Say the Word(137)

I raised my hands into the air slowly, my mind occupied by thoughts of what a fool I’d been. Miri wasn’t at the coffee shop — she was somewhere in the custody of Labyrinth thugs, probably forced at gunpoint to call and get me outside… into their waiting taxi.

“We’ve got you now, bitch.” Smash-Nose’s grin was full of malicious anticipation. “Boss is gonna have a f*cking field day with you.”

I felt my stomach clench. A quick glance down at my seat revealed that my cellphone was still connected — I prayed Conor was listening. “Where’s Miri?” I asked in a loud voice.

Smash-Nose laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Where are you taking me?” I tried again.

“Boss wants to see you,” Smash-Nose gloated.

“That wasn’t my question.”

He tapped the partition with the barrel of his handgun. “I don’t f*cking care what your question was, bitch. Boss wants to see you. Did you really think you could just walk into Labyrinth on the arm of Boss’ f*cking son and not be noticed?” He laughed in condescension, enjoying his taunting. “I guess it’s true what they say about blondes.”

“Shut up!” The Neanderthal growled at his partner, glaring daggers in his direction. “How many times do I have to f*cking tell you? Don’t talk about Boss in public. Ever.”

“We aren’t in public,” Smash-Nose said, a cruel smirk crossing his face.

My hands were beginning to tingle from being held aloft, the blood struggling to circulate up my arms with each pump of my racing heart. I played Smash-Nose’s words over in my mind, struggling to comprehend his meaning.

“Boss’ son,” I whispered, my thoughts drifting to Sebastian.

Smash-Nose laughed contemptuously. “Oh, you didn’t know? You didn’t realize you’d nearly staged a little family reunion the other night?” His eyes were wide with amusement. “That’s even better!”

The Neanderthal reached out with one beefy fist and cracked Smash-Nose across the cheekbone. The smaller man cried out in pain, reaching up to cup his injured face and emitting a loud howl of pain that made me flinch in my seat.

“Senator Covington is the boss.” I hoped my voice was audible through the small phone speaker. I hoped Conor hadn’t already hung up. I hoped, somehow, that help was coming.

At my words, Smash-Nose quit his whimpering and turned his eyes to me. A smile crept across his face as he undid a latch and slid the plastic partition open. He leaned forward through the open space, his gun extended menacingly.

“You’ll see soon enough, bitch.”

That’s when everything went dark.





***


I awoke with a dull ache in my temple. Either Smash-Nose had hit me with the butt of his gun and knocked me out, or I’d been drugged. Judging by the throbbing goose-egg that had swollen my right eye half shut, I was willing to bet it had been the former.

I cracked my eyes open, surprised to find that I was in a well-appointed parlor of sorts. The room was small but fully furnished with red velvet drapes shielding the window and an ornate, white Victorian-style sofa directly across from me. The priceless Persian rug beneath the legs of my chair was lush, its vibrant red strands thickly woven into a breathtaking pattern. On my right, I saw a small dining table with seating for four. On my left was what appeared to be a closed door, constructed of the thick insulated metal I imagined one might find inside a cold-storage meat locker or a deep-sea submarine. The strange door was totally out of place amidst the refined furniture adorning the room — welded with rounded edges and set deeply into the wall, it was more industrial than Victorian chic. In place of a traditional knob was a broad metal lever that looked like it had to be rotated if one was to open the portal.

The odd door made me wonder where I’d been taken, but I didn’t dwell on those thoughts for long. As far as I was concerned, an exit was an exit — and getting out of here was my only concern at the moment.

Disoriented, I tried to stand but soon found that I couldn’t move. The fog began to clear from my mind as I looked down and saw that my hands had been bound behind me, the thin cords holding them looped through the wooden rungs at the back of my chair. I pulled with all my strength, but the ropes didn’t give in the slightest — the more I tugged, the harsher they dug into my wrists.

I inhaled deeply and tried to get my bearings. I was still in my gown and heels but my purse was on the small table next to the sofa, nearly ten feet away. My phone was nowhere to be seen, either still lying on the back seat of a taxicab somewhere in the city or tucked into my clutch. I twisted in my chair, trying to get a look at my right wrist to see if I was still wearing the tracking bracelet Conor had given me, but I couldn’t crane my neck enough to tell.

My heart began to pound as I realized how perilous my situation was. I knew, at any moment, that door might open and the man who walked through would be more than happy to make me suffer.

And Andrew Covington had made me suffer more than enough for one lifetime.

I’d never be able to turn the door lever with my hands bound. But if my cellphone was still inside that clutch, I might be able to call for help before anyone returned to check on me. It was a long shot — but it was also my only shot at escape.

With that thought, I took a deep inhale and tried to rise to my feet with the chair still strapped to my back. My heeled feet wobbled as they attempted to support the awkward, crouched position I’d heaved my body into, and within seconds the chair legs smacked back down against the carpeted floor with a low thud that made me wince. I froze, listening for sounds of anyone approaching. When a minute passed in unbroken silence, I tried again.