59
Dead Man Walking
Amanda
My head aches unbearably. As a first thought on waking up, it sucks. And the bad news keeps on coming.
My eyes flutter open, and try to focus. I can see the puffy swell of my cheek trying to take over my lower lid. It throbs with heat to back up the pain. I blink a few times to clear my sight.
What I see is more than a little concerning.
I’m in one of the brothel rooms from my nightmares, with an ornate wooden door directly in front of me. The big change is that the walls are a deep purple in color, and the room seems more like a stage than a bedroom. Sex toys of all kinds are hung on the walls, breaking up the solemn effect of the purple with vibrant pinks and dull blacks. A giant bed is to my left, pressed against a wall. I’m in the center of the room with some kind of spotlight over my head. There’s a wall of mirrors on my right that I’m betting is two-way glass.
I’m sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair with a hole in the center like a toilet and no arms to rest my elbows on. I’m hunched forward, my head raised to look around.
When I look down, the gleam of silver tape is barely visible over my lower stomach. My hands instinctively try to move, but they're trapped behind me around my wrists. My brows furrow as I roll my free hands in confusion.
My hands aren’t taped together? Have action movies lied to me, or are we all amateurs here?
I can’t move my legs at the ankles, and I can’t see why. I’m assuming I’m taped up there, too. I shift a little, feeling sticky tape crinkling with my movement.
My mouth isn’t taped shut. A big mistake on their part. Then again, my loud mouth will usher my death in a lot faster.
The feeling of impending doom is ever present in my chest, but it gets overshadowed by sorrow. I have so much more to do. I need to yell at Gabriel and kiss Ace. That asshole didn’t kiss me before he stomped out in a huff earlier. I need to yell at him, too.
That perks my burning anger up nicely. My lips firm as I take in my situation again.
It’s bad, but I’ve got wiggle room.
Aren’t they supposed to have a chair with arms to tie me to? The tape isn’t very tight, either. No, I can’t get it off as I struggle, but I have more movement than I think I should.
I’m judging my kidnappers' techniques. There’s definitely something wrong with me.
If I sit up and lean to the left a little. I can get my fingers into the hole at the back of my pants. The metal escape card slides out easily, which surprises me. The problem comes when I try to bend out the tool that I need without dropping the whole thing.
The door in front of me swings open, and my hands clench over the card. I jab myself with the tool and mentally curse it for being helpful at the wrong time. Stark fear hits me. My breathing gets faster as my chin jerks up to see who’s there.
Three guys wearing ski masks casually stroll in, one at a time. Dressed all in black, they look like any other bad guy. It reminds me of how Shade dresses for a second before I look closer.
The synchronized color is ruined by the mismatched shirts and jeans with the slacks and button-ups. They weren’t on the same page this morning.
My eyes catch on the brass knuckles on one guy’s hand and linger.
This is going to suck. A lot.
I cycle through a few emotions. Sorrow again. Fear for whatever pain is going to come my way. Shame because my first instinct is to give them whatever they want as long as they promise not to hurt me. Then my trusty go-to emotion pops in, wiping everything else out.
Rage.
Today is the day I die. A fucking Monday, of course.
Okay. Deal with it.
And take as many of these assholes out with you as you can.
With the anger comes a certain amount of don’t give a shit immunity to the fear. They started it after all. They can’t bitch about me finishing it. They won’t have enough teeth left for it anyway.
“Mrs. Blake.”
Well, look who is dying with me first. He’s going to be begging to say my proper last name soon.
I am a goddamn Jefferson .
The guy in the center takes a single step forward with a swagger and a smirk as he speaks.
“We have a few questions for you. If you answer, you go free. If you don’t, we play.”
I don’t believe anyone is going free today, but I choose not to comment.
This clinches that they aren’t professionals. Both Shade and Jake assured me that pain before questions nets better results. Like it was something they learned out of a manual everyone got when they started torture school. These guys are as much amateurs as I am.
The thought comforts me. I can’t see myself taking on any super special, well-trained Matthias guys with any type of efficiency. But if we’re all losers, I have a better chance. Not that the logic of that helped me earlier.
“Do you understand what that means?” A pair of brass knuckles waves in my face from the guy to the left. He’s not even wearing them yet. My eyes dart from the motion to his mocking brown eyes.
“I got it.” I’d pretend to be terrified, but I’m too pissed off.
How did they find me? If I had known this would happen I would have gone out on day one for a coffee and set my capture up myself.
His eyes crinkle as he frowns. Then he straightens to look at his buddies.
“Let’s start then,” the swaggering middle guy taunts.
“Sure,” my lackluster reply gives him pause. He shakes himself and starts in with questions.
“Do you know who I am?”
“No. But I’ve nicknamed you Loudmouth if it makes you feel better.”
I’m expecting a punch to follow my bland words. They stand frozen and look at each other. I take advantage of the distraction to work on the miniature saw in the card. I need to be working, not just glaring.
“You’re a smart ass, huh?” Brass says with a chuckle that slowly spreads from one man to the next.
“More like a dumb shit,” Killmefirst grins.
The saw finally bends into place. I fumble with it, my hands slick with sweat as I hold it to start cutting through the tape. The first cut is a loud riiiiiip in the silence. I freeze up and the three glance around to locate the noise.
“Excuse me,” I say flatly. “Stress makes me gassy.”
Killmefirst rears back in obvious disgust. The other two don’t know what to say.
So, I can get myself out of my tape bindings but it’s going to be loud as hell. Action movies have lied to me again. There is no stealth in escape. On the plus side, the tape has gotten very loose. My hand movements aren’t as awkward, and my arms are more comfortable. How sharp is this damn thing? Not that I’m complaining.
If I slow down and time my cuts with talking I’ll be out in no time. My ankles will still be taped to the chair, though. If I answer all their questions with a lot of attitude, I might get free and have them leave me alone out of pure confusion. All I have to do is be patient and endure whatever happens.
Neither of those things is my strong suit.
Running my mouth is, though.
“Can we get on with it? My show is on,” I say as loud as I can to cover up the sound of the saw as I make a more gentle cut. Still making a sound, but more subtle. Brass is watching me warily. Here’s hoping my ‘gas’ forces him to bail out.
“You don’t seem very stressed,” the last guy’s voice I recognize. He’s Killmefirst.
“I’m in shock,” I assure him mockingly.
“Where is the money ?” Loudmouth asks me angrily. He takes a step forward as if to threaten me, but he doesn’t have the brass knuckles on. It’s a little weak.
Brass is too busy watching me in disgust at the soft sound of the saw at random intervals.
“In my shoes,” I tell him with a raised brow. “For safekeeping.”
“She’s joking, right?” Killmefirst mutters to him.
“Take her fucking shoe off and check,” Loudmouth snaps and gestures to my feet.
“Come on, man,” Killmefirst whines in return. “There’s no way she has a couple mil stuffed in her shoes.”
“I closed my account days ago, and all that’s left is in my shoe.” True facts, but not what they’re looking for. Shade closed that one, and I might regret that a little right now.
I wonder if Jake put a tag on me to locate me. That would be nice, but I’m not seeing it pan out.
They have a brief, quiet argument while I try to be stealthy with my saw. Almost there. I’m sweating with nothing to show for it so far. This is getting frustrating as hell. Break already!
“Look, you can have what’s in my shoes if you want it,” I interrupt belligerently. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“Bullshit,” Loudmouth snarls. “Where is the money?”
“In. My. Shoes,” I repeat slowly.
I’m not surprised when he lurches forward and backhands me. He draws his arm back far enough that the move is obviously coming. The shock is when my wrists pop apart with the movement of my head after he makes contact. He hit me hard enough my eyes are rolling as my body lists to the side. I keep my shaking arms as close together as I can, but it’s a struggle.
The pain takes a second to register. When it does, I start cursing as loud as I can. It isn’t meant to be a distraction, though it works. It just hurts bad enough that my first reaction is to cuss like I ran into a door jamb or stubbed my toe—perfectly natural in the worst situation. I weave my fingers together with the saw jabbing my palm so I can keep up the act.
“I’ll ask you again,” Loudmouth starts with a yell. I can barely hear him over my cursing.
“If I had millions, I’d be on a yacht with my middle fingers up, dipshit,” I spit out with a scowl.
That was dumb. I get seasick. My runaway mouth strikes again.
This time, it’s a punch across my cheek. Right over the bruise that’s already there. I feel my skin split and blood run down to my jaw. My vision darkens before fading to a light gray around the edges. Blood wells in my mouth as my body sags to the side. I bit my tongue. I’m ready to fall out of my seat when one of them props me up on the other side.
“Jesus, man, slow down, or we won’t get anything out of her.” Brass is starting to sound uneasy.
“Yeah,” I mutter in a garbled tone. “Slow down.”
Loudmouth ignores us. “Where is the money?”
I take a deep breath as I wobble in my chair. He leans forward in anticipation. He’s going to be very disappointed.
“I used it to find your missing dad. He’s sorry he forgot all your birthdays.”
He tries to punch me in the gut. With the way I’m sagging forward, he gets me right in the tit instead.
“Mother fucker !” I howl in agony. I struggle with the bindings around my ankles. My hands are clenched so hard together that the saw makes a cut. The pain in my boob overshadows it.
When I get my feet under me, this asshole is dead. My tit? Really? God, it’s throbbing with pain.
“ You miserable fuck! ” I scream at the top of my lungs. I’m a little proud of the curse words that follow after. I don’t let up on them, no matter how many times he slaps me. Looks like the punch was a heated mistake.
“Shut up!” Brass yells. His fist rears back so he can punch me in the face. All I can see are the metal knuckles aimed at my eye.
Everything freezes when the door swings open.
“Here we are,” a smooth voice says calmly.
The three assholes back up as another man comes in. My chest caves with doom. This guy is going to be a problem.
His black clothes are more uniform than the others. He walks with a steady gait that screams, I know what I’m doing here . Jakob swings loosely from one hand, the other holding up a phone, my phone, as if he’s on a video call.
This is a professional, I can already tell. His outfit is identical to Shade’s.
I’m screwed.
I watch Jakob swing back and forth as if I’m getting hypnotized, my anger waning as the pressure in my chest increases. I want that baton in my hands so badly right now.
“You look like you’ve been having fun,” he eyes me with a bland smile.
Well, the break from my anger didn’t last long, thank God.
I work my tongue around to gather up the blood near my teeth and spit it out on the floor with a smile.
“Any luck on finding the money?” The new guy asks his cohorts.
“She says she doesn’t know,” Killmefirst mutters. They can see who’s on the other side of whatever call this is. Whoever they’re looking at quells all of their go-to attitude quickly.
“Should I believe her, Mr. Matthias?”
Uh oh. Which Matthias is he talking to?
“Believe who?” Gabriel asks in a frosted tone that betrays some of his tension. My heart gives a jolt and starts racing. I’ve never been so excited to get freezer burn.
“Oh, I forgot to turn the video around. Silly me.” He taps the screen. A split second of silence comes, and then I hear several different voices start cursing.
“Mana-chan.”
Gabriel says it in a whisper of sound that’s devastated.
“Amanda,” Cade’s choked voice gets added in to make it even more depressing.
I guess their meeting isn’t going well.
“Since she’s refusing to give up the whereabouts of our missing funds, it comes down to you.”
Silence reigns again as New Guy passes the phone into the shaky hands of Brass. He aims the phone at me but refuses to look at the screen in front of him. There’s heavy breathing coming from the phone that seems loud.
“One of you cares about little Amanda, don’t you?” He leans into the camera’s view and shows off Jakob. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have found her stashed at your home, Mr. Matthias.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Cade warns him in a deadly tone.
“Obviously, you care, but I’m looking for a bit more.” His mocking voice turns acidic. “Better start convincing Mr. Matthias she’s worth a few million.”
He turns back to me, giving the baton a lazy spin. He sucks at it, but I watch the motion warily. I know how much damage Jakob can do. I don’t want to experience it first-hand. Getting hit in the collarbone with it by accident was enough for me.
I can’t wait anymore. Taped ankles or not, it’s go time.
While I’m watching Jakob, New Guy is looking at the pitiful tape job around my middle and gives my ankles a cursory look.
“Feet first, don’t you think?” He asks me casually.
My focus has tunneled in on the baton. I feel betrayed by Jakob, even though it’s an inanimate object. He gets closer to me, moving to my side so that he’s not covering up the shot of my supposed slow descent into panic.
My heart is thudding. I’m sweating and staring at Jakob. To them it’s probably me terrified of what’s going to happen next. Inside, I’m cursing the damn traitor with everything in me.
“The bones in your feet are so fragile.” He kneels to yank my shoe off. The motion loosens the tape there, but not enough to escape. I stiffen in sudden terror. Shit just got real. My face pales as my sock quickly follows, and some money flutters to the ground.
“Amanda, breathe,” Mikael says in a shaky voice. “Just breathe, rakas .”
It hurts me that this is breaking his control. I’ve never heard him sound so afraid. It amps the feeling in me up. He knows what’s coming, and my imagination is running wild.
My lungs have seized up. I’m very close to peeing my pants.
Please don’t let me piss myself.
Why the fuck am I worried about that!
My eyes dart to New Guy as he stands. He twirls the baton again and stares down at my bare foot. His face is as calm as South’s.
“Do you think the edges are sharp enough to cut off a toe? Or will it crush instead? What do you think, Amanda?”
It’s such a South thing to say!
My eyes narrow on him as anger slowly starts taking the lead in the emotion race.
“I think you’re fucked up,” my mouth spews out without thought. “Have you looked into therapy?”
He turns to me with narrowed eyes. “That’s not very polite, Mana-chan .”
“I take after my father,” I assure him with a smirk.
He gently sets the hammerhead of the baton on top of my foot. The cold makes my toes curl defensively. The doom feeling spreads down my ribs.
“How does your father do with torture?” He asks me mockingly.
“He’s been married to my mom for a while, so I’d say he’s getting by.” My voice comes out calm while I stare at the metal against my pale skin. I move the card around and start bending out all of the different tools.
He lets out a sharp bark of laughter that makes me jump in surprise. His hand goes to my shoulder, squeezing gently as if he’s giving me moral support. I don’t look up, too busy focusing on getting my impromptu weapon ready. My hair has fallen forward, covering my determined expression.
“I like you—not enough to stop, but I want you to know I’m not going to enjoy this.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I shrug my shoulder to get his hand off me. This guy is as psycho as South. He’s just playful with it instead of getting the job done. I take it back. South wouldn’t have called anyone. Gabe would have gotten pieces of me in the mail until he gave up some cash.
“Let’s start at ten million.”
I scoff at the amount. “The fuck? He freaked over three million. Did my stock price go up?”
“Now, Amanda,” he brings Jakob up to press it under my chin, snapping my mouth closed and tilting my head back. “You know there’s so much more than that missing. You could tell me where it is and spare yourself. If not, your life is in Mr. Matthias’ hands.”
“So we’re both screwed.” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“If I were you, I’d start praying for a different outcome,” he pats my shoulder, taking Jakob away from my face.
Screw praying. I’m doing this myself, old testament style.
All of the pieces are shifted out. I can hold onto the thin card piece left with the ‘weapons’ poking out from in between my fingers. I don’t know how much damage I can get out of one swing. Maybe I can shock him enough to drop Jakob and regain a little control. I won’t get very far with my ankles taped, but it’s better than watching this play out his way.
Instead of trapping it between my fingers, I brace the bottom edge of the card with my palm. I need as much length to go into his neck as possible, or this will be a bust, and I can kiss my ass goodbye.
“Now.” He’s still leaning over, close to my face. I can see his neck clearly as he turns his head toward the phone. He starts talking about which body parts he’s going to focus on breaking like he’s giving a dissertation. He’s not paying attention to me anymore.
“Hey,” Brass says warily.
Now or never.
I yank my arms apart, the pain of the tape ripping from my skin a distant sting. I punch up with my hand, standing up to add as much force as I can to the hit. An openhanded uppercut. With my body weight behind it, there should be enough. I hope.
I hit his neck and continue with my upward momentum. Follow through. Hit like you’re trying to take his head off. Dad’s rules.
Two pieces snap off immediately, bouncing to the floor with a thin tinkle of metal on stone. The arrowhead braced by my thumb sinks in until the bottom piece of the card gets bent from the pressure. My hand glances off his jaw until I’m standing like I finished a baton routine.
“ Run! ” Cade yells just as pandemonium breaks out.
New Guy staggers, reaching up to his neck and yanking the pieces out. A surprising amount of blood follows.
Brass is stuck recording like he’s a cameraman. Loudmouth rushes me and punches me in the stomach. I double over, my body confused by the sudden need to throw up or breathe. When it can’t decide what it needs more, my back hits the chair, toppling me over and ripping my ankles free. I belly-flop onto the floor without any resistance.
I’m stunned for a second before I gag. I roll away from him, trying not to curl up and leave myself vulnerable. Getting to my knees has never been this difficult.
The chair gets thrown out of the way as he advances.
“I think he’s dying, man!” Killmefirst screams in panic.
Here’s hoping.
A heavy hand grabs my bicep to yank me around. I had finally made progress in getting up, and the grab has me twisted until I land painfully on one ass cheek.
Loudmouth is bent down to my level, opening his lips to yell at me.
I don’t think. My body moves without prompting. My left hand curls into a fist as I follow the twist toward his body. I punch him right in the balls.
That’s for my tit, asshole.
There’s a stunned moment where he gapes at me, and I’m convinced I missed. I didn’t feel any squishy parts. Then he gags loudly and drops my arm to clutch his crotch protectively. His backward shuffle lands him on his ass as he howls with pain.
“What the fuck ?” Brass screams with him. He’s following the action with the phone like a bystander.
“He’s bleeding everywhere,” Killmefirst adds his hysterical voice to the chaos.
“Keep fighting, Amanda!” Mikael’s tinny voice roars.
“Get out of there!” Cade yells next.
I’m dazed by the chaos surrounding me. Luckily, everyone else is too.
Killmefirst is crouched over New Guy with his hands pressed over his neck. A dark puddle is growing no matter how hard he holds it. New Guy is unconscious. Brass is stuck in place. Loudmouth is curled up in the fetal position, crying.
Leaving my sweet Jakob lying lonely a few feet away.
I can’t have that. Jakob deserves my company, betrayal or not.
I hurry to pick it up, crawling as fast as I can. As soon as my hand touches the weighted bulb end, a cold, deadly calm settles over me. No matter the noise around me, I’ve got this.
I stand with it clenched in my hands. The first person I see is Killmefirst. He’s too busy to pay attention to me, his eyes focused on the puddle pooling around him.
I gain my feet. My pain pushes into the background as I raise the baton. I do a hand twirl to get ready, raising my other arm to catch it above my head in both hands around the bulb. Then I bring it down, leaning forward with the momentum on the back of his neck.
The loud snap that follows my heavy swing makes a chill run down my spine. Killmefirst crumples and doesn’t move.
“ What the fuck ,” Brass squeals.
Loudmouth regains his feet, hunched over with one hand grabbing his junk protectively.
“This bitch,” Loudmouth mutters, anger trying to take over his expression as he turns to me.
We face off, a sneer overtaking his flushed face as he takes a step forward, arm cocked back and ready to knock me out with one punch.
I shift the baton in a quick move to hold it in the center. With a hand spin, I move it into a circle. The spinning has all of his focus, caution slowly taking hold. His arm is still cocked, but he takes a step back.
As Jakob twirls around, I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. My concentration is coldly focused as I move into position.
The baton easily moves to my fingers, continuing the spin and gaining speed. I step forward, keeping the same distance between us. The twirl is too close to him, forcing him back.
Now.
I bounce the baton off my wrist, grabbing the bulbous end as he tries to follow my movements. The spin continues with my wrist, and my arm stretches forward, forcing him back another step.
I twirl on my feet, lifting Jakob over my head, the spin stopping at the top. By the time I’m facing him again, closer to him than I was before, my arm has already circled back and is coming up with all my force.
The hammer end clips him closer to his throat. I was aiming for his chin.
My disappointment doesn’t get a chance to appear before horror takes its place. I’m so honed in on him that I can’t look away as his jaw shatters, teeth popping out like crazy. His head jerks back, his body following as dead weight.
He thuds to the floor heavily, making my eyes jerk away from him.
They land on Brass, still holding the camera. In his other shaky hand is a pocket knife.
My eyes move from it to his darting eyes as I shift my grip on Jakob.
“How far do you think you’ll get with that?” My voice comes out devoid of emotion, my eyes steady on him.
“Fuck this,” he mutters and makes a run for it.
He runs to the door and gets out with a scrabble of his hand, dropping the knife. I could chase him, but it would be a lot of effort for a stressful workout.