Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
H arper
“Everybody just keep calm,” the taller of the two men says, the butt of his gun hovering mere inches from our faces.
Both men are dressed in black jeans and black hoodies, the hoods pulled over their heads and dark scarves tied round the bottom half of their faces. Their appearance isn’t exactly inspiring a sense of calmness.
“If you’ve come for the omega,” Derrick says, grabbing me by the arm and thrusting me forward so that the guns are even closer to my face, “here, take her!”
“Derrick!” Sylvie hisses in disapproval.
I watch as the brow of the taller man wrinkles in confusion.
“Omega?” he says.
“I’m pregnant!” I blurt out.
“You are?” Sylvie says.
“Pregnant?” Derrick says.
“If it’s his,” the gunman gestures his head towards Derrick, “then you need to get a better baby daddy. He was willing to sell you out.”
“I wasn’t. I just assumed–”
“It’s not his,” I say flatly.
“You don’t look pregnant,” the smaller dude says.
“I’m only five weeks. I only found out this morning,” I explain.
“Congratulations,” the smaller man says, and even though he’s waggling a gun in my face, I can’t help smiling. “Yeah, Danni didn’t start showing until she was about seven weeks.”
“You have a kid?” I ask.
“Three,” he says, before the other dude punches him on the arm.
“Do you want to give away your identity?”
“Shit,” the man mutters.
“Erm, what exactly do you want?” Sylvie says. “We don’t have any cash on site. All transactions are electronic.”
“I have cash,” Derrick says. He reaches into his pockets, which has the gunmen tightening their grips on their guns. Derrick whimpers.
“Keep your hands where we can see them.”
“It’s my wallet,” Derrick mumbles, shaking in his shoes. “My wallet.”
The tall one holds out his hand and Derrick opens his wallet and starts pulling out handfuls of cash as well as several platinum credit cards.
“This dude’s loaded,” the tall one says, stuffing the notes in his pocket. “What else you got?”
“My watch?”
The gunman twitches his fingers, motioning at Derrick to hand it over. Only Derrick’s shaking so much he can’t make his fingers work and Sylvie has to step in to help him.
The tall man looks down at Derrick’s shoes next.
“Are those Armani?”
“No, Prada.”
The man whistles and in the next moment, Derrick is down on the ground attempting to undo his shoelaces.
Once he has Derrick’s shoes, the taller one calls over his shoulder to his friend.
“Bri– I mean Kev, take these three out back.”
“They’re going to take us out back! They’re going to take us out back!” Derrick pants on the verge of hyperventilating. He pales and grabs a hold of Sylvie’s arm. “You know what that means?”
“No,” Sylvie says.
“Out back!” Derrick cries in a panic, swinging his gaze between the two men. “What are you going to do to us?”
“I’m going to knock you out if you don’t shut the fuck up!”
“No!” he says, hands flying to his face. “These teeth cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Should we pull each one out then?” the one called Kevin asks. “Or are you going to shut the fuck up?”
Derrick wobbles slightly on his feet, but doesn’t say anything.
Kevin cocks his head. “Good.” He looks at me. “You really ought to dump this dude.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I clarify.
But Kevin isn’t listening, he has the three of us walking further into the gallery and into the small staff room at the back. Here he disconnects the landline, makes us hand over our cell phones, then orders us to sit on the floor.
“You need a hand down, sweetheart?” he asks me, offering his hand.
“It’s okay,” I say, “I can manage.”
“Are you going to shoot us?” Derrick says, looking to the door like he might gamble and make a run for it.
“You maybe,” the man says flatly, “these two, no.”
“Please, no,” Derrick says, realizing he won’t make it to the door and trying a different tactic instead, dropping to his knees and holding up his clasped hands, “please, please don’t shoot me. I’ll give you anything, anything at all.”
“Derrick. Be quiet,” Sylvie says, “he isn’t going to shoot you.”
“It’s tempting,” the man says.
“Yes, but very messy,” I tell him.
He sighs like ain’t that the truth, then grabs a hold of Derrick’s elbow and forces him to the ground where Sylvie and I are already sitting patiently.
“Sorry, but I’m going to have to tie you up.”
Derrick whimpers again.
“Could you not tie us to him?” Sylvie asks.
“Only got one piece of cable,” the man says, showing it to us. Sylvie groans. “Hands behind your backs.”
We do as we’re told, although Derrick is now muttering a prayer under his breath and his eyes are screwed shut.
Kevin winds the cord around each of our wrists, then ties our hands together.
“It’s a little tight,” Derrick whines.
“I’m fucking warning you,” Kevin snaps, “one more word … do you understand?” Derrick slams shut his mouth and nods hurriedly. “Stay here.” He waves his gun at us and then disappears through the door. Out in the gallery we hear bangs and thuds. It’s obvious they’re removing the paintings.
“They didn’t gag us,” Derrick says, “we could cry for help.”
He opens his mouth about to yell, but Sylvie elbows him hard in the ribs.
“You want to get shot? Just wait. They’ll leave soon enough and then I’ll untie us.”
“How?” I ask.
“Shibari has all sorts of uses,” Sylvie says.
“Oh,” I reply, blushing.
“My arms are cramping,” Derrick moans.
“Already?” I say.
“I can’t … I can’t …” He begins to pant.
“Is he hyperventilating again?” I ask Sylvie.
“I think so. If we leave him, he may pass out. I think it would be for the best.”
We both watch as Derrick’s breathing becomes quicker and quicker, his eyes darting about, his face redder and redder and then all of a sudden he flops forward.
It’s probably a little cruel but I also think the slimeball deserves it. After all, he was willing to hand me over to the gunmen.
“That’s better,” Sylvie says. “I am really sorry about this Harper. This really isn’t a typical day, I promise you.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s been a really weird day all round.”
“And the pregnancy thing – was that true?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I only found out today and–”
“Harper, there’s no need to explain. It’s none of my business.” I nod. “Although, I am curious, is the dad around?”
“Yet to be determined,” I say, very tempted to tell Sylvie the whole ugly truth. She doesn’t take me as someone who would be judgmental. Then again the ugly truth is pretty outrageous.
“Ahhh,” she says, managing to twist her fingers around so that she can pat my hand. “Men,” she says, rolling her eyes, “why are they so unreliable,” she sniffs Derrick’s way, “and pretty smelly too.”
“Oh, these ones aren’t. Unreliable, I mean. Or smelly. In fact, they smell really good.”
“But there’s something the matter with them?”
“There’s nothing the matter with them ,” I sigh, “they’re perfect. Unfortunately, our circumstances are not.”
“Are they married?”
“God, no!”
“In another relationship?”
“No.”
“Not interested in you, the way you are in them?”
“Oh no, they’re interested.”
Sylvie laughs. “I don’t understand. What is the problem, then? I give up. Are they in jail?”
“It’s nothing like that, but it would be a big scandal if we made our relationship public, one that might lose them their jobs.”
Sylvie snorts again. “Harper, we’ve only just met, but may I offer you some advice?”
“Go ahead.”
“Make your life as scandalous and outrageous as you possibly can. It is so much more fun. And life should be all about having fun. Don’t lie on your deathbed regretting how dull your life was. No,” she shakes her head, “life, like art, is always better with color.”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for a life full of scandal.”
“You care what people think?”
“A little. But I care about these men more and I don’t want them to lose the jobs they love.”
“These men are not perfect if they’ve chosen their careers over you, Harper.”
“They haven’t, I chose that. I’ve really fucked up and I’m not sure they’ll be able to forgive me.”
“Then un-choose it, swallow your pride and tell them you’re sorry. Especially if it means you get to be with your perfect men. Because, as the present company shows us, most men are hopeless.”
I gaze down at Derrick, drooling into his own lap. “They are.”
“These ones, for example,” Sylvie mutters, gesturing towards the gallery, “are amateurs. Everyone knows there’s no money in art theft. Stolen art work is almost impossible to sell.”
“Really? I thought dubious gangsters paid dudes like this to steal art for them.”
Sylvie sniffs. “A myth.”
As if our conversation has been overheard, Kevin re-enters the room.
“What happened to him?” he asks, peering down at the slumped-over Derrick.
“Panic attack,” Sylvie says. “The male disposition can be very weak.”
“Right.” He looks over to me. “We’ve been doing some research.”
“You have?” I say, confused.
“Prompted by what your boyfriend said.” He points to Derrick.
“He is not my boyfriend.”
“Turns out there’s a lot of money to be made from selling omegas.”
Sylvie’s head snaps towards me in alarm.
“But pregnant ones–”
“Worth double apparently on account of the chances she’ll have an omega baby. Two for the price of one.”
“Kevin,” I say, attempting to keep my voice calm. I will not panic. I will not panic. I am not Derrick. “You have kids!”
“Yeah, who need feeding and you have no fucking idea how much childcare costs.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry sweetheart, you’re just too valuable.”
“You can’t do this,” Sylvie says.
“Not my choice. Orders from the boss.”
He kneels down and starts to untie our hands. I glance towards Sylvie in desperation. She darts her eyes to Kevin and then down to her arms. My heart is racing. The man has a gun. His friend has a gun. But if I let him take me, who knows where I’ll end up. Who knows what will happen to my baby.
I nod, fighting to steel my nerves.
Sylvie mouths at me, “one two three,” and together we crash our elbows into Kevin’s face.