34. Chapter 34 #2
Misha shouted something furious somewhere behind me, prompting the three men to start running towards me. Without thinking, I squeezed the trigger.
The gun kicked violently in my hands, followed by a sharp yelp. One of the men let out a sound I was pretty sure only dolphins and severely injured humans could produce and collapsed instantly, clutching himself and screaming.
I blinked in shock. “… Oh.”
Oh my God.
Oh my God! I just shot someone.
The other two skidded to a halt and stared down at their friend, who was now rolling across the stone tiles in agonizing pain.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, horrified. “I did not mean to do that. I am SO sorry!”
The other two attackers gaped at each other, then at me. Then back at him, still writhing and groaning on the ground.
“I did not mean to do that,” I called across the courtyard. “That was absolutely not the intended target.”
“You shot him in the balls!” one of the other intruders yelled, pointing accusingly.
“I wasn’t aiming for the balls!”
I wasn’t aiming at all.
The injured man curled up on the floor, making a noise like a slowly deflating balloon.
“You shot my friend’s testicles!” another guy shouted.
“I KNOW. I panicked!” I shouted defensively.
Because I was panicking. Because I was still panicking.
The guards fired again, dropping one of the strangers, but another came around the side of the house. Bullets struck the stone pillar near my shoulder with sharp cracks, chipping off a piece of marble and sending it skidding across the ground.
Someone grabbed my arm roughly.
“Don’t shoot!” a voice barked near my ear.
“I’m not!” I squeaked. A hand grasped my wrist, wrenching the gun out of my grip. Why hadn’t we covered “How not to immediately get disarmed” in my goddamn lessons? Before I could even get one word out, a dark hood dropped over my head.
“Seriously?” I snapped through the fabric.
My breath caught immediately as darkness engulfed me all too quickly.
“Shut up!” someone hissed furiously.
Something was tightly binding my wrists together and my feet were barely touching the ground as they dragged me backwards. Then I heard the sound of doors slamming and voices overlapping in frantic Spanish. Eventually, I was shoved and landed on a hard floor.
“Motherfucker!” I groaned. I was bound to be covered in bruises tomorrow.
Sasha is going to kill them.
That thought came with a sharp certainty, cutting straight through the panic.
And if he doesn’t find me…
No. Nope. Not going there.
The floor below me started to vibrate and suddenly, we were moving. My hood was ripped off, revealing I’d been shoved unceremoniously into the back of a van. Bright overhead lights made me squint, and I was met with the sight of four men staring at me.
Okay. Okay. Stay calm. Stay talking. Talking is good. Talking means thinking. Thinking means alive.
One of them was clutching bloody bandages to his groin.
“Oh.” I grimaced as recognition dawned. “You’re the balls guy.”
He glared at me, wounded in his dignity as though he had just experienced profound personal betrayal. “You shot me.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“You shot my motherfucking testicles!”
“I wasn’t aiming for the testicles!”
Another man rubbed both hands down his face. “Please,” he groaned. “Please stop saying testicles.”
“Sorry!” I winced.
The van lurched forward and we drove in silence for about twenty seconds.
“Sooooo,” I said. “You guys do this a lot?”
All four men looked at me and then they exchanged wary glances.
“No,” the driver admitted.
I nodded sagely. “That tracks.”
I daresay my last kidnapping was a tad more professional.
“I’m assuming this is your first kidnapping?” I clarified.
“Yes.”
“Thought so. You’re not very good at it.” I wrinkled my nose, surveying them. Was it a good sign or a bad sign they were letting me see their faces? I wasn’t an expert, but I guessed it was probably bad.
I needed to get myself out of this situation as soon as possible.
The balls guy looked deeply offended by my assessment. “We got you, didn’t we?”
I considered this, wrinkling my nose and swaying my head from side to side. “Technically.”
The man opposite me squinted. “You’re very calm for someone who’s just been kidnapped.”
“Practice.” I shrugged.
They all froze.
“Practice?” one of them repeated, narrowing his eyes.
I tried to wave him off, but it was easier said than done with bound wrists. “Long story.”
The van was filled with an uneasy silence before the driver muttered, “This is starting to feel like a bad idea.”
“You think?” I said brightly, offering him a wide smile.
I seriously couldn’t believe I had managed to get kidnapped for the second time. With a sigh, I leaned my head back against the seat.
“Honestly,” I muttered, “this is becoming a pattern.”
The men in the front seats exchanged a look.
“What is wrong with her?” one whispered. “Is she crazy?”
I scoffed at him. “I’m not crazy. Well … not entirely. You just kidnapped a talkative person, that’s all.”
Twenty chaotic minutes later, the car screeched to a halt, I was shoved out of the sliding door and found myself in a grimy warehouse surrounded by several men.
Seriously, what was it with the warehouses?!
At the far end of the warehouse, another group of men had gathered. These men didn’t move in the same way. They weren’t arguing or fidgeting. Instead, they were watching.
Those were professionals and they looked significantly less amused by my existence.
The one I’d shot in the groin was whimpering in pain, and after some frantic phone calls, he was taken away by one of his friends.
Notably, none of the quieter men moved to help. One of them muttered something under his breath, clearly annoyed.
“We’re done here,” one of them said flatly. “This wasn’t the agreement.”
“We got her, didn’t we?” One of the men who had traveled with me in the van shot back defensively.
“You got lucky,” the man replied. “This is your mess.”
After a tense pause, the second group began to peel off, moving calmly and efficiently, and showing no interest in what was to come.
They weren’t interested in me, I realized. They’d been here for a job. And the job was apparently over.
Great. So now I was stuck with the idiots.
I was left with the two apparent ringleaders, who didn’t seem too sure what to do with me now that we were here. After some awkward shuffling and pushing each other to the front, there was a resounding silence.
My wrists were still bound, Sasha was nowhere in sight, and I had no plan.
Okay. Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew Sasha would come. He would definitely come. Eventually. I just had to make sure I didn’t die before he got here.
After a minute or so of us just staring at each other, I raised my eyebrows. “So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan?” one of them echoed.
I’d nicknamed that one “Pompadour” due to the uncomfortable amount of gel in his hair.
I nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, the plan. I mean … you got one of those, right?”
Keep them talking. Keep them thinking. Keep them from doing something stupid.
Rambling seemed to be how my body chose to deal with the adrenaline still rushing through me. With my wrists bound, my borrowed gun lost somewhere in front of the villa, there was nothing I could do to physically harm anyone; my only line of defense was my nature.
I hadn’t met anyone who didn’t eventually indulge my verbal diarrhea in some way. These guys were dangerous, a fact I was well aware of — not because they were actually lethal, but because they seemed to have no idea what they were doing.
Uncertainty could turn into panic fast and panic could lead to rash decisions — trust me, I would know.
My best chance of survival was to keep them talking, throw surprises their way, and kill them with kindness. Figuratively speaking, of course. I really hoped I wouldn’t have to kill anyone.
Fingers crossed.
They bristled. “Of course we have a plan.”
“Great! Does it involve a seating arrangement? It’s getting kind of uncomfortable to stand around like this.” I nodded down at my heels.
A poorer choice in footwear has never been made.
They exchanged a glance. One of them shrugged and kicked an empty crate in my direction. Not exactly a comfy chair, but I’d take it. Anything to save my feet from these toe-murdering shoes.
Speaking of murder…
I eyed the heels, trying to ascertain whether they could be used as a weapon if I ever got my wrists free.
Pompadour fished his phone out of his pocket, tapped and swiped on the screen and eventually appeared to be FaceTiming somebody.
“Let’s call him now,” the other one demanded. I’d dubbed him “Angry Chihuahua” because he was loud and seemed to be shaking with excitement, but he seemed harmless overall.
Pompadour shot him an irritated look. “I am calling him.”
“No, you’re on the camera thing—”
“That is the call, pendejo!”
This call could possibly buy me time. Time was good. Time meant Sasha was getting closer. If anyone at the villa survived, he would already be looking for me.
God, he’s going to lose his shit.
A moment later, the phone chimed and Pompadour immediately straightened up and held it out like a soldier reporting to a general.
I couldn’t see the screen where I was sitting on the crate, but I could faintly hear a man’s voice crackling through the speaker.
“Yes?” the voice said.
Pompadour cleared his throat importantly. “Rafael! How are you?”
The man on the other end of the line sighed in exasperation. “What do you want?”
“We got you a gift.”
There was a short pause. “Javier, I really don’t have time for this right now. What kind of gift?”
The kidnappers shoved the phone in my face like I was a prop in a stage performance. I jerked my head back and nearly fell off the crate when the screen almost hit me in the face, but I caught myself before I fell onto the dirty floor.
“The Russian’s girl,” Pompadour said proudly, turning the screen his way again.
Silence followed. A really long, uncomfortable silence. The kind that stretched just enough to make everyone feel slightly uneasy.
Then the voice on the phone hissed, very quietly, “You goddamn, motherfucking stupid idiots.”
Angry Chihuahua stiffened.
“You kidnapped her?” the man called Rafael asked.
“Yes?” Pompadour suddenly sounded less confident than before.
There was another pause, longer than the last, and the tension mounted. Through the speaker, I could hear someone slowly exhaling, as though processing catastrophic stupidity in real time. I was somewhat of an expert on those, having been on the receiving end more than once.
“Do you have any idea who that is?”
“The Russian’s girl?” Angry Chihuahua repeated uncertainly.
The voice on the phone made a sound somewhere between a groan and a prayer. I winced in sympathy.
“You absolute morons,” he whisper-yelled. “Madre de Dios.”
The kidnappers shifted nervously around me.
“You kidnapped the woman belonging to one of the most dangerous men on this island,” the voice continued.
“But … You’re the most dangerous man on this island,” Pompadour interjected, clearly confused.
“One of the most dangerous men and guess who’s right fucking up there with me, huh? I can’t believe this!”
Nobody spoke. Angry Chihuahua swallowed audibly and they exchanged nervous glances.
I leaned a little closer to the phone.
“In their defense,” I offered helpfully, “they seem a bit new at this but they’ve been doing good.”
The man on the other end ignored me completely.
“You’re going to fucking die,” he said flatly, “if we don’t find a solution to this right the fuck now. I’m not going to cover your ass.”