Chapter 16 Reed
REED
My upper arm throbs from the impact of the chair tipping over.
As soon as I regained consciousness and realized I was hogtied to a chair, I panicked and squirmed to break free. The knots of the soft red rope were too strong and my movement too unwieldy. The chair’s legs slid right out from under me on the slick hardwood floor.
My skull knocks against the ground, and my vision goes blurry for a moment. Mud squelches beneath me, streaked across the floor from the soles of my bare feet. My fingers tingle from being stuck in the same position for—well, I don’t know how long. Time collapsed as soon as I did.
Why did I collapse again?
Oh, right. Hungry mouths and glowing eyes. The wolves.
That wasn’t a dream. It was a real-life nightmare.
So is the unknown caller who emerges from the bathroom in my periphery. He is a giant blob dressed in all black. Moving with measured menace like a sleep paralysis demon creeping closer.
“What the fuck did you do now?” he asks, hoisting the chair upright without breaking a sweat. Right-side-up again, blood rushes back to where it belongs, causing the room to spin.
I catch my breath and stammer through the nausea, “You saved me.”
It occurs to me that while my wrists and ankles are bound, I’m not gagged. I can only imagine he wants the satisfaction of hearing me scream out in agony when he plunges that hunting knife into my abdomen, turning my lights out for good.
My eyes dart about the room but don’t land on any weapons except the hammer I had with me earlier. It is propped on a bedside table out of his reach. His gloved hands are mercifully empty, though that doesn’t mean he’s not concealing something up his sleeve or in his waistband or boot.
The unknown caller’s face still hides behind the black cotton of the ski mask. If I could see his expression, I suspect he has his eyebrows raised at me. “You were in no real danger,” he says.
“Are you gaslighting me? Did you not see those wolves?” I ask.
“You Gen Zers and your buzzwords.” He shakes his head, world-weary.
Clearly, I’d guessed somewhat right about his age.
“Wolves are not in the habit of brutalizing humans. Worst he would’ve done was charge at you and then swerve as a scare tactic.
You had a higher chance of cracking your skull open when you tipped this goddamn chair over than you did of becoming wolf dinner. ”
“So you did lie to me then,” I say, breath playing catch-up with my words. My lungs feel cinched. A corset of fear laced up tight around me.
“I didn’t say there was no chance,” he corrects.
My throat goes dry. “What do you plan to do with me?” I wheeze. I’d rather him answer than be left wondering. My imagination is probably more bloody than whatever reality he has in store for me.
“If you’d asked me a few minutes ago, I would’ve said I planned to keep you out of my way so I could rob the place and flee, but then I read something very interesting on your phone,” he says. His voice scratches a familiar itch in my eardrum.
My phone is plugged into an outlet in the wall near the floor. On the screen, an official-looking document is pulled up. Even if I squint, I can’t read a single word on that tiny, newly cracked screen, but I suspect those are the test results from Carson’s lab.
“You shouldn’t have read that,” I say. Anxiety pounds in my chest.
“Probably not, but like a good comic book, once I started, I couldn’t stop,” he says. His mouth mirrors the slobbery sneer of the wolf from outside. “Don’t you want to know what it says?”
I do. But not from him. From his mouth, which mirrors that of the wolves from outside, no matter which way the results go, they’ll sound tainted. I’ve gone twenty-three years without knowing who my dad is. I can go another couple of hours until I can either break free or someone comes to my rescue.
“No,” I say defiantly, even though everything in me is wishing I had super sight.
If the unknown caller is surprised, he doesn’t make it known. “Fair enough, but I think I know someone who will want to know what it says.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. It’s not like Wendell’s name is on the results, even if the unknown caller has now all but confirmed what I’ve been yearning to know for months.
“When you make a career out of break-ins, you get observant of even the little things. The head on that toothbrush in there is brand-new. Either the cleaning service decided to consider a billionaire’s oral health their personal business, or you popped off the last one and sent it to your buddy—sorry, your babe—to have its saliva tested,” he says, reading me as easily as he read the shipping receipt, which now lays at the top of my open suitcase.
I shake my head at him, silence and anger stewing inside me. Also, why is he bringing up Carson’s pet name? Everybody is babe to Carson.
“Wendell Blitz is your father,” the unknown caller says, staring right at me. I shudder from his forward intensity.
“You’re lying,” I say. Because while it is the result I was hoping for, and it verifies my long-held belief that I’m destined for more than a dead-end life, it doesn’t square with my luck so far.
The unknown caller’s fists ball. His green eyes become two angry green Ouroboros. He huffs out a breath and shoves my phone in my face. “Read it for yourself, you brat.”
My eyes cross at first from how close he puts the cracked screen. When the words come into focus, my jaw drops. Probability: 99%
Any elation I feel is squashed by my predicament and how this monster plans to use the information against me. If I was a mere hostage before, I’m a full-blown bargaining chip now. I share DNA with one of the richest men in the world. The man he plans to steal from.
Shock sends seismic ripples through me.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the unknown caller says, retrieving the hunting knife he flaunted earlier. “We’re going to get Daddy Dearest on the phone, and we’re going to say ‘Congratulations! It’s a boy!’ Then, I’m going to demand to know the location of his safe and the code to it.”
“What safe?” I ask.
The unknown caller shakes his head. “Hidden in this house, there is a safe where the biggest valuables are locked up.”
“Okay? What if he doesn’t give that information to you?” I ask as the knife blade glints in the lamp light. My stomach contracts, already shying away from the sharp edge.
“He’ll get to watch as I gut you for sport like the wolves gutted that elk for food,” he says. Simply from the way he holds the knife, I can tell he knows how to use it. That he could make my death quick and painless or slow and agonizing.
The horrific image of my intestines spilling out of my torso sends bile into my throat. I swallow it back, cringing. Tonight could not possibly get worse.
“I can see we understand each other,” he says, glancing away. Like he can’t stand to look at my pain too long. Like he’s disgusted by it.
“So much for not wanting to hurt me,” I say. Maybe I’m trying to appeal to his humanity. If there is any buried beneath that gruff bravado and that all-black outfit. At least if he’s the harbinger of death, he’s dressed for the part.
He sneers, and I’m struck again by the white embroidered words over his upper lip. EAT THE RICH. He wants to see Wendell Blitz—my father, shit, that’s weird—suffer. Not me.
“You know I’m not like him, right? He doesn’t even know about me.
He didn’t give me anything. I grew up in a trailer park with an alcoholic mom, her string of abusive boyfriends, and next to no friends.
I wore the same sneakers until they got holes in them and the same jeans until they looked like capris on me.
I’m not some spoiled brat. You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I say.
He shakes his head. “If you think you’re going to talk me out of this, you’re mistaken. You walked into the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you’re collateral, or it’s me who gets gutted. It’s what I have to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I protest. Or I plead. I can barely hear myself over my heartbeat’s rock concert in my ears.
The unknown caller tuts. “You’re na?ve if you think the universe isn’t full of corners to get backed into. Maybe killing you would be a mercy. If you come into all of this”—he gestures around at the house—“you’ll only sink further into your wretched delusions.”
“Says the man who thinks he can get away with robbing one of the richest men in the world. You have to be a certain sort of egomaniac to think Wendell Blitz couldn’t track down and prosecute anyone who crosses him,” I say, aware I’m begging for a beating at this point.
I should be more careful with my words, or he’ll strike me across the face.
He shakes his head at me. “I’ve gotten away with far bigger, and I could kill for far less. Don’t test me, brat.”
My phone rings, and I assume it’s Carson calling to ask how I’m handling the news, but it’s Erin’s contact that flashes on the screen.
“Who is this?” the unknown caller asks.
“An assistant of Wendell’s. She’s the woman who hired me,” I say.
He holds the phone in his large hand, clearly deliberating. “I’m going to answer this. You’re going to tell her plainly that you need to speak to Wendell Blitz. That it’s a matter of life or death. You won’t say why. You will be persistent. Got it?”
With no better choice, I nod. For now, I need to go along with this to stay alive. Once I see my window, I’ll strike.
“Hello, Mr. Thompson,” Erin says. “Apologies for missing your call earlier. I did not expect to hear from you again this evening. How can I help?”
I temper my voice, so she doesn’t suspect anything is wrong. “Did you, uh, did you get my texts?”
“No,” she says. “Not that I can see.”
“Okay, well, um, I need to speak to Mr. Blitz,” I say.