Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Alex

The bed kept moving. I shifted, trying to find a spot on the mattress that would behave.

Something caused the whole bed to jolt, knocking me into consciousness.

I wasn't on a bed. I was sprawled on the floor of some sort of moving vehicle. Thick ropes secured my hands and feet so I could only raise my head by squirming around like a worm.

The windows of the vehicle were blacked out. I couldn't even tell the time of day.

My head spun and I lay still again, willing myself not to throw up.

What had happened?

I remembered being back at the house in Mantoloking, helping my mother interrogate our prisoners.

Well, help was probably the wrong word. She interrogated. I just stabbed the person until they stopped talking.

Then I'd gotten drunk and Ghita helped me to my room.

Right?

I didn't remember drinking that much, but it would explain the pounding headache.

I had no idea what happened after I'd passed out, but I somehow ended up getting kidnapped. I wasn't even all that surprised. I certainly had enough enemies who would want to harm me. It was simply a matter of who had succeeded.

There was no telling how long I lay there, waiting for my head to stop spinning. It never did. With each bump in the road, my world was sent spinning again.

Definitely not just drunk, then. A hangover would usually abate over time.

Drugged maybe.

That would explain a few things, though it also raised a lot more questions.

I wasn't sure if it was the drugs, or just the expectation that something like this would happen to me some day, but I felt surprisingly calm.

Too calm.

I was probably in shock, but even that thought didn't inspire more than passing interest. My thoughts were like a checklist running through my head.

Necessary steps for escape: number one, find a way to untie myself.

The back of the van was completely empty, and I'd been stripped of my weapons.

Unless...

Curling my spine as far as it would go, I managed to catch a glimpse of my own waist. They hadn't removed my belt. There was a hidden blade inside the buckle that I could use to free myself.

Unfortunately, my hands were tied behind my back, while the buckle was in front. When I was younger, I could have passed my hands around my feet to bring them in front. It was my favorite trick to pull whenever my father insisted on training me for these kinds of situations. However, I hadn't been that limber since puberty. If I tried now, I'd just end up dislocating my shoulders and I still wouldn't be free.

I arched my back to raise my head again, getting a better look at my surroundings. It was some sort of industrial van. Whoever was driving sat in a separate compartment up front. The back was meant for transporting goods and equipment, so it lacked seats and upholstery like a typical vehicle. This meant the metal structure lay completely exposed.

I squirmed over the floor until I found a spot in the van where two pieces of metal had been joined. A row of large bolts stuck up from the flat surface. I aligned my belt buckle with one of these bolts and used the edge to try and coax the hidden knife free.

It felt like I was humping the floor. If anyone saw me right now, they would probably die of laughter.

My spinning vision didn't help, either. I kept misjudging the alignment or moving too quickly and my buckle would slip free from the bolt with a ring of metal against metal. Each time that happened, I'd lie still for a moment to make sure I hadn't been noticed.

Luckily, whoever was driving the van wasn't paying me any attention. No one ever checked on me, not even when the van took a hard turn and I went rolling into the far wall.

Finally, with a thrill of victory, I managed to pull the hidden knife free from my buckle. It was only about two inches long and roughly shaped like an arrowhead, but the edge was sharp and would cut through the ropes binding me.

If only I could get it into my hands.

That required more squirming as I tried to position my hands where I thought the knife lay. Then, when my fingers touched nothing but cold floor, I scooted over an inch and tried again.

I found the knife by slicing my finger on the tip, but I didn't care about the pain. It was barely more than a paper cut, and I finally had the weapon in my hand.

Closing my eyes, I counted my breaths and got to work sawing at the ropes. They were thick and the knife was small, but one by one, I felt the fibers snap.

The rumbling vibrations beneath me fell silent.

The car had come to a stop. It was too late. We'd arrived wherever my kidnappers were taking me, and my hands were still bound.

I had a choice to make. Try to free myself before anyone came for me, or pretend to be unconscious. If it was just my hands, I might have tried to escape, but my feet were bound too. I'd never cut through both in time.

Voices spoke just outside the van doors, arguing about something.

I made my decision and slumped over on the floor. I palmed the knife and gripped the rope around my wrists to hide the cut section.

The doors opened, and despite how much I wanted to see the identities of my kidnappers, I kept my eyes closed.

"We sure this is a good idea?" one of the kidnappers asked as they jumped up into the van beside me.

"These are the orders. Come on. Get his head."

At least two sets of hands grabbed me. Possibly three. I remained limp as a ragdoll, letting my head loll about on my shoulders.

They carried me for a while before throwing me unceremoniously to the ground. My head cracked against the concrete floor and stars danced behind my eyes. It almost distracted me from the pain of my secret knife stabbing into my palm. My first instinct was to let go, but I held on to the blade and prayed my kidnappers wouldn't notice the blood.

Another voice spoke from at least a few feet away. "What's the point of all this? Why not just kill the bastard and be done with it?"

"Those weren't the orders. Boss-man wants it done this way. So, we do it this way."

None of the voices sounded close, and the footsteps of my kidnappers seemed to be growing farther away. I took a chance and cracked one eye open just enough to take a look around.

I was lying on the floor of a construction site, surrounded by half-finished concrete and exposed rebar. All of my kidnappers stood gathered around a large metal container on the other side of the room. None of them were looking in my direction.

It only took a few more passes of the knife to finish sawing through the ropes on my wrists. Then, as quietly as I could and without sitting up, I curled into a ball to reach my ankles. Instead of trying to cut the ropes this time, I used the point of my knife to pick apart the knot holding it together. Blood flowed from the cut on my hand, making my grip slippery, but I managed to get it untied after only a few tries.

I didn't give my captors any warning. Just jumped to my feet and started running. They shouted after me as I blindly bolted for the nearest doorway.

While I'd been lying on the floor, the dizziness hadn't been too bad. The moment I started moving, however, everything seemed to turn sideways. It felt like I was trying to cross the deck of a ship during a hurricane. The floor kept tipping in different directions.

My shoulder slammed into the side of the doorway.

I fell into a wall.

My palm left a bloody smear across the surface as I pushed off the wall and kept running.

Everything was a blur. Loose beams and debris lay around the half-constructed building, threatening to trip me at every turn.

Fresh air suddenly filled my lungs, clearing my head for a moment. I'd stumbled into an open area where the building's foundation hadn't been poured yet. Construction equipment sat around, waiting for the next job, yet there was no obvious exit out of this concrete maze.

I checked over my shoulder. My pursuers were out of sight, but judging by the sound of their voices, just around the corner. I took the opportunity to dive under the tire of a bulldozer. As I lay panting in the dirt, several sets of footsteps ran past my hiding place without noticing me.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I pressed my back against the massive tire and buried my face into my hands.

The numb shock that had kept me calm until that moment was wearing off. A shiver started in my chest and spread until even the tips of my hair seemed to tremble.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my mother and Ghita again. I wanted to attend my father's funeral and even take over my new responsibilities running the family.

I wanted Garrison.

We hadn't actually known each other long, but even in such a short amount of time Garrison had already become a symbol of safety.

I didn't have a lot of safety in my life.

But would Garrison even want to see me again?

The last time we'd been together, we'd fought. For good reason. I'd lied to the man, after all. Many people wouldn't be able to forgive such a thing.

No, I refused to die when our last interaction was so unpleasant. I was going to get out of this, I was going to find Garrison, and I was going to apologize. Even if Garrison didn't forgive me, at least my conscience would be clear.

Shaking off the panic that burned like molten copper in the back of my throat, I peered around the tire. It was night, and eerie shadows covered the construction site. The only light came from an advertisement billboard lit up with spotlights from below.

Whitelock Holdings .

I read over the name several times, sounding it out under my breath. It sounded familiar, but the memory was hard to find in the scattered chaos that my mind had become.

Whitelock Holdings?

Wasn't that the name of a company owned by the Bianchi family?

Now that I thought about it, I remembered my mother calling me with the news of the Bianchi family's latest enterprise. I hadn't been paying much attention at the time. My latest conquest had been kneeling at my feet sucking me off when the ring of my phone interrupted us, and I'd only been focused on hanging up as quickly as I could without seeming rude.

Still, I remembered the name. The company definitely belonged to the Bianchi family, which meant the construction site belonged to them as well.

Fuck.

Apparently, Valente was right. The Bianchi family were the ones trying to kill me.

I hadn't believed it at first. The assassins from the aquarium claiming they shot their own employer had seemed like flimsy evidence. Not enough for me to make any accusations.

This, however, was much more damning.

Of all the possible suspects behind the attack on my life, the Bianchi family had been low on the list. I'd always gotten along with D'Angelo, but friendly acquaintances meant nothing between power hungry families.

That was one question solved. Now I just needed to survive long enough to do something about it.

Since my pursuers ran past, no one else had approached my hiding spot. This section of the construction site seemed empty. Even the noise of the city sounded distant.

What city was I even in?

It wasn't anywhere in New Jersey.

Something else to figure out once I was safe.

Slipping out from under the bulldozer, I crept as quietly as I could toward the billboard. Advertisements like that were usually displayed on the front of construction sites so more people could see them. That meant the way out of the site had to be somewhere nearby.

Just as I passed a stack of plastic piping, I felt a prick in the side of my neck. My hand shot up, as I expected to slap away a mosquito. Instead, I pulled away a small dart.

"Fuck."

The word barely left my mouth before my legs collapsed. I grabbed onto the stack of pipes, sending them clattering over the ground. It was no use. I couldn't even see straight enough to know which way was forward.

Footsteps approached and hands grabbed my shoulders.

"That was too fuckin' close," someone grumbled as my hands were secured with more rope. "You fuckers need to pay attention."

The man tying my feet paused mid-motion to argue. "Hey, don't look at me. You said he'd be unconscious for at least another day."

I kicked out at the man by my feet. "Let go." I managed to strike the man's shoulder, but the blow was barely hard enough to bruise.

For my effort, I earned a backhand across the face.

"Stop struggling, ya bastard."

I had no choice but to comply. Whatever they'd drugged me with had already seized control of my muscles. I could barely keep my head off the ground, let alone raise my hands enough to fight back.

Trussed up even tighter than before, I was hauled off somewhere. My vision kept fading in and out, so I couldn't tell if it was the same room or not.

This time, they didn't bother to leave me on the floor. They carried me over to a large metal container and dropped me inside. A lid immediately covered the open top, trapping me in darkness.

In the small confines of the container, my harsh breathing sounded like a freight train. I flailed my bound fists, banging against the sides of my new prison, but it was useless. The metal was unforgiving and didn't even dent.

The whole container shifted, and I was thrown against one wall. Just as I managed to right myself, it shifted again, tossing me in the other direction.

What was happening?

Were they moving me somewhere else?

The container tipped back and forth a few more times, before suddenly dropping. I hit the lid, then bounced off the floor, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

I lay there, confused and disoriented as I gasped for breath. Everything was dark, but I couldn't tell if that was from the container, or if my vision had failed. My confused thoughts slipped through my mind, haze around the edges like old photographs faded from time.

In my delirium, I thought I heard a soft sound like rain on a tin roof. It was almost soothing, until I realized what the sound meant.

The answer hit me with the force of a baseball bat to the chest.

I was being buried.

I pressed my hands against the lid of the container, desperately scratching at the metal with blunt fingernails.

The drug in my system kept me weak but wasn't enough to knock me fully unconscious. It was a last act of cruelty on my murderers' part. I had no choice but to listen as inch by inch my coffin was covered in what sounded like wet concrete.

Through all this, only one thought filled my head.

I was going to die, and I'd never get to apologize.