Dear readers: My laptop met a body of water that it didn't like. The story wasn't saved anywhere else so all was lost and I am re-writing the final part of the ending – from scratch since I wrote this story in the spring. I don't remember exactly how it was written, so it's all new. The end is the same tho. I won't go into the nightmare this is. Since I am still re-writing the end and I haven't updated anything, I thought I would give you this. I feel bad that this has happened and you've had to wait. I apologize.
Also: I was told that I didn't say what was keeping CTG and Parson from helping Ana at the previous chapter's end – they were being tased.
And: I hate reading the dialogue of impaired characters, so although this Ana is drugged/drunk, I haven't written her dialogue in such a way that you can't understand. I've never taken the drugs Ana is on. Send all snarky guest reviews to Google for all the wrong symptoms I get wrong. That's where I found them.
Chapter Twenty-nine
~Anastasia~
"Ana!" "Ana!"
A strong grip digs into my shoulders.
"Ana!" "Ana!"
Christian's voice calls out to me. He's finally on the other side of the water, that foul and murky gray water. The grip on my shoulders tightens and shakes me. There are so many lights. I'm confused. Why is a kaleidoscope of colors leaving Christian's mouth?
I blink, and blink, and blink again, trying to figure out where I am. My vision is fuzzy and I feel like throwing up. Has a pounding bass drum replaced my head? It's painful and heavy. Where am I? I was in the bathroom with Christian and Parson, and now it seems they've taken me elsewhere.
I'm on something soft.
"Christian," I slur. My mouth is dry and it hurts when I swallow.
Doing my best to sit up, my heart feels like it's beating so slowly that the blood in my body surely isn't flowing. My eyes are two slits and what I can see is unfamiliar. I'm on a bed and a blue blanket covers me. The light in the room is dim. I can't make sense of my surroundings.
I try to sit up, but slide down. Where are my hands? Oh, my God. Where are my hands? I make a pathetic attempt at kicking my legs, but they're too heavy and I can't move them. I need to look under the blanket to see if my hands are under it.
No. Pain shoots down my arms and tells me to stop thrashing. Wait. My hands aren't under the blanket. They're behind my back and something has them tightly bound together. My wrists hurt, and unease begins to flow through my veins.
Why hasn't Christian answered me?
I'm startled by a loud clapping noise.
"Christian?" My voice doesn't sound right. What the hell is going on?
I'm shaken again and this time the grip on my shoulders is quite painful. The face that I see between the slit of my eyelids isn't my husband's.
I'm sure the unease should be fear, but the man smiling down at me has bright stars for eyes. They sparkle. I think I'm shaking my head in amazement. I've never seen anything like them.
"I really need you to wake up, Ana." The voice hovers close to my ear and I inhale sharply. A cold sensation flows over me and it feels good. It feels so good.
All of the words are colorful as they swirl and dance around and above me. My head spins and dips. I'm upside down on a rollercoaster and I try, and I try, and I try, to open my eyelids further.
"I'm about to pour some water on her face," the man who's looking down at me says. He sounds like he's speaking from under water. I flinch because he yells near my ear. His teeth are like a shark. I turn my head so he can't bite me.
"The fuck you are. Not on my bed. Toss her ass in the shower and give her a blast of cold water." It's another man's voice this time and I don't think he's near me. His words aren't colorful or dancing around me.
"Christian?"
Both of the men laugh and a blue mist decorates the walls.
"Ana, Christian Grey isn't here. It's just you and me. Oh, and my dickhead buddy Slade over there," The man says into my ear.
A sudden movement catches my attention. It's a quick flash of green light that leaves the shadows of a corner of the room. It's the other man. He's staring down at me. I squint at him and he waves at me. His face isn't clear. Dark hair is covered behind white flowing gauze. I could stare at it forever.
"I'm Slade," he says. "Don't believe Jack. I'm not a dickhead, and I also got that puke covered costume off of you. So, you're welcome."
Does he expect for me to respond to him? I can't even think.
"Shut the fuck up. She'd probably rather be in puke covered clothes than know you stripped her down and is now only wearing one of your shirts." I think, maybe, that was this Jack guy who said that.
I peer up at this man called Jack. His eyes are stars, but there's something about the white lights in his beard and hair. What does it remind me of, and is his beard the shape of a trumpet? Yes, it's white because it's angelic, but it can't be if it's a trumpet, because that would make him an Angel's Trumpet. An Angel's Trumpet is poisonous. It only takes one to kill you. Is this Jack an Angel's Trumpet? If he is, I have to keep away from him.
I scoot away when he sits on the bed beside me. He uses a hand to grab my cheeks and turns my face in his direction. His eyes are so bright that my eyes nearly close and I'm afraid that he's going to get poison on me.
"Enough fucking around," he says, then holds up a cell phone. "We're going to call your husband's number one man. I'm going to tell him how much money we want, and blah, blah, blah. I'm sure Grey is going to demand to hear from you, just to know that you're alive. Simple enough," Jack finishes.
I make another attempt to sit up and scoot away but fail. The other man, Slade, sighs impatiently and pulls me up by my wrists. It's painful and I yell out.
"What the fuck, man? We agreed. No hurting her," Jack, who definitely looks like an Angel's Trumpet says.
"Really, Jack? You tried to rape her at work of all places, and if word on the street is true, you left her with brain damage, and you're telling me not to hurt her," the man who just hurt me, tells the other man.
The pounding in my head intensifies as the guy named Slade talks louder. He must be flush with one side of the bed, and the poisonous one, flush with the other. I've been pulled up and pushed back on the pillows resting on the headboard. The blue blanket keeps swaying like an ocean. My head sways with each wave. A rainbow surrounds us and now I hear a nearby waterfall. It's growing louder. And louder. I feel woozy as I stare into a wall of water.
I feel a finger prodding my cheek. "Did I cause you brain damage?" This I know is Jack.
Swallowing is like trying to eat fire. I do my best to push words out of my dry mouth. "Maybe a little," I whisper. Who in the hell is talking for me? I don't know anyone who sounds like this.
"I knew you'd been hurt before I got the hell out of Washington, but only heard how badly when I got back. Yeah, I wanted your pussy, but didn't want to fuck you up," Jack says.
My legs feel cold from the water that's lapping over them and I look at them. They're bare. The blanket that had covered them is gone. A coherent thought breaks through and I rub them together. I don't have on any panties. I'm only wearing what feels like a t-shirt. That thought tap, tap, taps, on my slowly beating heart and wakes it up. However, I can't do anything. My body doesn't belong to me.
Jack gets closer to me, phone in hand. Looking at me, he winks. "I don't think keeping you quiet is going to be a problem, Ana, but if it is on this phone call, I will duct tape your mouth. I'll let you know if I want you to talk. Got it?" he says.
"What…what are you going to do with me?" I hear my slurred words crack.
Both men laugh. My body feels the sensation of being touched and pulled off of the bed. Then, calloused fingers grasp my chin, roughly tilt it, and squeeze my face so tight it forces me to look at the man who must be Slade. Smiling, he tilts my head back further. I don't have to try to see underneath the gauze that covers him to know that he's enjoying this. Based on his laughter, Jack is as well.
Slade sits, and pins and needles stick through my skin as I feel him pull me onto his lap. Cold air touches my lower body and it feels like I'm being yanked backwards. A strong and hard rock arm encircles and holds me tightly. My back is to this man and I'm jerked back by what I know is a hand on my chin. My head's also on his chest. He grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back and I feel being rocked back and forth. Something hard is digging into my lower body. It's so hard and so hot. I'm being pulled back and forth. It's hard like granite. It's a volcano. It's hotter than lava. It's scorching me and I can't move a muscle.
I'm so, so, so, hot and I can feel that my hair is matted to the sweat on my face and neck. My insides feel like boiling water. A desert has replaced my tongue and is rightfully demanding rain.
In the middle of all my body's sensations, a loud voice booms around me.
"What the fuck, Slade? Stop it! We agreed. Hands off. She's a ten-mil paycheck, not a rape charge. Quit dry humping her," he yells.
The movement doesn't stop and I realize that I'm becoming entangled in the gauze - it's choking me. Oh, it's his leg. His hips.
"Again, you nearly raped her at work, and now you're pretending to be a choir boy? I know better. Shove that good boy act somewhere else." Something painful clamps down on my ear. Teeth? "A rape kit wouldn't show shit because I've got condoms. All you've got to do is not go sadistic on her and we can take turns until we get the money and get the hell out of here." This Slade sounds angry.
"Fucking stop so I can call the G-man. We're on a schedule in case you've forgotten," Jack's voice barks.
Their words are causing my boiling blood to freeze from terror. I'm wrapped within the gauze of a man who wants to stay between my legs. He wants to stretch me and tie a knot in the gauze so I can't get out and won't ever be the same. Yes, this man is the granite. He's the dangerous volcano that can erupt and make me sticky. This man, this Slade, he holds me and I'm at his mercy.
My head lolls when Slade roughly pushes me on the bed. I land face down. From the corner of my eye, I watch Jack turn my head to the side facing him. Something wet is running out of my mouth and his star eyes look disgusted. I watch a hand grab the blue water blanket and wipe my chin.
"Fucking drooling. Jesus Christ."
"You shouldn't have given her so much, Jack. You're lucky she hasn't OD'd."
"I'm calling. Shake her if you have to."
"Keep it quick and then stomp the phone to pieces."
The gray water is seeping into the room. It's still cloudy, foul, and loud. There's so much noise in the gray water. My ears can't stand the gray water.
"Good evening, Mr. Taylor," I hear Jack start. "I believe I have something you want…I don't my name is relevant. Ten million. You've got until six. Don't make me laugh. He probably has that much in a safe at home. Speaking of home. We've got eyes on Master Grey. We hope you've got top notch babysitters on him…I can do that." Jack stops.
What did any of that mean? Master Grey? Christian doesn't need a babysitter.
Oh, please stop. That hurts. Please stop. It hurts. A hand is fisted in my hair and pulling my head back and forth. The left side of my head is screaming.
"Ana, tell your husband that you've never felt better than you do right now," the poisonous one demands as he firmly presses something hard up to the side of my head.
"Ana! Baby, are you okay? Have they hurt you? ANA!"
Christian. Finally, finally, truly, it's Christian, yet he sounds so upset. Don't be upset Christian.
Don't do that, it hurts. Please, please stop! My hair is twisted even tighter. "Bitch, say something." I don't know if that's Jack or Slade.
"Christian," I spit, something flows from my mouth and nose. I cough and color shoots across the room. So many colors.
I hear distant words and noises but I can't make them out. I don't want to try. The fist in my hair loosens and drops my swimming head onto the bed. Then all is quiet. The voices and colors leave me alone on the soft blue water that can't cool my overheated body.
My heart is beating so fast that my lungs are having a hard time keeping up with it. My chest hurts. It hurts. I'm nauseous and fighting the vomit that my body wants to spew. God, how my shoulders and wrists ache. It's a purple ache that shines from behind me. It glows. My hands don't glow. They have long since gone numb – probably have fallen off. I cry for my hands and my tears are purple. I cry my purple tears until everything goes black.
"…after I got away from SIP, I made it down here to Puyallup because I knew that Slade would help me out. The first part of that plan went fine, but it was torching the piece of shit car of mine that went off the rails. Fucked me up, really bad, and I couldn't go to a hospital near Seattle because I was wanted for attacking you. I don't even remember how far in Oregon that hospital was…I was in there for a few days. I left way before I should have since Grey had sharks everywhere. Anyway, Slade let me stay here until I was able to get the fuck out of Washington. I had to work shit jobs that paid me under the table and that really pissed me off. One day I got curious about life back here and did some online cruising. I saw where you had married the boy billionaire. Read about that big mansion that was being built. I read it, and compared it to how Grey blackballed me from ever having a decent job again. That's why I came up with this plan. First step was finding a way to get access and info about the Grey family. Decided I'd try to get hired by Grey Construction and be on the crew that was building your palatial palace. I couldn't believe the day you happened upon me and didn't recognize me. I didn't know about your memory loss, you see. At that time, I didn't even know which Grey that I wanted to grab. I knew that it didn't really matter. That asshole husband of yours would pay the big bucks for any of you-"
"Jack, why the fuck are you talking to an unconscious woman?"
"You answered your question. She's unconscious," Jack replies.
Hold up, Jack.
My brain is addled and I'm confused, but I'm not quite unconscious. I'm conscious enough to know that I've been drugged by you, and more than likely, by this other man as well. I'm still drugged and can't think straight, but I'm conscious enough that I'm aware of what little I'm wearing and what that could mean, frightens me. I'm also conscious enough that I heard every word you just said. I don't know if I'll remember it, but I heard it.
I also know who you are. I know what you did to me and what all it took away from me.
However, it's obvious that I was unconscious, and I don't know how, when, or why.
Where am I?
My last memory is eating dinner at tonight's party. Wait. Is it still tonight? I don't know what time it is.
My head is still turned away from both of these assholes and I haven't opened my eyes or moved. Shit. Days could have gone by for all I know. How in the world did anyone grab me? I hope I didn't do something stupid that made it easy for them to get me, but how could anyone get close enough to drug me?
God, my wrists and arms hurt. Hell, everything from my shoulders down hurt. It feels like they've used zip ties to bind my wrists together. My hands are probably blue from being so numb. Fucking jerk offs. If they are holding me for one cent of Christian's money and he gives it to them, I swear that I'll cut his balls off. That thought is ridiculous. These guys won't be walking away with a penny. Hell, they probably won't be walking at all.
Jack Hyde came back to Seattle and helped build our home. If I wasn't so scared, that fact would be comical. Elliot's going to have to get a human resource department to weed out criminals and stop paying his employees under the table. Christian's going to lose his shit when he finds that out. God, I know that he's already losing his shit over me. I wonder if Jack and this friend of his have contacted Christian yet. Surely they have. However, if they contacted Christian, Jason and his garrison of security would have that call traced immediately. At least I think they would. I hope that they would.
Oh, my God. What are they going to do with me? What have they already done to me that I can't remember? Did they rape me? Jack tried once unsuccessfully. I wish that I could remember. This is so much worse than when I would blackout. My mind would clear after I came to. This time there's nothing but a black hole and I'm afraid that I'm still too fucked up to help get myself out of here. The first thing that I've got to do is find out where 'here' is.
Jack said Puyallup, and that's south of Seattle. I just don't know how far away. But 'here' can't exactly be near other houses or in a residential area. Would it be? I wonder if I was so drugged that I couldn't scream or yell for help.
I listen as the two men talk about meaningless shit. There's a television on and I can hear a broadcast of the ball dropping at midnight. I don't know if that's live or a re-play.
My bladder wakes up and makes itself known painfully. I think if I could get a little weight off of my stomach then it wouldn't be so uncomfortable. But I'm too afraid to move. I also don't want to pee all over the bed. I attempt to recite the alphabet to get my mind off pissing myself. Naturally, it doesn't work. My body wants to exhale the breath I'm deeply holding. If I do, one of them could see if I'm being watched. I know that I'm not alone in the room. I slowly exhale, and that only makes the urge to pee worse. I refuse to piss on myself and be left in the puddle of it. Fuck. I don't have any other choice.
Please, please, don't let them kill me.
Please.
I swallow, rather, I try to swallow. It's painful. My mouth is dry and my throat feels raw. I hope I'm able to speak loud enough for one of these assholes to hear me.
Please don't let them kill me.
"Hey." My voice sounds like a scratched record. I hear nothing.
Swallowing, I try louder, "Hey!"
Nothing.
Am I talking in my head or out loud?
I finally open my eyes. The room is masculine. I'm on a dark blue comforter. The room is lit from a lamp on a white oak bedside table. There's a ceiling fan. The floors are hardwood. Pictures of people hang on the walls. I expected to be in a broken-down shack. That's not the case.
The lighting, even though it's dim, hurts my eyes. I blink several times before trying to get these fucker's attention.
"Hey!" I manage more forcefully. I kick my legs on the mattress.
And third time's the charm.
"Hey, yourself, Sleeping Beauty! How ya feeling?" It's Jack. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.
I clear my throat and raise my head. My neck is sore and my head feels like it weighs a ton.
"I have to use the bathroom. Please." I'll play nice. Maybe he won't crush in the right side of my head.
Jack walks to the bed and looks down at me. He reaches to move my hair off of my face and I flinch. This man looks nothing like the bald and scarred man I saw working for Elliot. This bastard has long blonde hair and a full blonde beard. Both are dyed.
Weird.
He's scrutinizing me. It's creepy, but I don't care. My bladder is about to burst.
"Please. I really have to go," I croak.
Jack's still staring at me. He's in faded jeans and what looks like a red flannel shirt. Suddenly, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a utility knife. I inhale and screw my eyes shut. Jesus, he's going to stab me.
I hear laughter. It's gruff and low. "Calm down. I've got to cut you loose. Don't think of fucking around, though," Jack tells me.
I ignore him, sighing when my arms are free. They fall at my sides and quickly blood rushes to my hands. It's almost painful.
Jack reaches down and sits me on the edge of the bed. My body is weak and when he lets go of my shoulders, I nearly fall over. He grabs me before I face plant and picks me up in his arms like I'm his bride. I hold in a shudder.
The room spins when he begins to walk. My entire body is screaming from pain and I weakly put my arms in my lap. Both wrists are bruised and bloody. My hands are swollen. Long hair is wet and matted.
Jack uses an elbow to turn on the light to a large bathroom and the other man, whose house we're in, looms in the doorway.
"What's going on?" the man asks.
"Sleeping Beauty has to piss," Jack tells him. He lowers me to the toilet and raises the large white t-shirt I'm wearing.
Neither make a move to leave. Both are staring at me.
"Do you have to watch?" I ask, a dry tongue licking drier lips.
Jack's friend crosses his arms and grins. "Nah." He turns and leaves. Thank God.
Jack's still in the room. It's gross and I feel disgusting for doing it, but I start to pee. My body just can't help it, and whatever reason Jack has for watching me do it, at this moment I don't care.
Once my bladder is no longer my enemy, I exhale from relief and find Jack holding a wad of toilet paper in front of me. My eyes raise to his. Does this freak want to wipe me?
He must be able to read minds because he answers, "Take it, Ana. If you can, that is."
Both arms feel like weights are hanging from the ends of them but I lift my right one and take the toilet paper. My gaze never leaves his eyes and he turns his back to me. I wipe myself and clumsily flush the toilet. I don't try to stand, though. I know that I'd collapse if I tried to. Jack turns on the sink and wets a wash rag that he wipes my hands with. Then he uses it to wipe the hair that's all over my face and neck. He's being surprisingly gentle and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Maybe he's being the good kidnapper and his friend is the bad one.
Jack pulls me to my feet and I sway. The room tilts and I fight the urge to throw up. He carries me back to the bed, and thankfully, he doesn't tie my wrists back together. I'm propped up on a couple of pillows and Jack flops down in a recliner near the bed. He pulls a MacBook off the floor and settles it on his thighs. He doesn't address me. It's like I'm not in the room. And who has a recliner in their bedroom? Oh, I bet they put it in here because they're watching me.
I'm more alert than I was before and am taking in more of my surroundings. It looks like we're in a cabin. A very nice cabin. The only thing that looks out of the ordinary are the dark blue blackout curtains on all of the windows. There's no way any light can break through them – and there's no way I can see outside. Where am I?
I close my eyes and do my best to relax. I do my best to push back the fear that I'm going to be raped or murdered. Or both. I'm doing the best that I can to push away the fear that I was raped when I was unconscious. Jesus. I can't relax, and Jack's pecking away on that damn laptop, causing my head to hurt more. I'm so thirsty.
"Can I have something to drink? My mouth is really dry. Throat's sore," I've opened my eyes and whispered.
Jack stops pecking and looks at me. "Water."
It's not a question, but I don't care. I nod.
"Slade!" he yells, causing me to jump. "Bring me a bottle of water."
"Thank you." I continue to make sure I'm the overly grateful captive so I don't get my throat slit.
Slade, a tall man, with dark brown hair walks into the bedroom. He's wearing a pair of khakis and a black fleece. He tosses a bottle of water at Jack, who isn't looking. The bottle hits the top of a dresser and knocks a few things off. They hit the floor hard. Jack swears.
"Fuck, man! If you broke my phone, I'm going to kick your ass!" he exclaims, putting the laptop down and bending to the floor. I can't make out everything he picks up. I hear keys, and squint at Jack. His back is to me, but I can see what look to be several cell phones in one hand, a set of keys in the other. He tosses everything, except one cell phone, back to where they were.
And where they are isn't far from me.
Holy shit.
I close my eyes and hope like fuck that neither of these fools saw my eyes find those cell phones.
Oh, God. What can I do? Anything?
I know that I couldn't do shit with a pair of keys if someone paid me to, but I'd bet on myself to be able to call for help.
Fuck.
I don't know where I am. I couldn't tell anyone where I am even if they had a gun to my head. I could call 911. Surely, 911 can trace a cell phone. Thoughts are battering my skull. I'm almost positive Jason and his gang of merry men could trace it if I stayed on the line long enough. But I can't fucking remember their cell numbers. Every single number is programmed in my phone. Every one of them is a number that I don't know.
911 is my only hope and them being able to trace it to where I am is a hail Mary.
Jack and Slade haven't been beating the shit of me or raping me, but I know that could change in a heartbeat. Jack Hyde has already fucked up my life by assaulting me. I'm not delusional. I don't think he wouldn't do it again. And this Slade man? He's a piece of garbage as well, or he wouldn't be a part of this. So, I have to come up with a fucking plan to get help because I don't hear help knocking on the front door.
"You're lucky that didn't crack the screen," Jack starts. "Same goes for the burners. I'm not going into town if you fuck those up. Ana, open your eyes. Here's your water," he finishes.
I open my eyes and mouth, however, my brain opened up when Jack said, "I'm not going into town."
We must not be inside the city of Puyallup. We're in a cabin. Does that mean we're in the woods? Maybe?
I raise a shaky hand to hold the water to my lips and nearly drain half of the bottle. I rub my wet tongue along my dry lips and listen as the two bicker, hoping one drops another piece of knowledge that I can use to get the fuck out of here.
I drain the bottle and drop my arm to the bed. The empty bottle settles by my bare leg, and I'm suddenly aware of how exposed I am. I'm not sure I have the strength to cover myself. Slade, after asking Jack if he's hungry, turns and leaves the room. I watch his back disappear and then look at Jack, who's back on his ass in the recliner. This time, he's fucking around on his phone. I avert my eyes before he catches me staring at him.
"My legs are cold. Would you cover them up, please? My arms hurt –"
"They hurt too much to do shit. I know," Jack interrupts me. "We should have cut 'em off once we got ya here."
He makes his way to the bed and yanks the bedding so it's up to my waist. It feels like flannel.
"Thank you," I say. My voice is low and hoarse. It sounds like fabric being ripped by barbwire.
Jack stands over me. "You want some Tylenol or Motrin?" he asks.
I stare at him. He is nuts. He's already drugged me once tonight. I'm not giving him any more opportunities.
He laughs and sits back down. "I know. I wouldn't take anything from me either.
"What did you give me?" I ask, doubting that he'll tell me.
"GHB and GBL. Plus, you were drunk. I admit that I did give you too much and for a while we thought you were going to OD like your sister-in-law did," Jack says, surprising the hell out of me. It takes my drugged brain a half second to process the end of what he's told me. My heart stops.
My sore neck quickly turns to him. "Kate?"
The asshole doesn't even look at me. "Yep."
I hit the mattress with my hand and wince. "How is she? How do you know? Where is she?" Tears begin to run. My words are thick from snot.
Jack peers at me. His eyebrows drawn together as if he's confused why I care about Kate.
"They were loading her into an ambulance as we were leaving with you. We heard what was going on over the police scanner. Overdose. I don't know how she is." He sounds like he's telling this to a child.
My body shakes as I cry. "Do you know which hospital they took her to? Can you find out how she is? Will you find out if she's okay?"
"No, no, and no," he tells me. There's an edge in each two-letter word and I know to back off. I was already terrified. That terror was for myself. Now I'm terrified for Kate. She has to be okay. If everything turned out fine with me, and I wasn't taken to a hospital, and Kate was taken to a hospital, then I'm sure she's okay. I'm sure she's wide awake, sitting up in a hospital bed and demanding to be a part of the search team looking for me. She's irritating Christian, and playfully hitting on Sawyer. No, Sawyer is out of town. Then she's playfully hitting on Parson.
This is a fucking nightmare and I wish that I could take this lamp and shove it into Jack Hyde's brain. I don't know what I'd do to his friend in the other room, but it would be equally as bloody. God, I hope she's fine.
Please, God, let Kate be okay.
I will myself to stop crying and don't say anything else to Jack. He's back to ignoring me and I prefer that. My head's foggy and I still feel dizzy, but my mind is clearing up. My surroundings are coming in sharper and my eyes are better able to focus. I can't think about anything outside of this room right now.
My goal is only feet away from me. They are my only links to outside of this room and outside of this house. The only thing between me and my goal is a man. A rather large and strong man.
Fuck.
If I were the luckiest woman in the state of Washington, Jack would take that utility knife out of his back pocket and put it on this bedside table. I'd reach for it and stab the fucker in the neck and then finish off his friend. I'm not the luckiest woman in the state of Washington, though. Hell, even if I got that knife, I'm not sure if I could lift my arms to use it.
I wish that Jack would leave the room and I could snatch one of those cell phones so I could call 911. I don't know how a pre-paid burner phone works, but I've got to try something.
"We didn't do anything to hurt you while you were fucked up, Ana."
Jack's unexpected words startle me. I open my eyes. "What do you mean?" I ask.
"If I were in your position, I'd be scared that I'd been raped while I was out of it. I'm telling you that you weren't. I shouldn't say we didn't hurt you, 'cause Slade did get a little rough with you, but that's because he's a dickhead. Don't worry that you got raped. We didn't touch you that way," he tells me.
"How much money am I worth?"
Jack laughs. "What a way to put it, Ana. We want ten million. That's a drop in the bucket for your husband."
I swallow. My throat's sore and dry again. "Did you give him a deadline?"
Jack sighs. I hear him shift in his seat. "Yes, of course, we did."
"For what time?" I press. I know that I shouldn't press him.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it."
"What time is it? I mean, what time is it right now? Is it night or day?"
"ANA! Shut the fuck up! God, I forgot how you'd needle the fuck out of people asking questions. Close your eyes and go to fucking sleep."
I shouldn't have poked him. I knew that I shouldn't have and I did it anyway. Close your eyes and go to fucking sleep, my ass. Fuck you, Jack.
Feeling his eyes on the side of my face, I do close mine. Slade, the friend who slithers in and out of the room, comes in.
"You hungry?" he asks Jack.
"Yep. You ordering?"
"What do you think, dipshit? You want pizza?"
"Make mine a large with everything. Ana, you want pizza?" Jack asks me.
I open my eyes. I'm nauseous and hungry at the same time. Maybe if I eat, I'll get some strength that will help me get the hell out of here.
"Yes, please. Everything is fine," I reply.
I watch Slade raise a black cell phone. He hits one number. I guess the fucker has the pizza place on speed dial. I wonder what time this place is open. I suppose it could be open twenty-four hours.
Slade stands in the middle of the room. He makes no move to leave and then it hits me like a bat to the head. A tsunami of information is about to enter my head and I can't believe this man, these men, are so fucking stupid.
They're either fucking stupid or too cocky for their own good. They've underestimated their prey. Maybe I am as weak as they rightfully believe, but still, they're walking a fine line.
They're sloppy.
They're both sloppy.
I close my eyes and wait.
I wait.
"Yeah, this is Slade Robbins. I need four large pizzas with everything. Yep, four…I'm all the way down Estes Road so you guys meet me at the cut off on 18. What? 114 Estes Road, I'm the only house. Nah, that's cool. It's about twenty, right? I'll meet you down there."
I'm trying my best to not smile. I'm trying my best to appear half asleep.
He's just handed me his downfall. Jack's downfall.
I only have to get to one of those cell phones. I could also wait and see if Jason and his detail find me first.
I still can't believe he stood beside me and spit out the address of where we are.
His name.
I already know Jack's name.
Maybe Jack drugged this fool as well.
"Is it still raining?" Jack asks Slade.
"Nah, but it rained enough to make the road muddy as hell."
"You're an idiot for living at the end of a dirt road."
"I like my privacy," Slade replies. "And now it's paying off."
I don't open my eyes. I know that he's referring to me.
"Shit. I want some mozzarella sticks. I'm going to call 'em back," Slade says.
He doesn't ask if Jack wants any. I crack my eyes open and watch him leave the room. I'm still doing my best not to smile.
"Does that pizza restaurant stay open all night?" I ask Jack.
"Yep," he replies. He's back on his laptop.
I hear the front door close and a vehicle starts soon after. It sounds like it's parked close to the house.
I wonder if Jack has a vehicle and it's here. His keys are on top of the dresser. I'm looking directly at them. If it is, it could be parked as close to this house as Slade's vehicle was. That would be good if I could get his keys. I could get his keys and make it to his car and leave.
No, Ana. That's too much for you to do. I look at my wrists and still swollen hands.
What I need to do is draw help to me. I need to get a phone.
I no longer have to worry if 911 can trace a call.
I have names.
Jack Hyde.
Slade Robbins.
I have the address of this house.
114 Estes Road. Puyallup.
Now I have to get to one of Jack's cell phones.