As promised! Anyone else feel like seeing the movie a third time? Concession stand's on me!
The clothes were at least a size too big, Henley noted, pulling on a dark pair of leggings and a thin black cami, her wet hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head; did the entire world think she was fat? Grumbling to herself, she pulled on her own boots, wishing again that they hadn't taken her gloves. She was never without gloves, they were her trademark style, and she felt completely naked when she lacked even those miniscule scraps of leather. They came in handy in the most unexpected ways, and so she endured all ridicule the boys sent her way, usually responding with a simple leather-clad finger flipping them off. A small smile crossed her face as she remembered their theft of the French bank's money, before the trick in Vegas.
"Kind of claustrophobic in here, huh?"
"Not nearly enough that you need to have every limb pressed against mine, Danny."
"We're in a secret compartment in the bed of an armored truck Henley, do you really think they laid out the schematics while allowing for a girl and a super-tall, super-masculine, super-buff master of illusion to hypothetically hide out beneath-"
"If that's the kind of man they designed this crawlspace for, I don't think you meet the height requirements to be in here, just like that one carnival ride-"
"-Sasquatch wouldn't fit the safety height requirements for that thing, okay?"
Danny's hip was pressed against Henley's as they lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and the escape artist was having a hell of a time trying to ignore that, and every other point of contact between them. Not to mention in trying to heave herself away from him, she'd only succeeded in losing the comfortable position she'd originally been in, and then she lost her balance as she rose up on her elbows, and promptly fell onto Danny's chest.
"Ow, did you put all of your weight onto that elbow in my ribs-"
"Don't even start, you shouldn't even be in here, you big lug-"
At that precise moment, second the back door of the truck opened, and the accompanying guards took their seats in the back, while a couple others loaded the millions of Euros with the help of a ramp. It wasn't worth the risk of discovery to readjust themselves, and Henley soaked in silent mortification as she lay there, undignified, sprawled across J. Daniel Atlas' chest, trying not to enjoy the sensation of him taking breaths beneath her.
And here they were, breathing as shallowly and quietly as possible, listening to the Frenchmen joke and complain to one another, Henley gritting her teeth, eyes closed, as she tried to ignore Danny's face a scant five inches from her own.
When the truck screeched to a halt, they waited for the scraping noise that would signal the opening of the back doors, setting to their tasks as scheduled. When the guards were knocked out, the Horsemen set about grabbing the packages of newly-minted bills and stuffing them into burlap sacks they'd brought. But the currency was wrapped in tight-fitting sheets of plastic packaging, and Danny was having trouble grabbing any of it, the money falling out of his hands as he snatched at it.
"See how handy these are?" Henley wagged her glove-clad hands in the air, which had no problem gripping the material, huffing annoyedly and shoving the rest of the money into bags herself, while Danny scoffed and shook his head, jumping out the back of the truck to ensure no one was around to see the shady traffic stop.
She was pulled from her pleasant thoughts by the loud banging of a door, and Hermia hurriedly shushing whoever it was. Something twitched in the back of Henley's mind, and a feeling of unease took over, urging her to look about the room quickly for an escape route. There was none, of course, the cheap room not even having a window in it, and she felt like a caged rat, bracing herself as the connecting door to the bathroom opened, revealing the brute who had grabbed her what seemed like a century ago.
Henley shivered involuntarily, backing up a step, feeling a vulnerability that she hadn't experienced in years, rear its ugly head.
"C'mon princess, we've got places to go and names to divulge," Bradley's henchman rumbled, stepping right into her personal space; he was over a foot taller than her, and she was afraid to look up and meet that menacing leer.
"Come along quietly, or I'll give you another nap," he was saying, and she swallowed, raising her head haughtily and nodding. "Lead the way, big guy."
"No, I'd rather have a hold on you," he grinned, and in a second those bulging arms were throwing her over his shoulder, eliciting a squawk from Henley's lips. "Shut up, licorice-hair."
Henley was torn between disbelief in the ridiculous nickname, panic that he was swinging her around like a toy, and extreme annoyance at this guy's arrogance. But she kept quiet, closing her eyes against the dizziness that overcame her as she swung over his shoulder. He took her out of the room and down the hall, without any other soul in sight – Bradley must have bought out this whole floor of suites or something – before finally ending at a room with an identical door that opened as they reached it. Some other henchman nodded as they passed him in the entryway, and he muttered something into a walkie-talkie as he left, heading back down the hallway.
She was dumped like a bag of trash on a bed inside the room, and she retreated against the headboard, curling her knees up against her chest as she watched the man warily. He was already on a cellphone, muttering "yes" and "got it" every few seconds, pacing in front of the bed.
"I'll make sure she knows nothing, and hopefully with minimal mess." He winked at her as he ended the call, at slackjawed expression of horror that she masked as quickly as she could.
"Now, sweetheart, we're gonna play a game. Kinda like twenty questions meets spin the bottle. I'm gonna ask you questions, and for every answer you can't give, there's gonna be a different punishment."
At the implication of pain, Henley grabbed her wounded wrist lightly in her other hand, rubbing it gently as she glared defiantly. "I don't know who guides us, and I wouldn't tell you even if I did. Is Bradley willing to go to jail for abduction and murder, for one name?"
He responded with a chuckle that chilled her. "He debunks magicians, illusionists, and top hat-clad idiots for a living, and has for decades. You don't think he can make you vanish for real, little girl?"
At her silence, he cracked his knuckles loudly, the sound penetrating every corner of the room. Suddenly the door opened, revealing Hermia, who held a tablet in her hand that she was swiping at furiously.
"Haven't started, have you, Nate?" She asked distractedly, taking a seat in a plush armchair on the far side of the room.
"Nope. But she's given her first wrong answer." And suddenly he was on Henley, twisting her already-injured wrist with a fierce movement, and she felt something crack as her eyes filled with tears, pain rendering her too breathless to do anything but gasp.
Hermia, one leg crossed over the other, high-heeled foot swinging lightly as she watched, seemed to cringe, quickly smoothing her expression as she tapped something on her screen.
"Is it Atlas, after all? Just tell us, and we'll make it easy on him. I know you'd like that," Nate asked, releasing her broken wrist and stepping back coolly, adjusting his shirt cuffs.
"Maybe…it's your mom?" Henley ground out, uncertain if she should cradle her wrist or hold it aloft to elevate it, or grab a lamp and swing at him with her good arm.
"I'd love to see you try to escape anything with another broken wrist, licorice-hair, and maybe some blood loss," the burly man crooned, pulling out a small blade that even Hermia, in her corner, blanched at the sight of. "But maybe I can help you out, change your look a little so that your destroyed reputation can begin anew as someone else? Maybe the two-faced woman or something." He stood, brandishing the small blade, and Henley swallowed, meeting his gaze steadily with her own pain-filled one.
"The son of a bitch's ratings and viewer counts are way up," Jack mumbled disappointedly, hitting the sleep button on his phone and stuffing it back into his leather jacket's pocket. "According to his twitter. But his twitter also claims he himself is on his way to Vegas, too, to debunk our first act properly. Probably using a private jet, hiding his tracks."
"Doesn't matter, he's an idiot and he's going to find himself seven steps behind in as many hours," Danny muttered distractedly, typing furiously on his own phone. "Whoops, if not less." He held up his phone, where the screen displayed an email whose sender they recognized as their boss. They'd always employed a cryptic email address, never using the same more than once, but certain patterns in the speech within the messages showed it was them. And this latest one revealed a way to hack Bradley's phone and find out what was being done with Henley.
Twenty minutes later, Thaddeus Bradley frowned down at his phone, opening what looked like an email from Hermia, but was completely blank, except for a few miscellaneous keyboard symbols. She'd probably hit a wrong button on her phone, as she was usually juggling several gadgets at once. Shrugging lightly, he sent the message to the junk folder in his email app, switching screens to check a text message from her. "Not cooperating." Lovely.
Sighing, he glanced at the doors he was passing, walking down the hallway in the hotel whose entire top two floors he had booked for the next few days, claiming he had work to do, and the staff had even given him a generous discount. When he reached the right door, he swiped a card quickly, wrenching the door open and striding in without announcement.
Gesturing lazily for Nate to halt where he stood, which was a foot from their prisoner, Thaddeus crossed to Hermia. "Anything? Anything at all?"
She shook her head. "The remaining Horsemen have not contacted us with anything at all." She kept her reply short, suspecting as she was that every single male cohort of hers was criminally insane at this point. She had not signed up for this, but she was afraid she was in too deep already.
"We aren't getting anything this way." The ringing of Bradley's cell phone broke in, and he answered it tersely. "Yes? What? Here? This building? Well, stall¸ damn it!" He whipped around. "Nate, grab her. Get her to the car, and in the cage. Take an emergency exit or something so you won't be seen, and shut her up. They're here, and the welcome mat isn't laid out yet."
As his bodyguard rushed to comply, snatching up the girl who was now moaning in pain, Thaddeus noticed an odd flickering on the screen of his phone. Frowning, he shook it, and suddenly froze, starting to laugh. They had pulled this stunt on the idiot FBI agent; that was why you never re-used tricks. He re-pocketed the phone after sending a few text messages, smiling as he left the hotel room.
Next chapter is being worked on! ~Bon
