Rock Chick (Rock Chick #1)(51)

I was contemplating how I’d make it up to him when I left the bathroom and the doorbell rang. I walked to the door, thinking maybe it got locked somehow. The only person it could be was Lee and he would normally just walk in or walk around the house to the backyard.

I opened the door and stared the shooters in the face, momentarily stunned that they were standing on the doorstep of my childhood home and ringing the bell.

I opened my mouth to scream, one of them leaned forward, arm extended and then it was lights out.

Chapter Eleven

Story Time for Bad Little Girls

This kidnapping was entirely different from the last.

They didn’t ask me if I was okay and they weren’t cordial.

There was no cream damask sofa either.

They didn’t even talk to me at all. This was good, it meant I didn’t talk to them either and thus didn’t draw undue attention to myself, nor have the opportunity to piss them off so much they shot at me or punched me in the face.

They cuffed my hands behind my back and tied me to a chair with nylon rope. I thought doing both was a bit overkill but figured it wise not to share my opinion. Being cuffed and tied was not comfortable, to say the least. In fact, if I moved at all, it hurt. Either the rope gouged into my skin or my arms strained against all natural limits. I didn’t have my limb coordination back from the second stun-gunning of my life so I didn’t get a chance to struggle while they were tying me. It wouldn’t have mattered, they both had guns. I’d quit self-defense classes before week three and, as far as I knew, was not bullet-proof like Superman.

I was in a house, God knew where, just that obviously no one lived there and hadn’t for a long time. We were in the filthy living room and there was an old, beat up, dusty couch and the chair I was sitting in. That was it, the extent of the décor, unless one counts dust mites the size of cocker spaniels.

The two guys who grabbed me were the shooters who shot at Rosie and me and started this disaster. One of the shooters spent a lot of time in another room and I could tell by the drone of his voice that he was on the phone. The other shooter stayed with me. These guys were not as panicked as Rosie and clearly had showers in the last couple of days. However, their eyes scared me. This was serious shit. These guys were professionals and they were not f**king around.

I probably would have been more scared if I didn’t have to go to the bathroom.

I normally had a cast iron bladder. Everyone always commented on my bladder control. It usually took me twice as long to break the seal as it did others. I could drink freely from the keg before a gig and not miss a single note of a song during the concert. My bladder was almost as legendary as my encounter with Aerosmith’s Joe Perry. But now, the Fat Tire beer worked its way through my system in record time and I was dying for a wee.

I had no idea how much time I was there. I was concentrating on keeping my mouth shut and keeping from peeing my pants. I didn’t want to ask them to let me go to the bathroom. I didn’t have my shit together enough to think of an escape plan. I didn’t wonder how long it would take for my family to realize I was gone, especially considering the Lee Incident meant I would be in hiding for awhile before showing my face in the backyard again. I didn’t even consider thinking about the fact that this might not go well for me and the last thing I did was fight with Lee.

I was staring out the window, thinking maybe I could get a lock on where I was if I had a good look and if I focused on something I wouldn’t focus on the fact that I had to pee or that my life might soon be over.

That’s when I saw the top of a big, blond head and a pair of eyes, the wild mass of hair tamped down by night vision goggles.

Tex was peeking through the window.

Holy crap.

No sooner had I seen him then he was gone.

“What are you lookin’ at?” the shooter asked me, turning to look out the window.

The other shooter came in. They were both big guys, kind of in the bent of Goon Gary and Terrible Teddy, wearing slacks and dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. No ties.

One of them, the one who talked on the phone, was older, his brown hair peppered with gray. The other one who was left to watch me had sandy blond hair, may have been cute at one point but now looked like he was careening headlong toward middle age.

“He agreed. He’ll do the swap, the girl for the diamonds,” Phone Guy Pepper Shooter told Watch Guy Sandy Shooter.

“She was lookin’ at something outside, I’m checkin’,” Sandy Shooter told Pepper Shooter.

Pepper Shooter looked at me while Sandy went outside.

“Your boyfriend out there?” Pepper asked me.

I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I hoped Tex was long gone and calling 911. I feared that Tex was close and planning Armageddon.

Pepper went from window to window, standing at the side and looking out. He was beginning to look a little less professional and serious and a little more panicked and desperate.

“Fucking Nightingale!” he spat and turned to me, pulling his gun out of the waistband of his pants and pointing it at me. “Did you see him out there?” he yelled.

“No,” I answered, not telling a lie since he was talking about Lee and I didn’t see Lee outside. Therefore, I’d die without at least that lie darkening my soul.

Pepper didn’t hold a gun like Rosie, he held it steady and with practiced ease and he was scaring the shit out of me. So much so, I totally forgot I had to pee.