Chapter 42
“The blindfold again? Really?” I huff as I get no answer from the woman. She merely ties it over my eyes. She does a better job than the guys did. Can’t see a damn speck of light. Makes me wonder if this isn’t her first time with a blindfold. Or if she uses them in her bedroom for fun. She certainly knew to pull at the edges of it to guarantee my blindness. Bet she’s a top in the bedroom. Can’t be a mousy little thing if you’re a kidnapper.
It’s so much more comfortable to think about lurid details like that than to focus on the existential terror of being transported again.
When I was upstairs, Andre had fielded a few calls, speaking Italian the whole time, so I had no idea what was being said. But the words were so similar to Spanish that I thought I might have had a hold on some of them. Not that my Spanish was great, but I spoke enough to get by on a Mexican vacation.
Buono—Bueno—Good. Banca—Banco—Bank. Some words needed no translation. Padre. Problema. Tempo. I had the feeling Anderson’s father was running out of time to solve a problem with the bank, and if they cooperated, things would be good.
Strange how similar our problems were.
But now, being downstairs in the garage, our problems’ similarities have ended. I’m not sure what’s happening now or why I’m being transported. No one tells me shit. My hands are tied in front of me. I’m just a package, as far as anyone here is concerned. All I know is the woman and the big guy walked me next to a nondescript red sedan with black tinted windows. Older model. Nothing fancy. Not as nice as the sprinter van—not even close.
All of that makes me nervous. This is the kind of car you use to dump a body. Something unremarkable, so it goes unnoticed. I guess my status will be determined by where I ride. If I go in the trunk, I’m dead. I know it.
Once the blindfold is secured to the woman’s liking, she says, “No. Not there.”
“He said the trunk.”
Fuck.
But she counters, “No point to that. She can sit in the back.”
I love her.
“Moeller said she goes in the trunk. Easier when we get to where we’re going. Simpler for the meet up. Pop it, and we go.”
“If I get a vote?—
“Shh,” she says coldly to me. “Fine. Put her in the trunk. But if anything happens to her?—”
“It won’t.”
As soon as I feel his giant mitts on me, I struggle. I can’t help it. I’m about to die, and I’m not going to make that easy. But he lays me in the trunk. “See? Not so bad in there. Just be quiet and don’t cause any problems and there won’t be none for you, neither.”
“Wait—”
But the lid shuts.
I take a breath and try not to scream. To my surprise, the trunk isn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. It’s lined with blankets and pillows. This is their usual prisoner transportation car. Lucky me.
I’d pull my blindfold off, but I’m sure I’d be in trouble for that. Not that it matters anyway. Trunks aren’t exactly made for sightseeing. But something in my mind flashes to an old book I read. It was a spy novel, I think. The spy was kidnapped and placed in the back, and there was a lever in the trunk for accidents, like if kids were playing in a car, so they could get out, and he used that lever to spring it open.
Where is that lever?
Feeling around, I pull my blindfold down a little to see, but I was right before. It’s pitch black in here and there’s no point in incurring the wrath of my captors if I can’t escape, so I pull it back up. As I’m groping blindly, the car starts up.
Here we go.
Okay, no one has shot me, and I might be able to pull a lever to escape. Win-win. Keep looking. As I do, I grab onto something that feels like it might be a lever, except it’s sharp. We hit a bump right then, and it cuts my palm. Dammit. It’s not deep, but it hurts. Then again, if that’s the worst injury I end up with over this, I’ll take it gladly.
I press the wound to my coat, hoping to staunch the bleeding, but it’s not bad and seems to end fast. Bet that was the lever. Someone cut it to make it impossible to use. Nothing else in the trunk would match the description I read in the book, so I’m not escaping anytime soon.
But at least no one has shot me. I’ll take it.
I lay back and try to think of what to do next. Make noise when we stop? It’ll attract the attention of the woman and the Big Guy first, and I don’t look forward to their potential reactions. There’s really not much more to be done, other than waiting.
Great. More of the same.
It was strange to watch Andre on the phone after our conversation. He seemed so adamant that I trust him about Anderson, so forceful about it. But when he was on the phone, he vacillated from laughing to threats with ease. Whatever he did professionally, it wasn’t good. He sounded like a maniac.
But thinking about what he told me about the Wests leaves me confused. He said I didn’t know who I was really involved with, and that if I stayed involved with Anderson, I would get into a lot more trouble than I was already in. Details? None. Just threats.
I defended myself and told him I didn’t know anything, and he said he knew I wasn’t involved, and that was why he was being so friendly about everything. I scoffed at that. “Getting threatened and kidnapped and tied to chairs is fucking friendly to you?”
He smiled at that. “Yes. Very.” The man is a fucking sociopath.
I gulped. “Well, it’s not where I come from, Mr. Moeller.”
“You and I come from two very different places, then. It is plain by how you are that you don’t know anything, Ms. Devlin. I beg you not to change that. Your ignorance is what keeps you from facing other consequences at the moment. It keeps you safe. From me. From others. We are exploiting that privilege tonight.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you will go home.”
My whole body tensed with excitement at that. “Seriously?”
“Provided you continue to cooperate with us, yes.”
“What, um … what else do you want from me?”
He smiled. “Let’s have breakfast.” He did something on his phone and within a minute, a feast was delivered to us. My mouth watered at the pastries and fresh fruit and scrambled eggs and coffee, but I didn’t recognize the cup of what looked to be incredibly dark hot chocolate. He sipped that first, smiling, so I did the same. It was incredible. The richest chocolate I’d ever tasted. After that, breakfast was relatively pleasant, given the conditions. Might as well enjoy what could be my last meal.
After breakfast, he started his calls in Italian, and after a while, the woman came and took me to another part of the penthouse, where we watched TV. It was all so weirdly normal that I didn’t know what to think of any of it. But I was wiped out from the stress and from being up all night, and I ended up dozing off in an easy chair. After all, these people could kill me at any moment, whether I was asleep or not. Might as well rest while I could.
When I woke up, it was to hushed voices in the other room and I was alone. I listened at the door, but it was more Italian. Shortly after that, the woman brought me a turkey sandwich and said to eat fast, because we had to be somewhere. On the way through the penthouse, Andre stopped us. “Remember what I said, Ms. Devlin. Remain uninvolved with the West family, or things will not be as easy on you next time.”
I gulped and nodded, and the woman ushered me out.
It is all so strange. Nothing matches up to what I know about kidnapping. I mean, sure, they took me pretty easily, and they obviously know what they’re doing in that realm. But I’ve never read a book, or a seen an interview with a kidnapped person who was treated so friendly, as Andre put it. And to be fair to him, the breakfast was spectacular. Sure, he’s a sociopath, but he was nothing but respectful to me while I was in his presence. His staff was, too.
As kidnappings go, this could have been a lot worse. But then again, I’m in a trunk, and he might have let me believe I’m going home, so I didn’t get hysterical. Guys hate that. But if they’re not going to kill me in the trunk, then why put down blankets and pillows? The whole thing boggles me.
It was night out when I woke up, so it’s late now. Maybe I should have been counting the seconds to calculate the distance to where they are taking me, but does it matter? They’re taking me there regardless of whether I know where I am. More than that, I’m not sure where I was at Andre’s anyway.
Guess I’m just trying to think of something to do. I hate not being able to do anything. All I know is, when the trunk opens, I am hitting whoever is there. The woman. The Big Guy. I don’t give a fuck. They did this to me. They might not be in charge, but they are just as guilty as Andre, and I’m angry about all of this. They deserve my wrath as much as he does.
The car sounds change—we’re on a bridge. Oh shit. What if … what if they’re just going to dump the car in a river or the bay or something? Fuck. I turn around and kick at what I think might be the lever. My boot scrapes against the sharp end, but I keep kicking, hoping to pop the trunk. I kick again and again and it’s useless, but I don’t care. I can’t drown. Not like Claire. She had her weighted vest to pull her down. I have a whole fucking car around me. Oh my god?—
Just then, the car stops.
I freeze up, trying to listen for anything. Any indication that the car is in neutral and about to me shoved into the water. The doors don’t open. They’d get out first. Even with the doors not opening, there’s the scratch of footsteps on concrete, coming close. Then one of the car’s doors opens.
The trunk opens, too, and I still can’t see a damn thing. But I hear the woman from behind me say , “Get her out.”
How can I get out if I can’t see? But then the Big Guy roughly picks me up and sets me to my feet. With both my hands still tied together, I ball my fists and hit him. Again and again, I hit him. But he catches my hands, and murmurs, “Stop, June. I have you.”
I know that voice.
The car’s tires squeal behind me as it pulls away, and the blindfold is lifted. Anderson stands in front of me, and my mind resets. It’s night still, and bright underneath the street lamps of some bridge I don’t know.
But all I really see is Anderson. My voice shakes, “Are … are you really here?”
He smiles and cups my cheek. “I’m here. I have you. You’re safe now.”
My body goes embarrassingly limp, and he catches me. Scratch that—I’ll be embarrassed tomorrow. For now, I’ll let him hold me up. It’s all I want in the world.