Disclaimer: Jess, Rob and the motorcycle belong to Meg Cabot and various publishers around the world.

Chapter five

"You!" I gasped "what ha…how did yo…why aren't you where you belong, you sick ..mmph?" I managed, before Rob managed to slap his hand across my mouth.

"What Jess means, Mr Henderson," he continued smoothly "is that we thought you were in prison and are somewhat surprised to see you."

Just then the lights, which I hadn't previously noticed, flickered on above our heads, revealing two men with guns standing either side of our old friend. Jim noticed the direction of my gaze, which was somewhat hampered by the hand Rob still hadn't removed, and said, smiling, "just so that you don't try any funny stuff, you understand. Anyway, back to Hank's comment, yes, I was in prison but not anymore. Turned out a coupl'a the guys who worked there were rather impressed by my ideas." His hand flicked up to a scar that hadn't been there before, a big ugly thing, right across his face, and he continued "as y'all can see, some of them heathens I had to share a cell with weren't so thrilled." His face twisted and he continued "and it was you that put me there."

"Us?" I said angrily, wrenching Rob's hand from my mouth, What do you mean we put you there? You put …"

"Oh no, girlie" he interjected "not your boyfriend. It's you that knew where I was. It was you the cops followed. And it's you who's going to pay for this, by finding a few people I need to chat with"

"What do you mean I'm going to pay?" I demanded angrily, "cos if you think for one second that I'm going to help you with some sick plan, you've got another think coming."

His face, already ugly, looked even worse when twisted into sickening smirk as he advanced menacingly across the room. "You, girly, seem to be forgetting that you're locked up in my cellar with my armed guards on the door and you'll do exactly as I say if you ever want to see that family of yours, or even the sky, ever again. Clear?" And on that threat he turned on his heel to make a dramatic exit.

Well, it would have been a dramatic exit, if I hadn't chosen that moment to say sweetly "Mr. Henderson?" He turned and I took a leaf out of Seth's book. "Eat my shorts," I said before spitting – quite accurately – right in his face. That, on reflection, was possibly a mistake. Despite Rob turning me and throwing me back on to the mattress with his own body over mine, I still felt a couple of agonizing blows from Jim's steel capped boot – God knows what it must have been like for Rob – before I wormed an arm out and grabbed his ankle. Everything went down hill from that point as one of the armed thugs from the door rushed over and began raining blows on us with his feet and the butt of the rifle. As he hit my wrist I let go of Henderson's ankle but he kept on hitting and eventually, much to my relief, I felt oblivion claim me for the second time in less than a day.

A/N: Sorry that this took so long; I needed to get this in but because of Christmas and school work this kind of got put on the backburner for a while. Parts of this aren't as good as I would have liked and please forgive any really screwy bits since most of this was written under the influence of a horrible cold, huge doses of my asthma medication and a painkiller-heavy cold remedy