Chapter Twenty-Two

Unblinking and unflinching, Thomas Barreau's hired guy blocked George's path. The knife that was being toyed in his thick gloved fingers glimmered under the dim yellow light of the streetlamp that flickered that George stood under as it was twirled deftly in his expert hands.

The stranger's wide open eyes reflected everything and seemed to see nothing as he stared at George. Behind them was something more intense than normal thought and his clenched two day stubble on his jaw was definitely not a good sign.

This guy, Max, was royally pissed.

The black sweater he wore tended to cling to his frame in parts and hang off him in others, which George thought looked kind of odd. Her dark eyes widened as he stared down George, a strange, hungry gleam in his blue eyes, almost cerulean in color since he was so ticked off.

She shivered as an unnaturally wide grin began to form, curling the edges of his lips upward.

The creep's eyes were like a knife in her ribs, the sharp point digging even deeper. There was almost a horrible emptiness. There was almost a horrible emptiness in his dark eyes, but not in any kind of vulnerable sense, she knew. Uncomfortable with the void, or at least it sure looked that way to George, he had filled it with an emotion he seemed to be more at ease and comfortable with—raw unbridled rage. His unmoving gaze was accompanied by deliberate slow breathing, like he was fighting against some baser urge and losing.

George felt her fear manifest deep within the pit of her stomach and she felt her temper swell, as it always tended to do whenever she was afraid. "Let go of me, you creep!" she snapped, feeling that familiar stab of fear prick at her heart as she realized she was unable to look away from the guy's eyes.

She gulped and swallowed past the lump forming in her throat that constricted and tightened, threatening to close off her passageways. Her knuckles were white, and her fingers had instinctively curled into a protective fist over the strap of her black bag, as though she thought he might try to steal it. Anything was possible, considering he'd trapped her and Burt here.

George let out a hiss as the man's strong fingers gripped onto her forearm. White knuckles from clenching her fist too hard, and gritted teeth from her vain effort to remain silent, she felt the muscles in her back tense as her posture straightened. Her face was drained of color and white with suppressed rage, and when this freaking creep had grabbed onto her arm and pulled her back closer towards him and further away from Burt, she mentally snapped and swung around to face her would-be assailant.

"Look, pal, I don't know who you think you are, Frankenstein, but I'm not in a good mood right now and my…friend," she added for emphasis, not wanting to reveal Nancy's name to this guy just in case this man happened to know who she was. Not that that was any big secret these days. "She isn't going to be happy with you if you hurt us, so I suggest walking away right now if you know what's good for you, jerk!" bellowed George, balling her hands, which hung loosely at her sides and were shaking badly in fear, at her sides, not really sure what she should do with them. "You know what? Forget this. I'm calling the cops…" She dipped into her black bag with her free hand into her messenger bag's main compartment, rummaging for her cell phone to call Chief McGinnis to come deal with this creep, send a whole bunch of his guys out here to deal with this guy and a shudder of fear went down her spine as she could practically feel her jaw clench and lock up, the fear threatening to consume her body completely.

"S—sweetheart, why don't you let me do that?" Burt called out, though there was no mistaking the nervousness laced through the quarterback's now timid voice. He'd noticed the man's gun resting idly on his hip.

"Be quiet, Burt!" shouted George, immediately hating that she had yelled at him. "This creep thinks he can attack us and get away with it?" she whisper-hissed. "I don't freaking think so!" Max, if that were, in fact, his real name continued that weird creepy grin that was really starting to freak George out, though she'd never admit it to anyone openly, at least.

No way in hell. She bit her bottom lip, sticking it out in a slight pout as she rummaged in her bag for her phone. If there was ever a time when George wished she had kept her phone off vibrate and out on her person more often, this was definitely one of those times.

They needed rescuing…

"G-George, let's just go," Burt stammered nervously, that awkward little half smile still on his face as his gaze flickered from George to the man's, whose expression hadn't changed, still unsmiling, the glaze in his blue eyes almost listless, no emotions whatsoever. "We—we should just keep walking, a—and we don't mean you any trouble, guy. I don't wanna hurt anyone or get sued or crap like that so let us walk away and get outta here…"

George drew in a sharp pained breath as she felt the guy's fingers tighten around her arm. She knew Burt was partially attempting to engage the man in a conversation, just to see if this guy talked, since he'd not said one word since rather abruptly grabbing George's arm.

The man still clutching onto George's arm let out a low growl from the back of his throat.

"Wh-what do you want with us? We were—were just leaving, a-and we should really get going now, so we'll be seeing you," George breathed, hating the quiver that was in her voice, but she couldn't stop it. It felt like her breaths were more frequent, in short spurts, and less calm than before. She really hoped she wasn't having a panic attack right now. Not now…

She hated hearing the dip in her voice and how it cracked and faltered, just like her resolve was, and George let out a whimper of fear as she felt the tip of the man's silver blade press into the column of her throat.

"Quiet," the man growled, his voice deep, a baritone, which was odd considering how young the guy was, around her age, and how tall and gangly he looked.

George wasn't exactly sure what she had expected when Max—if this was really him—opened his mouth to speak, but a deep voice was not one of them.

If anything, she had expected his voice to sound kind of nasally to match how tall this guy was, around seven feet.

"I don't want too much from you, ma'am. Just to have a friendly little chat, miss, that's all. Having Italian, huh?" he said quietly, his baritone voice oozing false friendliness, his grip on her arm tightening, and she visibly winced as she felt his free hand drift upward, the smooth interior skin of his palm grazing against her collarbones.

George froze, her brain stuttering as her eyes took in way more dim light from the streetlamp than expected.

It was when the man's ironclad grip shifted on his weapon that she let out a little whimper of fear, though she tried hard to set her face to 'casual indifference.' She pushed her face closer, her mind ordering her body to fall in line. Retreat was the desired outcome of this little encounter, but if they ran, this guy would probably tackle her and kill her, slit her throat, and leave her body for Nancy and Frank and the cops to find in a deserted alleyway somewhere.

No way, she thought, and swallowed hard past the lump forming in her throat. His raw voice felt brutal against the shell of the reporter's ear, and George flinched and stiffened as his hand found purchase in the back of her hair, toying with a lock of her dark brown pixie cut.

"Let go of me!" she hissed, though her newfound anger at what he was doing did nothing to quell the stab of fear that pricked at her heart, or the way she felt breathless.

"HEY!" demanded Burt in a tone that suggested he was highly irate and disgusted with the stranger manhandling his girlfriend the way he was. "LET HER GO! Or I'll be forced to use kick your ass—"

"Can it, asshole," growled the stranger, his lips curling back in a twisted sneer, and George froze as he removed a gun from a holster he wore around his thigh and pointed it towards Burt, who clamped his mouth shut. "One more sound outta you, and I might just pop a round in your skull. Let's see how much talking you do then," the stranger growled, turning back to George. "I don't see no need to introduce myself," the stocky man said huskily.

Max. His name is Max, thought George wildly as she dared to meet his gaze. George swallowed as her gaze lingered on the carton of cigarettes sticking out of his jeans.

Still, the question was practically burning on the tip of her tongue, just begging the techie to ask the question that she craved the answer to the most in the moment (bad pun intended, considering the likelihood of who they were dealing with, but still!)

"Y-you're one of Thomas Barreau's crew. Aren't you." It was not a question, coming from George.

"Give the young lady a prize," smirked the stranger, his lips forming an odd-little half smile that in this dim lighting looked more like a smirk that gave him a twisted, grotesque appearance.

When at last, Max turned back from glowering at Burt to face George, George immediately found herself wishing that this creep would have kept his trance on Burt.

A selfish thought, considering how uncomfortable he was making them, but she couldn't help it. Deliberation was over. The guy had judged her already and, in his eyes, she only saw hatred, but why, she didn't know. She hoped he didn't know her.

Though the look in his eyes George knew she wouldn't forget. Like if someone offered him a loaded gun and a 'get out of jail free card,' he'd have no problem at all pulling the trigger if it kept him out of trouble. George swallowed nervously.

"George, i-it's gonna be all right. We'll just…give him whatever he wants, and then he'll let us go," Burt called out, seemingly hesitating in his movements, like he wasn't sure if he should step forward and intervene, and when he tried to take a single step forward, George let out a tiny whimper of fear as she felt the tip of his blade press even harder into the column of her throat. Just enough for a single crimson bead to form. George swallowed, hating her fear.

The fear would eventually need an out, and she hoped she wasn't going the way of Max's other victims, the other women that she believed the man holding her captive had done away with.

George struggled against the strange lean man that towered over at her at just shy of seven feet tall, shooting her right leg out, but her movements were way too slow for the guy.

His hands moving from her throat, the man's hands drifted down towards her waist, the other seizing her arm, trapping her left at her side, violently unzipping the main compartment of her little black bag she wore slung across her body like a crossbody, digging through it for her cell phone, and holding it with a look of disgust pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Max tossed it aside and both Burt and George felt the sinking pits in their stomachs, watching helplessly and hopelessly as George's phone shattered on the ground.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Fayne and Mr. Edgerton, but you won't be going anywhere. It's a Friday night in the city. Big city nights, you know. The cops are busy. That gives me plenty of time." Max crooned, laughing, and grinning wickedly at the look of dawning horror in George's dark eyes.

Plenty of time to do what? George thought fearfully. Her mind was raging at her, going a thousand miles a minute, her eyes darting left and right, looking for any means of escape.

None. Just great. Her heart was hammering inside her eardrums, or at least it felt that way, and she barely heard her pitiful cry for help, which was quickly muffled by his gloved hands over her mouth as she had opened it, prepared to belt out the loudest scream she could muster.

"S-stop this!" stammered Burt, a look of utter rage on his face as he bolted forward, fully prepared to tackle this jerk.

Her boyfriend froze in his tracks and came to a complete standstill as the stranger's hand came from up and groped just underneath her right breast, Max's other hand still clutching onto the silver dagger in his hands, pressing it into the tip of her throat.

Not hard enough to bleed (yet), but definitely hard enough to enforce his intended message. George let out a whimper and blinked back briny tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "S-stop," she pleaded, hating hearing the crack and warble in her voice.

"Don't make me say it twice, asshole! Let George go!" shouted Burt, though the warble in the football player's voice told Max and George everything they all needed to know.

That his voice lacked the conviction to sell his point he really wanted to make.

Without Nancy and Frank here to protect them all, he felt hopeless. Lost.

George met his gaze and winced.

Max shot Burt a dark glower and smirked. "I don't think so, kid an' if you know what's good for you, you'll can the noise and shut the hell up, or I'll start cutting your girl here up into little pieces," he snarled. "This girl an' you I think are gonna tag along with me for a little car ride…Got some folks who'd just love to say hello to you, dollface," Max whisper hissed.

Oh, god, George thought and let out a moan, still fighting back an onset of tears.

"Oh, yes," he added, with mock joy, his hand grazing the skin of her collarbones as he continued to hold onto the young brunette reporter in a tight vice grip. "I'm not stupid. I know you're friends with that nosy little bitch of a detective. And what better way for the boss to get to her than to go after her stupid fucking helpless friends?" Max growled darkly.

"Please, don't do this..." George begged desperately, her eyes darting to the left and right, looking for an escape, her fingers clutched tightly onto the strap of her little black square canvas bag, as though she thought that would ward off any attacks.

Not unless she had her little can of mace in there, which she didn't. She'd left it home, not thinking she'd need it.

"Still," he said, letting out a sigh of what sounded like mock disappointment as he clucked his tongue at her and one of his hands continued that infuriating behavior of playing with a few strands of her dark hair.

George winced as he pressed his body in closer.

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he crooned, George shirking away as best she could as he leaned in and buried his face in her hair from behind, inhaling the scent of her lavender shampoo. Max let out a low whistle and pulled his chin away, from where he had been resting it on her shoulder. "I've always had me a thing for brunettes. Like you."

The man holding onto George's arms pushed her roughly, further into the side alley, the agile gesture causing the poor frightened and confused reporter to stumble, almost falling flat on her face. Thank God she'd thought to wear her sneakers tonight and not her stupid heels.

"Please, guy," she begged. "I—I have no money, nothing of value. Here, you—you want my bag, you can just take it," George said, reaching out with fumbling fingers to try to remove her little black bag from around her shoulder, and she let out a surprised gasp of pain as Max angrily swatted her hand away.

Flinching, she jerked her hand back as though he had burned her, wincing, and rubbing her fingers, flexing them. "Please…I-if there's any shred of decency in you, don't do this, man. I—I'm freaking begging you," She begged him, and her voice came out steadier than it had only moments ago.

Burt was shouting something, but his shrill and panicked voice sounded faraway and muffled, like he was underwater.

Painful memories and emotions of last year of helping Nancy with her Black Lake case in Casston, dealing the perverted sick psychopath Todd Baines, pressed against her interior emotional barrier that she had erected, but George held them back by sheer willpower.

She needed her mind to be sharp if she had even a fool's chance of staying alive.

"I promise, sweetheart, it won't hurt you," Max said quietly. "I swear to God."

Someone should let this guy know he's a really bad liar, her conscience advised her.

"You're a horrible liar, you know that, right?" she blurted out.

The dark-eyed man grinned, his smile wolfish and predatory and did not reach his eyes. "Yeah?" he encouraged, reaching out a hand to lightly caress her cheek, and she slid the strap of her bag off her shoulder and swung it in one swift movement. The bag smashed into his face, and George visibly winced as she heard a crack. She'd broken his nose, at least.

Max let out a string of curses as his hands flew to his face. Blood was gushing from both the guy's nostrils. Definitely broken at least. "FUCK!" he bellowed, both hands still cupped over his face, the blood pouring through his fingertips in a constant steady stream of garish red. "You—you little bitch!" Max hollered. "You broke my nose! What the fuck? Get the he'll back here, you stupid bitch!"

He let out a cry of surprise as George lifted her leg and jabbed her leg into the man's groin, and she barely stifled her grin of satisfaction at seeing him grovel on his knees.

George knew by the way tears were streaming down the man's face that he was momentarily blinded.

Now was their chance to escape, her only shot at making a run for it.

She ran, breaking into a sprint, Burt right behind her. "Good work, honey!" Burt hollered over his shoulder, grabbing George by the hand, and dragging her alongside as fast as he could.

Her feet slipped outwards on the wet fallen leaves as she rounded the corner, the cold evening air shocking her throat and lungs as she inhaled deeper.

With each footfall, a jarring pain shot upright ankle to knee repeatedly, where she had kicked Max.

This creep wanted her and Burt, then they'd have to come and get them, which, judging by the guy's footsteps, he already was, and he wasn't that far behind, and screaming at her.

"Get the hell back here, you useless little whore!" he bellowed, and something metallic that sounded to George like a gun being cocked was almost touching the tip of the back of her skull.

George continued allowing herself being led by Burt, but she knew their time was up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something sharp and long coming towards her, and her heart lurched as she recognized it was the horrible white van Max used.

Somebody else must have been driving it, and Max had gotten out on foot and had followed them. This was it. The end of the line. How they died if they couldn't escape from this sick perverted creep.

"Damn!" she swore under her breath and let out a horrible scream as she heard the sound of Max's gun being fired, and she felt the rush of air as a bullet flew past her left ear.

"STOP MOVING!" shouted Max, his guttural roar echoing through the deserted street.

Burt shot out an arm and pulled the young woman behind him, and they froze. The pair watched as Max now stood in front of them with motionless eyes and brought the flame in again.

George let out a whimper as the man practically thrust his lit lighter that he was holding in the palm of his hand into George's face, to seemingly get a better look at her natural beauty.

George blanched and quickly diverted her gaze to the slightly wet pavement beneath her sneakers.

The way he was looking at her creeped her out. He thrust the lit cigarette lighter closer to George's face and angrily squinted his eyes.

George flinched and did not dare step out from behind Burt. The heat from the burning little Zippo lighter was almost potent and unbearable, too stark a contrast to the cold chill of the evening fall air.

"That wasn't very fucking nice," Max growled angrily. "You broke my nose, you little bitch," he snarled, and he pocketed his lighter back into his jeans and twirled his knife in his fingers.

George let out a yelp as the man grabbed her arm and yanked her violently forward, spinning her around so she was facing Burt, who was looking utterly lost and absolutely terrified.

They needed Chief McGinnis here. He'd stop this creep in no time.

"Get off of me!" George screamed, kicking out and twisting her body in a feeble attempt to escape, though both she and Burt knew it was pointless. The guy was a lot stronger than she was, and way more violent, besides. "Burt, run!" she screamed. The guy was reaching for her now, but Burt could make it out alive.

Go get help, she tried to silently communicate with her panicked eyes. Call Nancy!

Burt must have sensed what George was trying to say, for his mouth dropped open in shock and he looked more offended in the moment than afraid of the guy.

"No way, sweetheart," he huffed in frustration, though his anger at what was happening did nothing to disguise the fear in his voice. "I—I'm not leaving you along with this guy, George. D-don't fight with him," Burt urged. "We'll…do whatever you want. Just don't hurt us, man. We won't argue or fight anymore, all right? We'll do whatever you want."

"BURT!" screamed George, hardly daring to believe the words that were tumbling out of her boyfriend's mouth. "A-are you serious? Tell me you're joking, please!"

George frowned, but stopped struggling and trying to get away from Max's ironclad control.

He'd wrapped one hand around her waist, the other buried in the back of her hair. She flinched as she could have sworn she felt a piece of her hair start to singe and burn.

"You broke my goddamned nose, you nosy little shit," Max growled, whispering it into the shell of her ear, pressing the tip of his blade into the column of her throat. "I should break your fucking left arm for that anyways, bitch. Or maybe I'll just burn you," he growled, his grip on his weapon tightening even more, and as if to prove his point, he flicked his lighter to life in her face. "Hell, it'll be quick. Mostly painless. You won't feel a thing," Max taunted.

George let out a startled cry of pain as the blade pierced her throat, and another beaded droplet of blood formed.

"Please…" she whispered hoarsely, surprised she could even speak with a knife pressed up against her throat. "S-stop," she stammered. "L—let us go, man!"

"She—she's just scared!" Burt piped up, frowning, his arms raised above his head in surrender. "George won't do it again. Will you, baby?"

"Y—yes," she breathed, then her dark eyes widened in shock. "Wait…I mean…no…"

Now it was Max's turn to frown. "No, you will? Or you won't?" he snarled.

"I—I don't know," whispered George, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"Babe, c'mon, if we just cooperate with him, he might let us go and won't hurt us," pleaded Burt, trying his hardest to remain calm, his gaze flitting between George and Max. "Look, guy, what do you want with us? We—we mean you no harm, all right?"

"No?" he protested, his voice raising an octave to almost childlike tones as he quirked a brow George's way.

His gaze wandered back towards George, who had fallen silent and was regarding Max with fear and trepidation in her brown eyes.

"It's not safe for you to be out alone, Miss Fayne," he continued, reaching up a surprisingly tender hand to stroke her cheek. George trembled, hating to admit that, unwanted though it was, it strangely felt nice.

The skin of his palm was smooth.

"You shouldn't be wandering these nasty streets alone. Never know what types you'll run into," he mocked.

"Just let us go," whimpered George pitifully, clenching her eyes shut to avoid having to look the creepy stranger in his listless eyes that held no emotion in them.

Max glanced down at her black bag swung over her shoulder. "Whatcha got in your bag, sweetheart?" he growled, his hand drifting down from the caressing of her throat and towards her bag. "Let's take a look, shall we? Let's see what you got in here. You got a phone or a pager, I'm gonna need that. Don't want you getting any ideas, calling her for help now."

"No way!" cried George desperately, instinctively curling her fingers into a protective fist over the straps of her little black bag, her favorite out of the two that she did own.

Black in color, with several zippered compartments and pockets for all her things, it was easily her favorite, especially coupled with the fact that Bess had given it to her for her birthday this year. No way was she going to let this creep get his dirty, grubby fingers all over it.

"Let go!" Max growled, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"Get—away—from—me! Let go, you—you horse's ass!" she gasped, digging the heels of her sneakers into the pavement, and fighting against Max as she felt him tugging onto the bag's straps. "It's mine! Get your filthy paws off of it, you freaking creep!"

"Wh—, no! George!" shouted Burt, though he sounded more fearful than angry with her. "Don't do this, just—just give him the bag, ma'am. I'm sure Bess will buy you another one or I will! Just give him whatever he asks for so we can get out of here and go home! Your purse, wallet, whatever! A—all that stuff can be replaced, but your life can't, and your parents will kill me if I let anything bad happen to you, so please, just do what he asks," he pleaded, biting his lip with his teeth in a slight pout. "I-it isn't worth your life, George!"

But it was. It had all her tech in here, all her thumb drives, not to mention her wallet.

Though Burt would probably never understand it. George opened her mouth to speak up to tell Max to back off, but could only manage a breathy little squeak as the man's grip on her left wrist tightened and she was violently dragged towards Max's infamous plain white van with scorch markings on the car's hood.

She let out a pained gasp and a whimper of surprise as she clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to see whatever came next.

"You're going to let go of the bag now, Miss Fayne," the man's voice growled, whispering it into her ear. His request came again, this time harder.

"Let. Go. Of. The. Bag. Don't make me say a third time, you little bitch…"

"No," she breathed, though she could feel her resolve falter as she met the man's gaze. But burning rage hotter than anything Max could bring into existence with his stupid flamethrower hissed through George's body like a deadly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence, which wasn't like her at all.

It was like a volcano erupting, fury sweeping off her like ferocious waves as she fought for possession of her bag.

Thank God the thing was incredibly durable and made of canvas or it'd have ripped by now.

George let out a cry of pain as his sinewy arm drew back and violently backhanded her across her face. Her eyes watering, she staggered backwards, away from the front of the van.

Clutching at her eyes, she could feel a red welt beneath her right eye where one of the guy's red ruby rings he wore on his right hand had caught her.

Burt was shouting something, but whatever it was she couldn't tell. She let out a shaking exhale, her breaths coming in way too fast and she couldn't seem to get enough air.

George whimpered as she felt her back press against the cold exterior of his white van.

Max had her trapped. She and Burt had nowhere to run…