He knelt beside the body, his back to me. His hands hovered over Eric’s shredded neck, trying to decide where best to check for a pulse. My bare feet were silent on the concrete. He didn’t know I was there until I slammed the door shut.
Ryan leapt to his feet, whirling around. Furious, he lunged for the door. I slammed the latch closed. He hit the bars with his shoulder. He shoved, the muscles in his neck bulging under the strain. The door opened half an inch, then an inch more. He had the advantage in both size and strength. I couldn’t hold him in for long.
I readied the lock in my right hand. Ryan pushed again. I let the door open a few more inches. Grunting, I braced my right foot against his chest and shoved with every spark of energy left in my body.
Ryan stumbled backward. He tripped over Eric to land on the soiled mattress.
Scrambling back, he stared in horror at the corpse in front of him. I swung the lock up and through the metal loop on the door. It snapped closed with a decisive-sounding click.
Ryan scurried around Eric and lunged at the bars, but I backed out of his reach. “You little bitch,” he spat. “You did this on purpose.”
“You bet your ass.”
“Think you’re so smart…” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, holding it up for me to see.
Squinting at the display, I was dismayed to see that unlike Eric’s Nokia, Ryan’s Sony Ericsson got a decent signal in the basement. Three bars. Great. I couldn’t let him keep the phone.
“You’re bluffing,” I said, stil squinting as if I couldn’t focus on the tiny screen.
“You can’t get a signal down here.”
Doubt flickered across his face, and he glanced at the phone. “Three bars,” he said, grinning smugly.
“The only bars I see are made of metal.”
“Get your eyes checked.” He thrust his hand from the cage, holding the phone out for my inspection. I sprang forward, plucking it from his fist before he had a chance to react.
My brother swore under his breath, and I smirked. “That is why you couldn’t make it on your own, Ryan. You either ignore your instinct, or you have none. That’s why Daddy couldn’t make you an enforcer, and why he’s going to put you out of your misery.” I paused to give him a moment to think over his predicament.
“However, if you say the magic words, I might be wil ing to speak to him on your behalf. For a price.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“Cooperation. Help. A chance to redeem yourself, as you should have done earlier.”
He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. I knew from the resignation on his face that he’d come to the same conclusion I had. “Can you guarantee my life?”
“I can try,” I said. He nodded, and I beamed in triumph. “Excuse me for a moment, please, Ryan. I have to make a cal .” After a moment of indecision, I pulled Eric’s phone from my pocket and replaced it with Ryan’s. Bubbling over with smug satisfaction, I hugged Abby one more time, then skipped toward the stairs.
My brother’s scream of rage and defeat fol owed me al the way into the kitchen.
Twenty-Six
I dialed my father’s personal line on my way up the stairs, and punched the SEND
button from the kitchen. As the phone rang, I rummaged through the fridge. My mouth was full of someone’s leftover burrito when Michael answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Michael, it’s me,” I said around a mouthful of cold beef and beans. “Let me talk to Daddy.” Why the hel was he answering our father’s phone, anyway? I took another bite and popped open a can of soda, deciding I didn’t care who I talked to, so long as someone came to pick me up. Soon.
“Faythe? Where the hell are you?” His voice dimmed, and I knew he was talking to someone else. “Go get Dad. Now.” I heard a door close, and Michael was back. “Are you okay? What happened? Did they let you go?”
“One question at a time.” I took a long swig of soda and felt my body welcome the caffeine like a soldier home from war. “First of al , we’re fine. A little banged up and pretty hungry, but basical y okay. One of our captors turned out to be brain dead, and I took advantage.”
“Where are you?” Michael asked, relief obvious in his voice. A pen scratched paper as he began taking notes.
“Somewhere in Mississippi. Hang on a minute, and I’ll get you the address.” I shoved the last of the burrito into my mouth and chewed al the way through the empty dining room and out the front door. From the porch, I glanced up and down the block for a street sign while Michael relayed what I’d said to someone else on his end of the connection.
“Who’s we?” he asked me.
“Me and Abby. She’s locked up downstairs, but I’m about to break her out.”
“Is she…okay?”
“I think she wil be. She couldn’t fight them off, but that may have saved her life. Dr. Carver wil probably say she needs therapy, but if you ask me, she could use a good punching bag.”
There was silence over the line for a moment, as if Michael didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, final y, “What about you? Did they—” He stopped and started over. “Are you…?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Michael exhaled in relief and a second later I heard him shuffling papers over the line. “Good. You got that address yet?”
Ryan leapt to his feet, whirling around. Furious, he lunged for the door. I slammed the latch closed. He hit the bars with his shoulder. He shoved, the muscles in his neck bulging under the strain. The door opened half an inch, then an inch more. He had the advantage in both size and strength. I couldn’t hold him in for long.
I readied the lock in my right hand. Ryan pushed again. I let the door open a few more inches. Grunting, I braced my right foot against his chest and shoved with every spark of energy left in my body.
Ryan stumbled backward. He tripped over Eric to land on the soiled mattress.
Scrambling back, he stared in horror at the corpse in front of him. I swung the lock up and through the metal loop on the door. It snapped closed with a decisive-sounding click.
Ryan scurried around Eric and lunged at the bars, but I backed out of his reach. “You little bitch,” he spat. “You did this on purpose.”
“You bet your ass.”
“Think you’re so smart…” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, holding it up for me to see.
Squinting at the display, I was dismayed to see that unlike Eric’s Nokia, Ryan’s Sony Ericsson got a decent signal in the basement. Three bars. Great. I couldn’t let him keep the phone.
“You’re bluffing,” I said, stil squinting as if I couldn’t focus on the tiny screen.
“You can’t get a signal down here.”
Doubt flickered across his face, and he glanced at the phone. “Three bars,” he said, grinning smugly.
“The only bars I see are made of metal.”
“Get your eyes checked.” He thrust his hand from the cage, holding the phone out for my inspection. I sprang forward, plucking it from his fist before he had a chance to react.
My brother swore under his breath, and I smirked. “That is why you couldn’t make it on your own, Ryan. You either ignore your instinct, or you have none. That’s why Daddy couldn’t make you an enforcer, and why he’s going to put you out of your misery.” I paused to give him a moment to think over his predicament.
“However, if you say the magic words, I might be wil ing to speak to him on your behalf. For a price.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“Cooperation. Help. A chance to redeem yourself, as you should have done earlier.”
He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. I knew from the resignation on his face that he’d come to the same conclusion I had. “Can you guarantee my life?”
“I can try,” I said. He nodded, and I beamed in triumph. “Excuse me for a moment, please, Ryan. I have to make a cal .” After a moment of indecision, I pulled Eric’s phone from my pocket and replaced it with Ryan’s. Bubbling over with smug satisfaction, I hugged Abby one more time, then skipped toward the stairs.
My brother’s scream of rage and defeat fol owed me al the way into the kitchen.
Twenty-Six
I dialed my father’s personal line on my way up the stairs, and punched the SEND
button from the kitchen. As the phone rang, I rummaged through the fridge. My mouth was full of someone’s leftover burrito when Michael answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Michael, it’s me,” I said around a mouthful of cold beef and beans. “Let me talk to Daddy.” Why the hel was he answering our father’s phone, anyway? I took another bite and popped open a can of soda, deciding I didn’t care who I talked to, so long as someone came to pick me up. Soon.
“Faythe? Where the hell are you?” His voice dimmed, and I knew he was talking to someone else. “Go get Dad. Now.” I heard a door close, and Michael was back. “Are you okay? What happened? Did they let you go?”
“One question at a time.” I took a long swig of soda and felt my body welcome the caffeine like a soldier home from war. “First of al , we’re fine. A little banged up and pretty hungry, but basical y okay. One of our captors turned out to be brain dead, and I took advantage.”
“Where are you?” Michael asked, relief obvious in his voice. A pen scratched paper as he began taking notes.
“Somewhere in Mississippi. Hang on a minute, and I’ll get you the address.” I shoved the last of the burrito into my mouth and chewed al the way through the empty dining room and out the front door. From the porch, I glanced up and down the block for a street sign while Michael relayed what I’d said to someone else on his end of the connection.
“Who’s we?” he asked me.
“Me and Abby. She’s locked up downstairs, but I’m about to break her out.”
“Is she…okay?”
“I think she wil be. She couldn’t fight them off, but that may have saved her life. Dr. Carver wil probably say she needs therapy, but if you ask me, she could use a good punching bag.”
There was silence over the line for a moment, as if Michael didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, final y, “What about you? Did they—” He stopped and started over. “Are you…?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Michael exhaled in relief and a second later I heard him shuffling papers over the line. “Good. You got that address yet?”
