good, didn’t we?” They do their deep, dirty laugh again, clutching their bellies.

Hunter grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You go back and ring Enid—she’ll be able to tell you where she is. Hunt her down.”

“Unless she’s tied up,” Labron interjects. “Then she can’t answer the phone.”

“You’d think they’d have taken her phone, or tied her tight enough to stop her answering,” I muse.

“Gosling. Do these look like men of strong intellect?”

“I—”

“No,” he answers for me, “they don’t. Labron. Dude. Can you grab some of your emergency chocolate from the glove box?”

“You want me to sacrifice my imported Cadbury’s?” Labron says, horrified.

“How else do we distract Chubbers over there?”

“With cheaper candy,” Labron grumbles as he wanders back to the limo.

“Hunter.” I take his beautiful face in my hands and stroke along the dried blood on his chin. “I already lost you once tonight. Don’t make me lose you again.”

“You won’t, gosling. I swear.”

I stand on my tiptoes and give him a soft kiss. “I hate this place we live in,” I murmur. “I don’t want to live in a world full of only sexual predators. And sluts. And token gays.”

He buries his face in my neck, all tousled fudge hair, and then breathes over my ear. “Come into my world, where there’s only one sexual predator. And one gay.”

“I’ll be safe there?”

“Oh, Cammie.” He kisses me hard. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

Except I don’t get to finish the kiss because Fat Guy has me by the tunic, and he’s yanking me back into the warehouse.

“Hunter!” I scream.

“Gosling!”

“Cadbury’s Dairy Milk!” Labron yells, hurling the purple bar of chocolate into a dark corner of the warehouse, where it skitters to a stop with a rustle. “Share size, bitches!”

Fat Guy shoves me on to the floor and goes wobbling toward the chocolate. “It had better not be fruit and nut!” he bellows.

Hunter hurries over and kneels to pull me up.

I brush the sand off my leggings, trembling. “I’m going to find Enid,” I seethe, “
now.
”

“We’ll save Captain Purity.” Labron pauses, his eyes darting about. “Just checking I said that right. Dang.”

Good thing I wore my Uggs tonight, whether they’re piss-soaked or not; these be action shoes, people, and I sure as hell couldn’t run away from Cockney thugs in Louboutins. Besides, everyone knows that girls only wear heels when they want to have sex (and yeah, I wanted to have sex tonight but also, I wanted more than that. Like one of those Hob Nobs. They were lush).

I stand on the other side of the battered van and dial Enid’s number.

“Cammie?” she pants, evidently terrified. “Where the hell are you?”

“Outside. We’re outside the warehouse!”

“You know what would help? If you were
in
side. Preferably before McKenzie Crook violates me with one of his freakishly long fingers.”

“Okay. Ew.”

“We don’t have time for
ew.
Fucking rescue me, already!” she pleads.

“I am, I am! Hunter and Labron are going to distract Little and Large so I can get past them…but this place is huge.” I stare up at the three stories of the warehouse, feeling hopeless. “I need a way to find you. What do you remember?”

“Mostly I remember boning the good Captain.” She sighs wistfully. “He has a cock like a lightsabre, you know. He fucks for justice.”

“Well that’s very nice. But since I can’t magically detect the trail of your overstretched snatch, it’s hardly a bucket of help and a half.”

“Cammie. This is not the time for your poor taste in jokes.”

“If I had a hammer,” I sing, “it could be hammer time. Stop. HAMMER TIME.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Enid shrieks. “They took me up to the second floor. I’m opposite the stereo playing the stakeout music.”

“Well thank you. Finally. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

In a jiffy. What does that even mean?

I edge back around the van, conscious of the fighting sounds emanating from the back entrance. There are the telltale thwacks of punching, the odious screeches of manly pain.

“No, McKenzie, no!” Labron squeals. “Not with your freakishly long fingers!”

I wince so hard that I almost poo.

And then I remember that where there is a back entrance…there is also a front.

Skidding around the van on my Uggs, I charge to the front of the warehouse and find the front door to be chained—but conveniently loose. Karate CHOP! And I’m in. Wow. Reading urban fantasy is really paying off.

The warehouse stairwell is grim and damp and reeks of stale cigarettes. I can hear the stakeout music from the next story up though, so I’m not far from her.

“Enid?” I shout up the stairs.

“Cammie!” Her voice cuts through the shadows, a macabre echo of her usual happy tone.

I glance down at the feathers of dust fanned over the hallway, the slithers of garbage arranged in queer bouquets (
so
back in Dexter territory, oh yeah).

“I’m coming!” I thump up the stairs, groping my way along the slimy walls in the darkness. Yuck. Enid sure better make this worth my while by facilitating some kind of important plot point.

“I’m over here!” she calls.

Enid sags from a rusty chair in a dimly lit corner. Brown water drips from the ceiling, and the stakeout music plays from a nineties-style ghetto blaster propped up on an old crate.

“Thank God I found you.” I drop to my knees behind her chair and begin to pull the knots on her bindings loose. “How long have you been here? You look terrible.”

“An hour and twenty three minutes,” she wails.

“We’ll call the campus counsellor. Get you some therapy. Or gin, we’ll get gin and vodka and KFC and…” I trail off, snivelling. “Anything you want. Oh, Enid. I’m so sorry.”

“T-thank you. Cammie. I—was—so—scared!”

“I know, I know. But it’s okay now.” I pull her off the chair and down into my arms, where I rock her like a baby. “I’ll never let a weird guy who thinks he’s a superhero drag you off to a warehouse post-sex again.”

I don’t say this bit out loud, but we both know Enid’s being punished for no-strings boning. Sex in books is like magic: there are rules and consequences, debts to be paid. The only difference is that the rules don’t apply to dudes; being a manwhore is like being a really powerful wizard. Which sure makes me think about Harry Potter in a different light.

Still, I’d let Hunter Slytherin.

Mmm. Where was I again? Oh yeah. My traumatized and horribly abused friend.

“Come on,” I say to Enid as a particularly foreboding twang emanates from the stereo. “Let’s get you out to the limo.”

We stagger down the stairs together, grasping at the walls with heavy gasps.

“Where’s Captain Purity?” Enid manages. “Is—is he still taken hostage by Thug A and Thug B?”

“When I left to get you, he was pretty much still tied to the chair. Hunter and Labron were kicking ass though.” Though it’s gone awfully quiet on the other side of the warehouse. I sure hope our heroes triumphed because I’ve got no idea how to drive a limo.

Enid sniffs. “I wish Archer was here.”

“What’s he going to do, joust them to death?”