Saving Serena (Hawk Security #1)

Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

Duke

I swerved onto the left shoulder and mashed the throttle, hurtling by another two cars before rejoining the lanes.

“Careful with the shoulder,” Lucas cautioned. “The crap over there can give you a flat.”

“Jordy, what’s the gap now?” I asked into comms.

“You’re getting close. Should have visual.”

Lucas craned his neck. “I don’t see them.”

“I’ve got Winston calling in,” Jordy said.

“That can wait,” Lucas decided. “How close?”

“Maybe fifty or a hundred yards.”

As we rounded a slight bend, I could see probably a quarter-mile ahead. There were a few SUVs and a ton of sedans and pickups. “I don’t see them.” I changed lanes and raced forward, dodging in and out of traffic and getting a few honks in the process.

“You’re really close,” Jordy said.

Lucas laid his SIG in his lap and put on the headset. “I don’t have anything from her body mic.”

I darted around another truck.

“You should see them easy now. You’re right on top of them. Twenty yards or less.”

The only vehicles here were two commercial 18-wheelers, a small Toyota, and a white Ford pickup. Then a fifty-yard gap to the next vehicles.

“Check each one,” Lucas said. “They could have switched cars.” He palmed his weapon, though he didn’t sound convinced.

We slowly passed each of them as I ignored the BMW sedan behind me flashing his high beams to get by.

“Fuck.” A family in the Toyota, two grizzled truckers in the big rigs, and now an elderly couple in the pickup.

“You’re within ten feet,” Jordy said excitedly.

“Double fuck.” An angry Lucas holstered his weapon. “Spinelli’s no amateur. I should have guessed he’d pull this. We’ve been had. Double back at the next exit.”

I mashed the pedal down and left the BMW sedan in our wake as I quickly hit a hundred.

“What happened?” Jordy asked.

“Oldest trick in the book,” Lucas said. “Tie the tracker to a dog’s collar and let him loose.”

“Only this time, the dog was a pickup,” I added, braking for the exit. “Where to?”

Lucas banged the dash. “We’re on the wrong freeway. Back to the one-oh-one.”

“The two companies she visited that first day are off the one-oh-one in Thousand Oaks,” I finished.

“It’s our best bet,” he agreed. “They most likely went west to Thousand Oaks. It’s not much, but it’s all we have.”

I accelerated down the on-ramp to go south back to the junction. Our situation wasn’t great, but at least Lucas and I were on the same wavelength.

“I’m patching Winston in now,” Jordy said.

“Go, Winston,” I answered as I merged into the lighter southbound traffic.

“The package of Rossi’s stuff arrived. I’ve gone through it, and found a receipt for a mailing to Serena at?—”

“She claimed she didn’t get anything,” Lucas retorted.

I shot my brother a glare. “I believe her.”

“Guys, let me finish. It went to a mailbox store. I’m on the way there now.”

“Winston, she’s been taken. We’re trying to catch up, but the clue to where they’re taking her may be in that package.”

“Copy that. Flank speed,” Winston replied.

My brother grimaced at the naval term, but off comms, he told me, “Sorry I doubted her.”

I nodded and continued weaving through the traffic to make up time toward Thousand Oaks.

“Watch out.” A man’s voice came over the comm link. “Maybe I should drive if we want to get there in one piece.” The voice was familiar.

“I’ve got to go this fast,” Winston said. “Your sister’s been taken.”

“Faster then. Pass this guy on right.”

“Winston?” I asked.

“Sorry. I’ve got Vincent Benson with me. He’s a cosigner on the box so I can get access.”

Lucas shook his head. “Keep him safe.”

“Copy that.”

“Copy what?” Vincent asked.

“I’m authorized to Taser you if you keep flapping your gums,” Winston said.

We didn’t hear anything else from Vincent.

“Jordy, what’s your twenty?” Lucas asked after a moment.

“Six miles behind you now.”

Serena

I woke on a couch in a dimly lit room.

“About time,” Johnson complained. “I want to get this question shit over with and get to the good times.”

A rock formed in my gut. Keep it together, Benson. Escape first. Feel sorry for yourself later.

He left the room and locked it.

I sat up. My wrists were duct-taped as before. Once again a breast was out of my bra. I fixed it. Pervert. He was so going to pay for that.

The door opened, and Aiden Pons, the COO of Knife Creek Chemical, entered, followed by the Spinelli brothers. I hadn’t liked him that first day, and really didn’t like him now.

“Cut her loose. There’s no need for that. We’re going to enjoy a pleasant lunch conversation with Miss Benson.” Pons sounded even more pompous than at our first meeting.

Johnson grunted something but cut the tape.

“This way,” Pons said, leaving the room.

I followed, rubbing at the tape residue on my wrists and watching for possible escape routes.

The brothers followed.

He led the way to an ornate dining room with a killer view of the valley below. A few acres of grapevines surrounded the house. The table was huge, and the chairs intricately carved. Lunch had been set for three—sandwiches and macaroni salad.

Maybe Pons wasn’t such a bad guy. Already I preferred him to either of the Spinellis, especially the pervert Johnson.

Checking for weapons as the master chief had taught me, I came up empty. “ Know the possibilities as soon as you enter a room, ” he’d instructed. “ You never know when an opportunity will present itself. ” Plastic spoons were the only utensils—no fork or knife to attack with. Even the water was in plastic cups.

“Please sit,” Pons said, moving to the head of the table and indicating the chair to his right. “Tony, by the door. Johnson, you may wait outside.”

Another grunt from Johnson, then the double doors closed behind him.

“This would have gone much easier if you’d agreed to my first invitation,” Pons told me. “Now sit. I insist.” When I didn’t budge, he raised his voice. “Now.”

Not seeing an advantage to resisting, I sat. My leg tremor started up instantly.

Pons’s tantrum fit Dad’s mold of always establishing dominance at the beginning of a meeting. “I suggest you stop checking for a weapon,” he added. “Mr. Spinelli is very thorough and also an excellent shot. I doubt you can hurt me with a plastic plate before a bullet comes your way.”

Spinelli grinned.

“Sorry, this is a new environment is all,” I said, my eyes still darting around.

Pons sipped his water. “Eat up. I’ve always found negotiations are best conducted over a meal.”

“No, thanks.” I don’t eat with slimy assholes.

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I assure you, the food has not been tampered with. You will find things much more enjoyable if you indulge me.”

I shook my head. “I’m good.” With my nerves, I wasn’t sure I could hold the food down.

He slammed a fist on the table. “I will not tolerate insolence.”

I flinched.

“If necessary, Mr. Spinelli will strip you bare and force-feed you like a baby.”

Spinelli’s chuckle got a scowl from Pons.

I picked up the sandwich and took a tentative bite. Please, Duke, now would be an excellent time to rescue me . I chewed slowly to stretch out whatever was going to happen and give Duke time to find me. He would find me. I knew it in my bones.

“You have the key I want.”

I schooled my face. This was the first time the drive had been referred to as a key.

“Having the contents of that box out there has caused me and my associates to lose a considerable amount of time and money.” His face twisted in anger. “I want it. And I want it now.”

The door opened. “Yaroslavsky has arrived,” Johnson said.

As if my day could get any worse. The Russian mob boss Duke had mentioned was a part of this?

“Take her upstairs,” Pons commanded. “I need to talk to Igor.”

Spinelli was at my side in an instant, yanking me up. So much for a pleasant lunch.

He shoved me into a spartan bedroom this time. It was clearly not a normal bedroom, as the lock clicked on a double-sided deadbolt as soon as Spinelli left. This was Pons’s version of a prison cell.

Checking the window, the drop from this height didn’t look too bad. I could make a rope out of the bedsheets to slide down. But when I slid the glass to the side, it stopped after three inches. A bar had been welded into the channel. Yup, this was a guest bedroom for involuntary guests.

Sliding to the side and peeking down, I saw a rotund man in a rumpled suit and two goons, one with a bald head and the other with a scary neck full of tattoos.

“How are you, Igor?” Pons said.

“Better when we have key.” Igor’s Russian accent was thick.

“Your brother was supposed to get it for us,” Pons said.

“Where girl?”

“Upstairs.”

“Where key?”

“She only just arrived, so I don’t have that answer yet.”

“No more room for drums. Your method too slow. Give her me, and I show how we do it in Russia. ”

“Very soon, I’ll be able to take your deliveries again,” Pons said.

Drums? Deliveries?

“Once this EPA situation is settled,” he continued, “we’ll both be making money again. God, I love the EPA. Every new regulation and fee makes us more money.”

The Russian laughed. “And short drive.”

Taking deliveries of barrels and needing to fix the EPA situation could only mean one thing. They were making money together by avoiding the fees for the proper disposal of hazardous wastes that were supposed to be going to Nevada for processing. I’d scratch their eyes out for putting innocent families at risk by polluting our water.

“I want see her,” Yaroslavsky said. “Maybe I try her and make offer. Brother always need new merchandise.”

I backed away from the window as my blood ran cold. An offer from him wouldn’t be to let me go. Oh no, I could guess all too well what happened to women who started that journey.

Quickly, I surveyed the room for weapons—a task I should have started as soon as the door closed. The plastic lamp was too small and flimsy. The room didn’t have a chair I could break apart. The walls were bare.

Yanking open the top drawer of the nightstand, I found a silver bracelet and handcuffs—two pairs, not the gentle fur-lined kind. I slipped a pair into my back pocket. I ran my fingers over the name engraved on the bracelet and returned it to the drawer—Natasha.

Footsteps sounded from the stairwell.

“See her first,” Yaroslavsky said.

“Look only. We should eat lunch first,” Pons said.

Pulling open the second drawer, I found a small riding crop, some rope, and two whips. That’s when I noticed the loops at the corners of the headboard. Fuck. This was Pons’s sex dungeon, just not underground.

“You have vodka?” Yaroslavsky said from just beyond the door.

“Of course.”

The only thing I could think of to do was make myself less-appealing merchandise. I scratched down my cheek as hard as I could. It hurt like hell, but it was worth it. I sat on the side of the bed, with the good side of my face toward the door.

The lock clicked, and the door opened.

“Some meat on her.” The Russian laughed. “I like.”

I turned my face toward the ugly fatso, letting him see the marks. The two big goons from outside stood behind him.

Yaroslavsky smiled at me. “I try after lunch.”

My stomach twisted. That wasn’t the reaction I’d wanted from my bloody face.

“I make offer after.”

Any more words from this pig, and I’d puke all over myself.

“She’s supposed to be mine.” That was Johnson from the hallway. “We had a deal.”

“I’m a capitalist. Highest bidder wins,” Pons said with a maniacal smile.

“You can’t do that. We had a deal,” Johnson repeated angrily.

Pons ignored the complaint. “Tough shit. That was before my Russian friend showed an interest. Highest bidder gets delivery after I’ve had her for a week.”

This was getting worse by the second. As much as I wanted to launch myself and claw his eyes out, I held back. This wasn’t the time. I’d only get one chance, and I had to make it count.

“Lunch awaits,” Pons announced.

After the door locked behind them, I rushed to the doorway and listened.

“What about us?” Johnson asked.

“You four can eat in the kitchen,” Pons answered.

The Spinelli brothers and Yaroslavsky’s two goons made four, meaning the hallway would be unguarded.

I replaced my shirt after taking off my bra. Biting at the tiny knot in the thread I’d used to sew the hole shut, I quickly removed the underwire. It was a procedure the master chief had made me practice until I could complete it quickly in the dark.

“ Time will be of the essence, ” he’d said. “ And seconds could make the difference between escaping or not. ”

I remembered the words well as I removed the second underwire and made the appropriate bends. Using one as the tensioner and the second as the pick, I worked the lock.

I swallowed a gasp when I felt the familiar give in the tension wire. Removing the pick wire, I carefully turned the lock and listened.

Nothing.

Slowly, I opened the door and found the hallway empty. Stepping out, I cringed at the squeak the door made closing. Had they heard it?