Chapter - Alex #4
"We could actually force you to confirm the transfer and still have our fun with Alex at the same time, but…" Matt hesitates for a moment, like maybe his greed isn’t strong enough to drag him straight into his own downfall, although that’s something only time will tell.
"All right, we can go with that deal. Open the app. I want to see if you really have that much in your account or if you’re trying to feed us bullshit."
"My hands are tied, but Alex knows my password."
The moment Matt takes his hand off my mouth, I let out a desperate scream.
"No!!! Bay, don’t do it, don’t do that, please, I’m begging you, don’t!"
Matt sees I’m making too much noise and clamps his hand back over my mouth, clearly wanting to negotiate in peace.
They dig Bay’s phone out of his pocket and shove it in front of my face.
"Enter his password."
I shake my head violently, desperately refusing.
"Drop him off first, drop him there," Bay says, gesturing with his chin toward the street corner near a small elegant restaurant where a handful of people are standing around smoking e-cigs.
We happen to be driving through a fairly busy area, so for once Fate seems to be on our side. Neville slows down.
"Drop him off first. That’s the deal."
"Sorry, but how do you see that working? We put him outside, he enters the password and then what? What if he runs in front of all those people and all those cameras? Not happening."
"Alex won’t run. Alex understands," Bay says firmly. "Please, Alex, do it. You’ll get out, you’ll enter the password, you’ll set the phone on the ground and then walk away." He talks to me in this steady, stern tone.
I keep shaking my head, but Bay leans toward me. We’re close now because Matt is holding me right in front of him while Bay kneels at my feet.
There’s sweat running down Bay’s temple, his face tight with strain, and he rests his forehead against my knee.
"I’m begging you, Alex, please do it. This is the last chance we have.
Do it. The money doesn’t matter. Don’t think about me.
You have to run as fast as you can. Please.
Please, Alex… my love!" Bay whispers in this breaking voice, but I keep shaking my head because none of this can be real, this can’t be happening, this is the collapse of everything we know, the end of our world, and something inside me is screaming that if they take him, I will never see him again.
"Please, Alex, if you ever loved me, do this for me now. Get out of the car, walk ten yards away, enter the password, put the phone on the ground and run. The money doesn’t fucking matter. You matter."
I thrash, twisting and choking on my own panic.
"I’m begging you, I’m begging you," Bay whispers, and Matt is still holding me tight, and something inside me finally breaks, splintering into pieces as I sob into Matt’s hand, my tears running over his skin, and at last, feeling that horrible weakness and that crushing sense of defeat, I nod.
Matt shoves the phone into my hand and they pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. It’s a very elegant place, one of the nicest around, and a small group of people are standing outside smoking.
They’re far enough away not to hear us but close enough that they’ll definitely notice if anything suspicious happens.
The Hansons bring the van to a full stop and shove me out.
My hands are shaking so hard I hit the ground with my knees and crawl ten yards away.
I enter the password and hesitate for a second. I know I have almost no time, but I quickly go into the app settings and tap the discreet ‘delay all transfers by two hours’ option the app offers.
Then I set the phone on the ground, turn away and start to walk, but Matt calls after me.
"Try calling the police and he’s never coming home. Never. And the next ones in line will be you, your family and his family. Wait patiently, and if you’re lucky you’ll get him back in one piece, just a little less fresh and with a somewhat sore throat."
Tears blur my vision, my necromancer makeup completely melting and dripping down onto my clothes as I sob, because something monstrous has just happened, something no one can prepare for, something you only ever see in thriller movies, and my body is in deep shock.
The sense of unreality clings to me as if this is just a nightmare I’ll wake up from any second. The van door slams shut and the car drives off.
I stare at the license plate. The Hansons were clever enough to dismantle the cameras, but apparently they forgot this detail, so I memorize the numbers perfectly.
But what good is that if I can’t go to the police? What good is anything if I’m the miserable, helpless coward lying here doing nothing while he suffers?
I fall on my stomach and sob helplessly, wanting to scream, wanting to throw myself on the ground and pound my fists into the asphalt. I press my forehead to it, as despair tears through me. My beloved Bay, lost, about to be hurt in ways too cruel to imagine.
I sob and wail, and suddenly I hear footsteps on the concrete, moving toward me.
I don’t look up at first. I only see the polished toes of elegant shoes stopping in front of me.
Silence.
Only then do I slowly raise my head. My gaze travels up a tall, slim figure.
I look straight into his black, unmoving eyes. The man, though undeniably handsome, isn’t the kind of beauty everyone would fall for. His features are regular and clean, almost puritanically perfect, but so sharp and cold they seem carved from ice.
His hair is ink-black and slicked back, and he’s young, maybe in his early twenties, although the energy radiating from him feels far older. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
"Got some kind of problem, kid?" he asks, in a voice that sounds like his vocal cords are made of thin icicles.
I don’t know why, but it just bursts out of me in my despair.
"My boyfriend was taken by that van that just drove off. They took him to rape him or maybe even kill him."
The words spill out because I need to say them out loud. I need someone to hear them, because the world has to hear them even if I’m not allowed to go to the police…
Those black eyes study my face in complete silence.
"These are the people who attacked us twice before. He defended me. He beat one of them and then they beat him and ended up in jail. They’re out now and they’re out for revenge…
" I mumble, rocking back and forth slightly in a self-soothing rhythm. My whole being doesn’t know what to do with this kind of despair, it’s so overwhelming my whole body feels numb, my fingers feel numb around the inhaler I’m gripping.
The man stays quiet, and only then do I notice two other men standing a short distance behind him, two alphas, also dressed in sharp suits.
I blink because they look almost like FBI agents, yet something tells me they definitely aren’t.
"I remember their license plate," I murmur, not even knowing why, since it doesn’t matter. Why would they care?
The man keeps staring at me.
And I whisper because the words still need to pour out of me, everything needs to spill out.
"They wanted to rape me, but he said, ‘Take me instead, do whatever you want to me but let Alex go.’ Bay sacrificed himself for me and I… can’t help him. I can’t do anything. They told me if I go to the police, they’ll kill us…"
"He gave himself up for you?" the man finally says, his icy voice carrying a subtle new note. "Looks like he’s a keeper," he adds with a hint of bitterness.
"Can you help me somehow?" I ask in a desperate burst, not even knowing why, because he’s a stranger, and who am I to him.
The man lifts his brows.
"And why would I have any use for you?"
In a wave of frantic instinct I blurt out,
"I don’t know who you are, but maybe this matters. My dad is a state prosecutor, Prosecutor Strada. Maybe that changes something?"
And that’s when the man’s energy shifts slightly. A thoughtful look crosses his face.
Then, suddenly, he pulls his phone from his pocket.
"What’s their plate number?"
I tell him, and he turns away and makes a call.
He begins talking to someone, and the first words I catch are,
"Anzo? I’ve got a situation…"
I stare, not understanding any of this. Did my one bargaining chip, revealing who my dad is, actually make a difference? Could this man gain something from knowing a prosecutor?
He steps far enough away that I can’t hear the rest. The conversation lasts a moment, then he ends the call and comes back to me.
"I’m not making any promises, but I might be able to help. My boss knows some people who… know some people."
"Who are you?" I ask, stunned.
If I expect an answer, I’m very mistaken. His black, cold shark-like eyes look at me with detached indifference.
"And now we wait," the man says as he pulls out a vape. His pale fingers turn it lightly in a small swirl.
Then he lights it, the vapor sliding from his lips in a thin mist as he stares up at the sky with that same completely unreadable expression.
Because I know that every passing minute could mean something tragic happening to Bay, it bursts out of me.
"Are you able to get any information about where that car is?" I blurt in a shaking voice, because it’s the only thing I can think of that he might actually be able to do.
The man takes a slow drag from his vape, and the smell drifting toward me makes me realize it’s some kind of sedative, not regular nicotine smoke.
"You could say that. We know people who can track cars through their GPS systems."
"That’s something only the police can do," I say, my voice catching, my heart pounding so fast I have to reach for my inhaler again, because the edges of my vision start to shimmer.
There is too much happening for my brain to hold on to, and to stop myself from collapsing face-first onto the ground, I let myself sink onto the concrete, lying flat.