Warning: Violence and maybe gore if you're really squeamish. Let me know what you think! Heather
Chapter 38
Consciousness returned slowly and painfully. Every inch of me ached and I couldn't remember why. I tried to sit up and let out a groan as my head spun.
Now I remembered. Fta. Men in black. Danny. CAT boot.
I wish I could forget again.
Gritting my teeth I ignored the pain and sat up. My hands were above my head, handcuffed to a wrought iron headboard. I was sitting on a large bed, in a room I didn't recognise; safe to say I was in enemy hands.
I looked around the room; it was bare with nothing distinguishing about it. It had a bed and two doors leading out – that was it. One door probably led out to the hall, and one door probably led to a bathroom.
There was no sign of Danny.
I had no idea how much time I'd been unconscious for; but judging by my dry throat and roaring stomach, it had been a while.
I tried to yell, but all that came out was a croak. My head was pounding in time with my heart, God I hurt so much.
I remember Danny telling me that pain is just your body's way of telling you it's damaged; ok body, I've got the message, can you turn off the pain now? Please?
I heard a noise coming from behind one of the doors, I turned my head too fast, and I spiralled out of consciousness again.
Ranger's POVI'd just concluded business in Boston, and I was on my back home, on my way to seeing my Babe. Could things get any better?
Apparently not, but they could get much worse.
My cell rang just before I boarded my private jet.
'Yo.' I answered.
'Boss.' Something in Tank's voice made a hard ball of ice form in the pit of my stomach.
'Talk.' I snapped out.
'Danny's in hospital.' Tank hesitated, 'Boss…we can't find Steph.'
I ran onto the plane, 'Fly to Trenton, NOW.' I ordered the pilot.
'Sir, we're not cleared for flight yet…'
'DO IT.' I snarled at him.
'Yes sir.'
I turned my attention back to Tank, 'Explain.'
'Danny and Steph left Vinnie's at approximately fifteen hundred hours. They travelled to their newly acquired Fta's home: one Aldwin Fairhouse. At sixteen hundred hours the comm. room contacted me because Danny's bronco hadn't moved position in fifty minutes. Bear, Nick, Cal and I all drove to the location. The living room was trashed; Danny was unconscious in the centre of the room. We called an ambulance; Nick went with Danny to the hospital and I assigned Hal as an additional guard for Danny. We searched the house from top to bottom three times; there wasn't a trace of Steph anywhere.'
My mind was in turmoil, I couldn't think, I could barely breathe. Steph. Babe. Oh God let her be ok.
I forced myself to get a grip, I could freak out later, but not now.
'What's Danny's condition?'
'Not good. He's taken multiple hits to the head, and to the rest of his body. He has several broken ribs and the doctors were worried about internal damage. He hasn't come around. I suspect his attackers left him for dead.'
'Recovery?'
'He has a fifty/fifty chance. If he wakes up fairly soon, everything should be ok. If he doesn't…'
'You've alerted the police?'
'Yeah.'
'Have we received a ransom note – anything about Steph?'
'No, but it's too early, you know that. If she's been kidnapped it's because they want you to sweat.'
'Have you informed her family?'
'Yeah, they're with Danny now.'
'I'm on my way back. Keep me updated.' I hung up.
There was nothing constructive I could do now, not until I could get on the scene or talk to Danny. So instead I let myself breakdown.
I slumped to the floor of the plane.
I can't live without you Babe; I need you. I can't lose someone I care so much about again, not after losing my parents the way I did.
You're ok, you must be.
I'll find you.
Hang on Baby, I'll find you.
Steph's POVWhy black? I've been thinking about it, but really why black? Why does everyone have to dress in black to be a bad-ass?
It's actually pretty hard to make sure you have matching shades of black, but it'd be hard to take someone seriously in odd shades of black. It's a lot of hassle really. So really, why black?
Maybe I should start a new trend; I could wear red. Blood red. Hmm, would that be wet blood or dry blood? – cos you know, that would make all the difference. Wet blood is violent and dangerous – but if you got actual blood on it, it wouldn't be very practical because eventually the blood would dry and then you'd have dry bloodstains. So maybe I should dress in dry blood colour.
I was glad I'd reached that conclusion, because that was what I was wearing. Dried blood.
When I'd come to again, a man (dressed in matching shades of black), had approached the bed. He didn't say anything; he just drew a knife and stabbed me in my left shoulder. I gritted my teeth at this new pain, but I refused to scream, refused to give him any satisfaction.
As the blood welled up he cut my t-shirt from me, leaving me in a bra and pants. Then he removed the pants, leaving me in bra and panties.
I glanced down at my body and wished I hadn't; I was black and blue and every shade in between. Not a good look.
Silent Man in Matching Black had then used his hand to smear my blood over my body – making me look far more injured than I really was. I wanted to tell him not to bother, that I was injured enough without exaggerating things, but my throat was bone dry, and it probably wasn't a good idea anyway.
'Close your eyes.' Not-So-Silent Man in Matching Black said.
I glared defiantly at him. He met my eyes, then spread my legs wide and reached forward, gripping my panties like he was going to rip them off me.
'Ok! I'll close my eyes.' I croaked out. I closed my eyes and slumped back on the bed, his fingers left the top of my panties – leaving me with panties intact.
I moved to close my legs, but his hands stopped them. He gripped my ankles and pulled me down the bed so that my arms were stretched painfully behind me; blood welled up from my wound again and he repeated the process of spreading the blood over me. He pushed my legs further apart so I was spread eagled. I kept my eyes closed as I heard the familiar click of a camera.
After the clicking stopped I opened my eyes. 'Water?' I asked.
Not-So nodded once and disappeared out of the door on the right. He returned a long minute later and held a glass to my lips, 'slowly.' He cautioned.
You could almost imagine he cared – if he hadn't stabbed me moments before.
I was hungry, still thirsty, and I'd lost blood. Which is why my thoughts are going crazy, staggering from topic to topic like a drunk does to pubs.
So now I was staring at my blood-smeared chest, contemplating changing my wardrobe to dried blood red – it was quite a flattering colour on me.
