It takes longer than he wished, but eventually I figured out that even though I’m sad for Drew, I’m okay. I won’t spontaneously start crying the first time I talk to Clare today. I’m sad, but the worst of it is over. Drew promised I was safe from any retaliation from the mob and soon Richie will confess everything to the police or at least confess whatever his boss lets him, which is enough to get me off the hook. It didn’t end up a happy ending, but it’s a best-case scenario. It’s a secret the three of us will take to the grave.
“Miss, are you Aspen?” A slightly older man — in his mid to late forties — with slick gelled back hair wearing a big puffy coat, popular in the nineties asks standing next to me on the sidewalk.
Hudson is on high alert and takes a step between me and the man.
“No, I’m not.” I roll my eyes at Hudson’s behavior. The coast is clear. Everyone is safe.
“Are you with Aspen?” the man asks a second question.
I shrug. “Sure,” I am not with Aspen right now, but clearly she’s my friend.
My mind registers a clicking sound, like a pen and dread wells up in my stomach. I hope this man is a reporter planning to ask me a hundred questions about Aspen and Finn’s relationship. The worst thing would be if someone found out we hung out here every Sunday. The place would be crawling with reporters every time Finn did something with this company.
Surprisingly, tech news gets lots of coverage. You don’t get in the gossip rags very often, but there’s enough tech blogs out there who want to divulge every single thing they do. One time a cameraman caught Finn out in a pair of sweatpants and the entire internet community suggested he was going bankrupt. In reality Finn wears them a lot, but Aspen doesn’t usually let him leave the house in them. He left their apartment in search of a quick coffee without thinking what he had on and made the news. It’s not a life I’d want to live.
It’s not until a ray of sun catches off the glint of metal I realize the click wasn’t from a pen, but a gun. A very large gun. One so big it’s comical like something a villain in a movie would carry. It’s so overstated you can’t help but notice. A shot rings out and Hudson steps back, his body falling into mine. The noise echoes in my ear and Hudson’s arm flies out in slow motion. He clutches his chest on the side by his ribs as he slowly drops to the ground. I scream, putting my hand over his as a warm liquid runs over my fingers. The air in my lungs leaves, cutting off my ability to make sound, and my heart stops beating. I clutch my chest in agony over Hudson’s panicked expression.
“Hurry up, bitch.” The man I mistook for a reporter grabs me by my long hair and pulls me toward the edge of the sidewalk.
The back doors of a solid white van open and he pushes me inside. I bang my knee fighting not to get in the vehicle, but he presses the gun against my head, pulling my hair with his other hand, and forces me in the back.
I turn, and the last thing I see before the van doors close is the image of Hudson lying on the ground, a stream of red flowing beside his body on the sidewalk.
“Hudson!” I scream, but it’s cut off by the closing of the door. No one hears.
The van lurches forward and I fall into the back door, my head scraping against the frame of the window.
“This is not fucking Aspen!” a second man in the van screams at the fake reporter. “How the hell could you fuck this up, Eddie?”
The two argue, and the words ramble through my head. It’s hard to concentrate. I’m not sure what’s happening or where we’re going. All I know is I’m in a van and I shouldn’t be. My head stings and my fingers come back wet and red when I rub the spot. Now both hands are stained and bloodied. One from Hudson the one from the gash.
Vomit rises in my throat and I swallow dryly in an effort not to throw up. I’ve been kidnapped. My heart beats in a weird rhythm as I clutch my chest. I breathe in too much air, but none of it reaches my lungs. I panic, worried I’m drowning while above water. Little white spots flash in front of my eyes.
“She said she was with the Aspen. That’s good enough. I couldn’t wait around the sidewalk all fucking day. Someone had to make a move,” Eddie says pushing me back closer to the driver. I hit his hands away, but he brings a knee up and hits me in the stomach, stealing the small amount of air I’d managed to process.
“Tie her up at least.”
I push Eddie away with my free hands, no longer hitting him but doing what I can to keep him away. His accomplice approaches with small twine you find in every craft store. I’ve only seen it used on Pinterest, never such a horrific way as when he uses it to bind my hands and feet together. He turns, opening what looks like a tackle box, but when he turns back around his hand holds a needle. The metal tip is the longest I’ve ever seen. I squirm and try to get away, but Eddie holds my head to the side leaving a large part of my neck exposed. My muscles burn as I work to free my head.
“Stop wiggling. You want me to miss and kill you?” Eddie asks.
The needle gets closer to my neck and I can’t help but try to wiggle away. Eddie uses one hand in my hair to keep my neck to the side and his knees hold my legs in place.
I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, and I’ll probably die in this dirty van alone and scared.
There’s a pinch as the needle is inserted and a cool liquid floods my system. Whatever icy substance he injected travels from my neck to the rest of my body. With the coolness comes a paralyzing effect as my body stiffens and I lose control. My eyelids get heavy and I fight to stay awake, worried whatever they did will kill me if I fall asleep. Eddie’s hands travel out toward my knees, stopping between my inner thighs and the last thing I see before my eyes close is a look of pure evil, so deep it reaches his black soul.
23
Breathe. I hit reality with a start. Tears form as I blink my eyes to open them. My shoulder hurts, a tingling stiff sensation like I slept on it wrong. At one point I must have broken out in a cold sweat and my skin is clammy, moist yet chilled. My knuckle scrapes the hard ground underneath my body as I sit up and the events of what happened flood back. It wasn’t a bad dream. I’ve been taken right from the front of Cosmo’s. Kidnapped.
They shot Hudson.
I have no idea how long I slept or where I am. No longer in the van, the room is dark around me and it takes longer than I want for my eyes to adjust. Of course, there’s no positive to be found when they do. Sawdust and dirt smells permeate the air. On the ground there’s not only cold hard concrete but sharp pieces of wood. I wipe a few from my pants legs only to have them stick to the skin of my fingers.
As I try to stand, there’s a clink of metal. I tug my foot to find it doesn’t move. My leg is bolted to the ground with thick metal restraints, my movement restricted to a foot or so. Panic creeps in like claws. My stomach panics and I work to clear my thoughts, not that I have any.
Okay, Amanda. Think of the positives.
