Disclaimer: I do not own the characters on the show, "General Hospital". This is a work of fiction written for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Written for Animegirl1129 as part of a meme on livejournal.
"Act natural, slide into the passenger seat, I'll take your keys. If you draw attention to us or try to drive off, I'll shoot you," a scratchy voice boomed in his ear and something hard was pressed into the small of his back. He felt hot, fetid breath against his cheek and, gulped back the bile which had suddenly risen from his jittery stomach. He nodded shakily and wrenched the car door open, sliding in over to the passenger side.
It was awkward, his limbs were numb with fear and the hybrid didn't offer much by the way of room. He smacked his head hard against the rearview mirror and winced in pain. His cell phone was still gripped tightly in his hand and, glancing nervously at the driver's side, seeing that whomever had stuck a gun in his back had not yet entered, he pressed the speakerphone button and hit Jason's speed dial number, placing the now dialing phone into the pocket of his jacket. Hopefully his mentor wasn't otherwise occupied. He bit his bottom lip as the carjacker edged his way into the car and shoved him over to the passenger seat.
His head hit the passenger side window with a loud crack and stars exploded in his vision. He pulled his legs over the center console and adjusted his computer bag so that it no longer dug into his side. He had yet to look at the man who was taking him hostage. Was it one of the patrons of the café? Had he been the reason for the earlier churning in his gut? Spinelli stole a quick glance at the man out of the corner of his eye and looked quickly away. The man's face was almost completely nondescript save for a long, jagged scar that ran from chin to temple along the cheek closest to Spinelli.
Jason had just returned to the penthouse and was shrugging out of his jacket when his phone rang. It had been a rough day and he was tempted just to let it ring and go to voice mail, but reasoning that it could be something about Michael or Franco, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and eyed the name display warily.
It was Spinelli. Jason's brow furrowed, should he take the call? He vaguely recalled seeing Spinelli leave the penthouse at a virtually unheard of hour for him earlier that morning. He hadn't spoken a word as he'd left, just gave him a half-smile and a wave and had slipped out the door before Jason had even realized he'd been there.
Biting back a sigh, he picked up his phone, fully prepared to be assaulted with Spinelli-talk; he held the phone back from his ear. What greeted him instead was not the rapid-fire talk he'd grown to expect from his roommate, but a strained plea not to be hurt. Jason brought the phone closer to his ear.
"Please don't hurt me," Spinelli spoke as loudly as he dared, not wanting to incur the other man's wrath, but wanting to say something in case Jason had answered the phone. Fearing that he would shoot him if he thought that he was trying to draw attention to them, he spoke at what he hoped was a normal level. "I'll do whatever you want me to, you…you can take the car, just let me go. I…I'll leave my laptop. It's a state of the art model," he was babbling, but couldn't stop himself, "here," he reached into his pocket to draw out his wallet, "you can have all of my money. Just please let me go. I'll call someone from the Morningside café and get a ride. I won't tell anyone about you."
Spinelli opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off abruptly. "Shut up," the dark man growled at him, slapping the wallet out of Spinelli's hand. Spinelli's mouth snapped shut. "Listen to me and listen good," the man repeatedly stabbed a beefy finger at Spinelli's arm with bruising force, emphasizing each word that he spoke, eliciting a gasp of pain from the hacker.
"You are mine now," the words were spoken softly, covetously and Spinelli inched closer toward the passenger door. Panic had him scrabbling for an exit, working at the uncooperative handle so that he could make good his escape before the madman took off with him.
"I don't think so," the man slammed his arm across Spinelli's chest, pinning him back against the seat. He reached over and stretched the seatbelt over him and buckled it in place. Spinelli's eyes were wide with fear and he looked outside, wondering if anyone had noticed what was taking place.
No one was even looking in their direction. Those entering and exiting the café had their heads down or were studiously looking anywhere but at what was taking place right in front of them. He might as well be invisible for all the notice that he drew. Spinelli's heart sank and he closed his eyes.
"Don't do that again," the man admonished needlessly. Spinelli was well-subdued. His only hope lie in that phone call he had covertly made to Jason. Had Jason answered? Had he answered and then hung up thinking that the call was a prank or had been misdialed? Had he even heard what Spinelli had said?
Spinelli wished that he could see whether or not Jason was on the other line, but clung to the desperate hope that he was. It was the only thing that would help him make it through this, the thought that Jason was listening in on the conversation and would even now be out looking for him because, truth be told, he was terrified.
What would Jason do in this situation? Spinelli thought to himself. He'd remain calm, cool, and collected. He held his breath and let it out slowly, allowing his eyes to open as the pressuring arm was removed from his chest.
"I…I won't," Spinelli stuttered, looking over at the man anxiously. He hoped that the man wouldn't yell at him again because he'd spoken. "I…I promise that I won't try to escape again." Resigned, he sank back against the seat.
"Good, I'd hate to have to do something to mar that pretty face of yours," the man leered at him and brushed a calloused thumb across Spinelli's cheek. Spinelli flinched, banging his already aching head against the window of the passenger door once again.
Hang in there, Spinelli, Jason thought. He'd shrugged back into his coat as soon as he'd gotten the call and checked to make sure that his gun was loaded, before racing down the stairs to his SUV. Though his motorcycle would be quicker, he needed to have a mode of transportation which would enable him to listen to Spinelli and the man who held him captive hands free. What the man said to Spinelli caused his blood to boil and brought goose bumps to his skin.
You're doing good kid. He wished that he could speak these thoughts aloud, reassure Spinelli, but knew that if he did the man who'd taken him would hurt Spinelli, so he concentrated on listening to what Spinelli said, hoping that he'd slip in hints as to his whereabouts so that he could trace his movements easier. Just hang in there Spinelli, I'm coming for you. He hoped that Spinelli would somehow be able to sense his positive thoughts.
Truth was, he'd never been as proud of the kid as he was now , aside, of course from that time that he'd stood up to him over trying to bull headedly pin the blame for Michael's coma on Claudia. He might have been right about her guilt, but Spinelli had been right to stand up to him. He hoped his young friend would be able to call upon some of that same courage now.
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