4. Taking Mr. Reed Hostage
taking mr. reed hostage
. . .
Davian
The day had taken a strange turn.
Either I was having one hell of a hangover, or Strawberry Shortcake herself was standing in front of me and pointing a gun at my chest.
Vince cursed beside me, and I barely held back a smirk despite the situation. No one ever got the jump on him—it was why he was my number two, after all—and if his piece weren’t currently pointed at me, I would’ve laughed my ass off at this little girl getting the better of him.
Except maybe she wasn’t so little. She’d grabbed the gun with a move too quick for either me or Vince to catch.
I was impressed.
Now she nibbled on her lower lip and looked as surprised to see the gun in her hands as we were. Her gaze flitted between me and Vince before settling on me.
“That was a nice grab,” I said, and Vince grunted next to me. He wasn’t as amused.
The girl’s brows pulled together, and she wiggled the gun like she was trying to look like a seasoned bank robber. “Put your hands up where I can see them. Both of you.”
I focused on the gun trembling in her hands. Neither of us made a move to comply.
“I said put your hands up,” she repeated, voice growing squeaky.
Okay, maybe I’d play along. I slowly lifted my hands in the air to ease her growing panic, pulling my eyes from the muzzle to take her in.
I’d written the girl off as a bubbly teenager when she came into the shop. With her short pink overalls and chipper voice, she exuded innocence. But there was nothing adolescent about the curves hugging her pint-sized figure.
Bubblegum pink hair. Wide grey eyes. So short she barely reached my chest. She was cute—in a frightened rabbit kind of way.
Not usually my type.
“That’s better,” she muttered as my and Vince’s hands hovered in the air. She chewed on that full lower lip again as she considered me, and her brows scrunched in a frown before she whispered, “Now what?”
I pursed my lips to hold in a laugh. Pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear that.
“Now you tell us your demands?” I offered, curious where this could go. Did she want money? Valuables? Would she turn the gun on Bruno to rob the store?
This was far more exciting than the day of meetings I’d had planned.
Vince scoffed in disbelief beside me, but I nudged his arm with my raised elbow to shut him up.
“Right,” the girl said under her breath with a nod. I’d never heard of an abductor taking suggestions from their captives before, but I was ready to roll with it. It appeared she was, too. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m the one with the gun, so I’m the one who gets to make the demands.”
Who was this girl?
But when a whole ten seconds passed and little Strawberry Shortcake made no move to tell us why we were held at gunpoint, I wondered how long we’d be here. Vince probably didn’t understand why I was playing with my food instead of getting the gun back, but he knew better than to step in without my say-so. What I didn’t like was how we could all be seen clear as day through the shop windows.
The girl’s eyes darted around the room like a frantic bunny, and she finally spoke. “I need your help.”
My lips twitched. “And pointing a gun at me is your way of getting it?”
“It was my friend’s idea, and I wasn’t going to do it—but then you brushed me off, and I saw your friend’s gun and got desperate,” she rambled before grimacing at Vince. “I’m really sorry I took your gun. I promise I’ll return it when this is all over.”
He made a sound that confirmed he thought this woman was certifiable.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “I guess we should talk terms, then.”
The nervous glances stopped, and her head cocked to the side. “Terms?”
I couldn’t hold back my smile anymore. She was too damn innocent for her own good. “The terms of our help in exchange for not getting shot.”
She tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear and lifted her chin before returning her second hand to the gun. “Ah, yes. Terms.”
“But first…” I looked over her shoulder at the counter, where Bruno currently stared at the girl in horror. “Bruno, it looks like we’ll have to postpone our chat. Why don’t you give us a minute alone? If that’s all right with you, miss?”
I looked back at the girl, and her lips twisted—but she only paused a moment before nodding. “That sounds reasonable. Bruno, I’m really sorry about this. It won’t take long.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Bruno turned to me and braced himself. “She’s a regular here, and I’m sure she means nothing by it. I think we should all just walk away now before there’s any trouble.”
My eyebrow rose. He cared enough about this girl that he worried I’d do something to her?
…Well, I did have a track record.
“It’s okay, Bruno,” the girl answered confidently, but her smile was forced. I wanted to slap a hand over my face when she took her eyes off me and Vince to reassure the shop owner. “I’ve got this handled.”
Bruno mumbled a prayer in Italian and cut a look at me. “Please don’t hurt her.”
I had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
My mind was already busy with much more intriguing options of what to do with her.
While Bruno trudged through a swinging door to the back of the shop, I turned to Vince and lowered my voice. “You should step outside, too. Turn the sign to Closed on your way out.”
The look he sent me proved he thought I’d gone insane. “Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He shook his head. “Your funeral.”
“Wait!” Strawberry Shortcake said as soon as Vince took a step. Her eyes narrowed on him, and the gun-wiggling picked up again. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Vince will wait outside,” I said calmly. “He needs to make a few calls, since it looks like we won’t make it to our next meeting.”
She winced. “Oh. I guess that’s… Yeah, that’s okay. You can wait outside, but don’t go too far, okay? And no calling the police!”
Vince stared at her blankly for a long beat before walking out the door—after dutifully turning the sign on the door to say Closed —without another word.
The girl nibbled on her lip again. “I hope he got the message. This could turn messy if the police get involved.”
“I’m sure he got it. Maybe we should move away from the window, though?” I suggested without moving my eyes from her. “I imagine we wouldn’t want someone seeing a weapon and calling the police themselves.”
Her nervous gaze darted from my face to the window, and she nodded haltingly. The gun lowered a few inches before she raised it back to my chest. “Yeah. Good idea. We definitely wouldn’t want that. So… get your butt over on that stool! Right now!”
She waved the weapon again, and I hid a wince. She’s obviously never held one before, and the last thing I needed today was to get accidentally shot by a scared little bunny. My father would never let me live it down.
Conscious of the importance of keeping her at ease, I stepped slowly toward the two stools Bruno kept at his counter. Then I made myself comfortable on one of the too small seats—Bruno may be on to something with wanting enough room for tables—and waited to see what the little bunny would do next.
But she was busy staring at the gun like it was a ghost. “I never wanted it to go this far.”
I stifled a grin.
“Might as well fill me in now.” I glanced at the door to make sure no one was approaching before I gave her my full attention. “I’m listening.”
A small pink tongue darted out to lick her lips as she gathered herself, and my gaze zoned in on the innocent yet undeniably appealing act. The answering pang below my belt didn’t surprise me.
But the one in my chest did.
“I’m sorry about the extreme measures,” she said, actually sounding pretty torn up about it, “but I have to take you hostage for a little while.”
My brows shot up. “Hostage?”
She winced and glanced over her shoulder at the door. The gun wavered in her grip. “Just until this is taken care of. Once you do what I say, you’ll be free to go.”
This was getting better and better.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t hostages usually taken when the abductor needs someone other than the hostage to complete a task? Or when there’s a ransom?” I asked slowly. “The hostage is held as a security measure, but they don’t do the task themselves.”
Her frown deepened. “This really isn’t the time for semantics, Mr. Reed. I’m the one with the gun, so if I say you’re my hostage, then you’re my hostage. Got it?”
Oh, I got it.
“Of course. My apologies. I’m your hostage,” I said, no longer hiding my grin.
And to think I’d thought today would be boring.