10. Mila
10
I wake to an empty apartment, which is a luxury when you’re crashing on a couch. I get up and make myself a coffee, before immediately curling back up under my blanket to enjoy the latest TheFixerUppers content. There are a couple renovation updates that I don’t pay much attention to, and then I let out an excited squeal when I see they listened to my request. It’s a slow pan over their tattoos, with each of them wearing nothing but slightly too small towels around their waists.
Oh. My. God.
Mack has a swirl of ink on his thigh that vanishes under the towel, and it’s impossible not to notice his… hugeness just underneath the fuzzy cotton. Reaper’s back tattoo is on full display, the massive scythe stretching from his shoulders down to the dips in his back right above where his perfect butt is covered. I lick my lips as the camera pans down Scrapper’s side, showing off his lean fighter’s build and the dragon that’s curled around his entire leg.
The most liked comment is: “It looked at me first!” followed by a bunch of eggplant and water emojis.
I’m not jealous. Obviously. I have no reason to be jealous.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
I loved the night I had with them, but what am I supposed to do? Go back just to get laid?
Okay, that actually doesn't sound half bad out loud, but in the long run I don’t think I could do it without developing feelings. It’s better to just have fun through messages where nobody is getting hurt, and hang on to the memories I have. And the videos and pictures.
Definitely the videos and pictures.
My hand creeps under the blanket, pushing under the waist of my pajama pants and between my legs. I bring up my direct messages and grin. The whole world can have their other videos, but these are for my eyes only. There’s one new one. It’s Mack, a shot of him from behind in the shower, where his one hand is against the back wall, and the other is moving quickly between his legs. Because of the angle of the shot, I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but my own fingers fall into rhythm with this movement of his arm. Water slides down his naked body, and I can hear his deep, throaty groans. It’s over too quickly. I bite my lip and stiffen on the couch as my orgasm washes over me just as Mack’s head falls back and his muscular ass clenches.
Heart racing, I swallow hard and slump back in my makeshift bed. There are worse ways to start the day.
A regular text comes in from an unknown number. I’ve been thinking about what you said and I have information I think you would be interested in. Can we meet tonight? HM. Right after, he sends an address and a time.
Well, that's unexpected. HM. Hank Mullerby. It has to be.
But why? What made him change his mind suddenly and decide he wants to talk to me? Does he really want to do the right thing? Right from the start I was sure that if something was going on, he wasn’t the only one. If his record was better than average, he might be taking money on the side and splitting it with a prosecutor or a judge, but worse than average? Who would pay to go to jail longer? No, but someone has to have something to gain or it wouldn’t be happening.
It could be a trap.
But if he's got information that can help free Danny, I have to check it out. I check the address he sent. It's a little out of the way, but not a bad part of town or anything. Pretty close to the college, actually. I can get there with a short bus ride when I’m done with my last class.
I can't say no.
I tap out a quick reply, saying I'll be there.
A few hours later, I'm getting off the bus, looking around like a spy on a mission. Meghan’s stuck at work tonight and she’s not thrilled about me going alone, but it is what it is. I've got one hand on the pepper spray in my pocket, and the other on my phone, following the map to our meeting spot.
The street is pretty busy near the bus stop, but it gets quiet fast. Quieter than I like. The street the map sends me down isn’t an alley exactly, but it’s not much more than that, either. A chill of unease settles in my bones, and I half consider turning to make a run for it. This is definitely the kind of risk Danny warned me about, but nothing worthwhile is without risk. And Danny's worthwhile, even if he doesn't agree.
I text a ping to Meghan, just to show where I am, and she responds with a thumbs up, almost immediately.
The corner Mullerby indicated is empty. There's a streetlight there, but the bulb is out, so I hang back at the one before it, which is still throwing unnatural yellow-white light on the street. In a city, it's never completely dark, with ambient light from apartment windows, stores, billboards, whatever, but this is probably about as close as it gets. I'm getting a bad feeling about this.
He's not even here. I should go home before something happens.
But then there's movement. I peer towards the corner. There’s a figure about Mullerby’s height in a baseball cap. He’s facing the other way, and standing in the circle of darkness created by the broken light. He waves, beckoning me to come closer. Why doesn't he come over here instead, where we can see each other? There's no one else here, either way.
Clutching my pepper spray tight, I move closer.
“Mr. Mullerby?”
A massive hand grabs my face from behind, pressing its palm into my mouth and muffling my surprised gurgle. I'm dragged into a hard, unforgiving embrace as whoever grabbed me puts a steely arm around my waist and locks me in place with my arms pinned to my side. My fingers brush the pepper spray, but I can’t move enough for it to do any good. Unless I can wrench loose from this guy, who's got to be three times my size, I won’t get the chance to use it.
God, how could I be so stupid?
The person I thought was Mullerby moves closer. It isn’t him. It’s a man with pitiless eyes staring out at me through a white, featureless mask. “Don’t fight back and this will go a hell of a lot easier on you.”
“Or do, and it’ll be a lot more fun for us,” chuckles the man holding me.
My panic spikes, and I get a surge of adrenaline that gives me a momentary glimmer of hope. I lurch backwards and try to twist a foot around his leg. It doesn’t work, but I do manage to kick him pretty hard in the shin.
He hisses and let's out a harsh “Fuck!”
But he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lifts me right off the ground, removing what little leverage I had. I swing my legs, but all I kick is air.
I should’ve listened to Danny, or been smart enough to at least wait until I had someone to come with me.
“Fucking bitch.”
“Later. We need to move before someone comes by.”
A moment later, a cloth bag is thrown over my head and tightened around my neck. Not enough to choke, but tight enough to constantly remind me that all they need to do is tug the straps to make that a reality. A car door opens, and I'm shoved into a back seat. I’m boxed in between two people, both a lot bigger than me from the feel of it. I feel small and pathetic, and I'm doing my best to not cry. I don't want to give them that satisfaction, and I need to keep my head clear. If an opportunity presents itself, I have to take it.
The car starts driving.
“You're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, bitch,” says a smooth voice from the front seat, definitely not the guy who captured me. “Stop playing detective and go back to getting wasted and fucking college boys. Do you understand what kind of shit you’re getting yourself into?”
“I—”
“Shut up. Doesn't matter to me if you do or not, honestly. We’re getting paid to send a message, not give advice.” He doesn't say anything more.
I don’t think we drive far before the car stops, but without any way to orient myself, I have no idea where I am. The door on my left opens, and then suddenly there's room on that side as the guy who sat there gets out. His grip around my wrists hurts as he yanks me out after him. I bang my shoulder on the door frame on the way out, and it stings so suddenly, I can't help but let out a yelp. One of them laughs.
And then I'm left to stand on my own. Even through the bag, I can sense light, but I don't know if I'm in a garage, or maybe it's just the headlights for the car. I want to take the bag off, but I don't dare. They're all right there.
“Mila Cole. Twenty-one. Journalism major,” the smooth voice says. His voice echoes a little as he continues, rattling off my parent’s address and more personal information to prove they can target me. “You think you’ve found some shit, but you’re in way over your head. Be happy that we’re only supposed to make sure you understand how serious this is.”
“I don't—” A fist in my gut cuts me off, knocking the air right out of me. I drop to my knees, wheezing for breath.
“This isn’t a conversation, girl. I'm telling you how it is, and you can do with my advice as you think best. I'm just explaining how your choices will pan out. If you don’t force our hands, you’ll walk out of here on your own two feet. Maybe not fast, but you’ll do it. I think it's important that you understand how easily we can make that not happen.”
With the bag on my head, I have no way of seeing the backhand coming my way, but I sure feel the pain of it spread through my face as my head snaps back so hard it knocks me to the ground. I struggle to my hands and knees, head spinning. This time I can't hold back the sob. I've never felt so helpless.
What am I supposed to do? Just take it? There are at least four people here, and I feel like a bloody rabbit in a dog fighting pit. They might not mean to kill me, but my skin prickles with the sense that these guys are going to anyway, whether they mean to or not. I'm trying to keep a clear head, but my evening of horror isn't close to over.
Nearby, one of them laughs, a crude, quiet bark, followed by a hard kick to my side that flips me right over. Pain shoots through me and my gut lurches. I land with a grunt, my palms scraping on the ground—on asphalt, it feels like—as I catch myself.
I have to get away.
I roll, and it must've been just in time, because one of them swears and I hear gravel scrape. Getting my hands under the hood, I force it off my head, the tight opening pulling painfully at my nose. Just in time to get another fist to my stomach, but at least now I can see.
There are four guys in a circle around me, grinning like this is the most fun they've had in ages. They’re wearing the same white masks, and crowd closer slowly, taking their time to make sure I’m as terrified as possible. If they all jumped on me at once, I wouldn't stand a chance. I jam my hand in my pocket. I'll only get one chance at this, and that's if I can get myself up on my feet.
“Please, I’m just a student. I don’t know anything,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath as I get myself up on one knee. If I can get them talking, then maybe?—
One of them kicks and I only barely manage to get out of the way, letting out a strangled cry in the process. The sound makes them laugh.
God, do they have no mercy?
One of them shoves me from behind. I stagger forward, staying on my feet, but ending up right in front of another man. Even with the mask, I can see the way his eyes crinkle and can tell there’s a nasty grin under there. He pulls his arm back, fist clenched and ready to punch me.
It’s now or never.
I yank out the pepper spray and let him have it, right in the face. He roars with pain. It's not enough to stop him, but it makes him unbalanced. He misses with his punch, and then I dart past him, running as hard and fast as I can away from my tormentors.
“Fuck!”
“Get her!”
They all yell at once, and one of them snarls like a wounded bear. I hope it's the one I maced. That asshole deserved it.
I have no illusions of being able to outrun them for long, but if I can just get out into a public space before they catch me, maybe I can find help. But the alley is long, and they picked the spot well. We're alone here. Still, I run and run until I think my chest will explode, trying to ignore the sounds of heavy feet behind me while I look for something—anything that might protect me.
My opportunity is a door someone's propped open with a box. I have no idea what’s on the other side, but if the box is there it might lock from the inside. There’s no time to think about it. I jump through it, kicking the box out of the way and letting the door slam behind me. To my relief, I hear the click of a lock. Less than a second later, a massive body slams into the door trying to break it down. The crash of it echoes through the darkened room and makes me scream.
I need help. I have no idea where I am and they could be already looking for another way in. I think I’m in some sort of storage room, but who knows what’s in here. “Hello?” I yell, hoping that someone, anyone is here and can help me.
There’s no answer.
Do I call the police? Can I even trust them? Our police department isn’t the most reliable in the best of times, and I’m investigating false sentencing. I have no idea how deep the issue goes. They know where I go to school. Who I hang out with. They know where my parents live. The only thing they didn’t bring up might actually be my best option.
I look at my phone. There are some guys I know who are already living in the gray zone outside the law. The question is, can they help me? And will they?
I send a desperate message to the FixerUppers. I need help.