Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just like to play with the characters.
Additionally, I would like to thank my wonderful beta, EdwardsMate4Ever, and jaspersdoll, for suggesting the title and other creative input.
This is a Jasper-Bella fiction. It takes place in current time. Vampires are in hiding, but have a more structured society. They take human "pets" for food, and some humans are held in captivity to be bled for vampires. They bottle this blood much like humans bottle beer, and it is sold in the underground vampire clubs and bars. There are a number of "designer" blood labels, some of which are very popular. Bella's blood has been featured in a blend called "LaGuerra" and is the most popular designer bottled blood on the vampire black market.
Humans who have been claimed by vampires have a small tattoo on their wrists to mark them as vampire property. The marks are usually a series of dots forming a small triangle or rectangle. The colors and pattern identify both the Vampire Territory and individual owner claiming the human.
Chapter 11 – The Ransom
When I woke up, I shook my head, realizing I was still in that little room. Looking out the barred window, I saw for the first time that we were in the desert. Something about my conversation with the woman who brought me the clothes and food had been bothering me.
I lay back down, exhausted, jumbled thoughts spinning in my head. One point stood out in my mind, though, and I froze as I realized she had been saying "amigo" not "amiga" when referring to my friend. She had been telling me a male friend would pick me up. My heart started pounding, but I forced myself to calm down. Maybe they meant the guy from the bar, or even the bartender. Crazy might have called a local contact in order to get me released quickly.
I tugged on the red dress that she had brought in, and poked my head out the door, signaling to the young woman, who I could see through an open doorway was in the kitchen making dinner for the men. She took her pan off the stove, wiped her hands on a towel, and came back into the room, smiling shyly.
I tried talking to her again. As I struggled to ask her who was coming, she said the "gentleman" was coming. Trying to get a clearer sense of who was coming for me, I tried to convey to her again that my friend was a girl, by holding up my phone, saying, "amiga."
She shook her head with a knowing look and motioned for me to wait, as she went out into the other room and returned with a folded piece of paper. She opened it and showed me the missing dog flyer which had been in my purse. She indicated that the kidnapper had called that number.
My heart nearly stopped, and blood began to roar in my ears. "My friend is a girl," I whispered to her.
I went into the next room for the first time to confront the kidnapper. This was my first real look at the rest of the house. This room appeared to be the living room. The barred windows had white pieces of material covering them instead of regular curtains, and chipped tan paint was peeling from the ceiling. The room was sparsely furnished, containing little more than a broken-down couch, a few folding chairs, and in the center of the room, a rickety card table that three men were seated at on mismatched folding chairs. I noticed a shotgun leaning against the inside sill of the front door, and a bottle of what looked like tequila on the table. The only color in the room was provided by a few cases of beer stacked against the wall and a few cloth hangings strewn across the sofa, probably to cover broken springs.
I could see three other doors leading from this room. The first was obviously the front door, and had the shotgun next to it. Another door appeared to open onto the bathroom I had used earlier. When I went into it last night, I had noticed it had two entrances, and that the young woman had locked the other door as soon as we entered. The last doorway lead into the kitchen, where I could see the old stove that the woman had been cooking at.
In the middle of my quick survey of the room, the kidnapper turned in his folding chair to face me.
"Senorita, your friend will be here soon, and this will all be a bad memory. You will go home and be happy," he said. "I believe you may not come back to visit my beautiful country again, and that is a sadness."
Taking a deep breath, I asked him who was coming. "The Seniorita," he said, gesturing to the young woman, "found the paper in your pocket. I called the man looking for the dog. The man is deeply concerned for you. He must love you very much. He is on his way; he has all the money in cash. He insisted you have food, water, and not be harmed. Did you enjoy your strawberries?"
"That was not my friend," I said.
"If he is not your friend, it is OK. He is American man, he will have… honor, no doubt. He will take you to your home, away from here."
No, no, no! "No. You shouldn't have called him. He is not my friend. He is…"
"He is what, Senorita? He said you might say that, but he only wishes your safety. He will be here shortly."
"He's not….good. He's dangerous. He'll…he'll kill you all. Gangster!" It was all I could think of.
The Mexican man's eyes darkened. "Thank you for your…concern, but I'm dangerous man also. If he is a gangster, we will be able to talk."
"No, you won't. You can't. He's…dangerous."
He regarded me carefully. Then he called to the woman, and said something in rapid Spanish. She started to answer, then simply said "Si," and left. I heard her get into her car outside and drive away.
After she was gone, he dialed a number on his cell phone and spoke rapidly.
Finally my cell phone rang, and it was Wenda. Forcing back my sobs, I told her what was going on.
She said, "Baby, keep your wits about you. I'm on my way. Even if he gets to you first, I'll find you. Keep track of where you are. Then watch for a chance on a cell or computer. You tell me where you are; I'll come get you."
I started crying.
"It'll be OK, baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't there with you. I know you're afraid, but it'll be OK. I'm going to find, you, no matter what. You just remember that. I'm going to find you. Jasper Whitlock is a high-profile individual in my world. He's easy for me to track. You hear me? Keep your eyes open so you can tell me where you are. Leave me notes wherever you go. Breathe on a mirror or window and write me a note with your finger, if nothing else. I'll find those. Don't you worry."
She kept talking until my battery died.
The kidnapper came back in, as I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
"We're meeting him somewhere else. Come, it's time. Put on your shoes, and bring your food; we'll be traveling several hours."
I struggled into the shoes but had to lean on one of the men to get to the car without falling. The two men looked at my outfit and exchanged glances, then laughed. I blushed furiously.
As we drove out into the desert, we were joined by two other cars. Both had four men. The cars looked almost like armored cars, battered and beaten as they were, that I had watched in the action movies Wenda enjoyed. She would point out which actor she thought was "fine," and occasionally throw in comments about their cars. Mostly which cars were high-status, pricey, or fast cars, but occasionally, cars that looked better suited for a gangster.
Eventually we stopped under a group of trees that formed a scraggly circle around a large stone fountain. Nearby were the ruins of what appeared to have been a house. I could only guess what might have happened to the original building. Whatever it had been, it looked like the building had been in ruins for years. The driver circled the fountain before stopping in the shade. He got out of the car and came to my door, giving me a hand to help me out.
As I struggled out of the car, fighting the shoes and the thigh-high slit in the dress, I saw several of the assembled men looking at me, clearly admiring my legs. I blushed, and pulled my skirt down as far as I could. Another man had been drinking out of a flask. He poured a bit into a tin cup and handed it to me, motioning for me to drink.
I put it to my mouth. I was expecting it to be intense, but was startled at just how bitter it was. I spit half of it out, choking. It was like liquid fire. I held out the tin cup for more anyway. He laughed, but poured me some more. I drank half a cup. It hit me pretty hard.
We didn't have long to wait. I saw the dust before I saw the car.
A shiny black car pulled up and parked. The driver got out first-a tall, blond man. At first I thought it might be Jasper Whitlock, but after a second glance, it didn't quite look like the vampire I had fled in the Florida cafe.He left his door open and leaned against the hood of the car on his elbow. He wore jeans and a gray t-shirt, and exuded a dangerous, "don't mess with me" look.
A second man got out of the other side. He was huge, with dark hair. His eyes went straight to me and he never looked away. He started to move toward me, but stopped and turned his head back towards the car, as if hearing a voice behind him too low for me to hear.
Then the back door opened, and Jasper Whitlock got out, carrying a suitcase. Once I saw him, I had no doubt as to who he was. It was the vampire I had outrun in Jacksonville. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, mirrored aviator glasses, and never stepped out of the shade of the tree. The expression on his face was blank, but he exuded danger.
My heart sank. They had arrived before Wenda could get to me.
Jasper handed the briefcase to the kidnapper, who opened it on the hood of his car. The kidnapper's other men stood waiting, all casually carrying large guns. I didn't know the names of the weapons; I just knew I had seen them in the latest shoot-em-up movies. Jasper's men didn't carry any weapons, of course, and they didn't appear at all nervous about being unarmed. I noticed the Mexican men seemed to realize that also, and they shuffled uneasily, and began to fiddle with their own weapons nervously, as if they sensed something was very wrong.
After examining the contents of the briefcase, the kidnapper turned to me, and gestured for me to go to Jasper. I didn't move at first, so he put his hand on my back. Jasper stood up straighter watching him touch me, so I moved forward, slowly.
When I reached him, he leaned forward and slit the cable ties with his fingernail, never saying a word, just looking into my eyes from behind his mirrored aviator glasses. He took my hand in his own cool hand and led me to the car, opening the door and helping me get in. Before he shut the door, he leaned in to ask, "Did they hurt you?"
I shook my head no, and I could have sworn I heard the big man say in a frustrated voice, "Dang."
Jasper reached out and stroked my hair softly before closing the door. I was fighting tears but was absolutely determined not to cry. I had to just stay strong and alert so I could find an opportunity to signal Wenda. She would come.
After going around to the other side and seating himself next to me in the back, he said, "Emmett, you drive." The other two men got back into the car, exchanging places so that the big man was on the driver's side, the blond man in the passenger seat.
Emmett moaned, but the other blond man smiled. We drove a few hundred yards, and then they suddenly stopped the car, both men turning to look at Jasper. There was a quick conversation too low for me to hear. On instinct I blurted, "Not the girl. She was nice." I was partially slurring my words, but they understood.
Jasper looked at the blond and said, "Peter, you heard the lady. Not the girl."
Peter got out with a grin and was gone in a flash.
Emmett drove on. Within a few seconds, I heard sounds of gunfire then silence. We drove for a few more minutes, and suddenly Peter was beside the car and Emmett stopped. He got in, removed his glasses, and handed the briefcase back to Jasper.
After he settled into his seat, he turned to me and said, "There was no girl."
Jasper looked at me and looked at the dress. "I can tell you got some of the tequila down, but you must have spit some out. Was it intense?"
I looked at him and stared, stupidly.
He waited a moment, and then said, "My name is Jasper Whitlock, which you must have guessed. I've been looking for you for a while, my dear. It is nice to finally meet my correspondent." He pulled my hand towards him, and leaned over to place a slow cool kiss on the back of my hand, his eyes never leaving mine. Fear spiked through me, and the corner of his lip turned up in a slight smile.
All I could say was, "F*-ing jerk."
The big guy driving the car started laughing until he choked.
We drove for a while, and despite my fear and determination to stay awake in order to watch for Wenda, the tequila kicked in with a vengeance, and I nodded off.
I gradually awakened as I became aware that someone was carrying me. I looked down at the moving ground and threw up. I heard a laugh behind me, and realized that Jasper was holding me. He had swung us around with vampire speed, so I hadn't gotten anything on him.
He looked down at me, and said, "Are you done?"
I just looked up, unable to speak.
"I'm not mad, but if you're going to be sick again, we need to wait a few moments."
I rubbed my abdomen and shook my head. I could feel my stomach starting to seize up. The world was spinning, but I could tell we were no longer in the car. We were out in the desert somewhere.
"I was going to do this soon, so I decided to take advantage of your 'numbed' state and get this taken care of now. We might meet one of my kind at the border, and it just wouldn't do for an Officer of the Hub to be transporting a human across lines without proper identification, now would it?" He spoke almost as if he didn't expect me to understand.
It took me a minute, and then suddenly it hit me. He was talking about a tattoo. His three red dots. The world began to swim around me again, but I quickly realized we had stopped moving.
Struggling against the tequila and fear-induced confusion, I took in my surroundings, and realized I was sitting in a chair on Jasper's lap. He had one hand around my waist, and the other was holding my left arm flat in front of me, with the wrist up. I started to struggle, but his grip on my wrist tightened.
The other blond vampire was kneeling in front of us with a tattooing gun. He began dipping into the pot of ink. I could hear the whir, and feel the familiar pain of the needles as it hit my skin.
Drunk or not, I was aware that this was sealing my fate. And, because I was drunk, my tears fell without stopping. If they were tattooing me with the Cullen coven's three red dots, that meant he was marking me as his. All the things that Crazy said, about him being the worst of the worst, came back to me. They weren't sending me back anywhere. I was now the property of Jasper Whitlock.
Before it was over I managed to throw up again. They waited until I was done, then finished the tattoo.
Jasper carried me back to the car and gave me a bottle of water to rinse my mouth with.
After putting me in the car, he got in on the other side and pulled me down so my head was in his lap. He stroked my hair, while I tried to escape back into the oblivion of alcohol. It only partially worked, as the horror of my situation kept breaking back through.
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