Page 7 of Soul

The buzz blasts through the silence followed by, “Agent Brennen,” delivered through the car’s surround sound.

“Agent Brennen, how do you want to handle this?”

Static crackles through the line as the agent fills us in on the plan. We’re going to park about a half mile from the property and walk up. If he sees any activity, he’ll call for reinforcements before we go in. Everything has to be by the book. Thank Christ he’s not in the car with us. I want to reach through the line and strangle him myself. By the fucking book, my ass. If I see anything suspicious, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.

Jack ends the call and brings the SUV up to a covered area. “We’re close enough. The land should be just up that path,” he points through the window.

“You have your gun?” I ask.

“Guns? Yes.” He turns around and hands me a 9 mm. It’s the same gun I’ve shot a hundred times before. Jack has trained me well with this particular pistol, and at this moment, I’ve never been more grateful.

“Let’s go then,” I say while tucking the gun into the back of my jeans. I toss my suit coat on the seat, and Jack hands me a black zip up sweatshirt and Kevlar vest. Not my usual fine threads but it will do. Leave it to an ex-military sniper to know exactly what is needed.

We meet up with Agent Brennen and Thomas walking alongside the wooded edge. Eventually, we come to a clearing. It’s massive with woods surrounding the open space. A lone motor home sets in the middle of the wide enclosure. There are no lights on in the motor home.

“You two stay here; Detective Redding and I will go in first. Cover us from here. Stay hidden in that outcropping of trees. We’ll wave you over when the time is right.” Agent Brennen is efficient and tactical. He just earned a bit more respect from me.

Jack and I wait, guns drawn, and watch the two men creep onto the property. The moon is high and shines brightly on their exposed forms. A soft wind makes the leaves on the trees sway and sing a soft melody. Both Jack and I search for signs of movement. Thomas and Agent Brennen circle around the motor home, and I want nothing more than to storm the fucking place, open the door, and beat the shit out of the fucker who stole my woman, but I can’t. Adrenaline thunders through my veins making me hyperalert to every sound and subtle nuances of the woods surrounding our position. The snapping of a twig here, the rustling of an animal there, all coalesce into a myriad of sounds making my trigger finger twitch.

Agent Brennen opens the door to the motor home and goes in, Thomas hot on his heels. Nothing moves. Jack and I are dead silent waiting for something…anything to happen. I caress the trigger of my gun and lift it high, pointing directly at the motor home’s door. A figure emerges, my heart feels like it’s going to jackhammer out of my chest until the form enters the light of the moon. Thomas. His gun is down and he’s shaking his head. I slump against the tree I was standing near and take a few deep breaths. Jack is already in motion running across the overgrown grass.

When I meet up with them Thomas’s shoulders are slumped and he’s pushing a shaky hand through his hair. “He’s not here, but it looks as though he’s been here recently. There’s food in a cooler that’s still on ice. Someone has definitely been here and may come back. We need to head out, set up a perimeter. It could be anyone. A squatter or someone he’s renting the land to.”

“Wouldn’t there be records of that?” I ask.

“Not if he takes payment in cash. We need to look into this, notify the authorities in the area, find out if the motor home is in his name,” Agent Brennen adds. “and the rest of you need to fucking sleep.”

“Yeah, man, when was the last time you got some shut-eye?” Thomas adds.

“None of your goddamned business. Jack, let’s get a hotel. We’re coming back at first light to search this place.”

Jack tips his chin up and follows me back out of the woods.

The closest hotel is a shit hole, but I imagine it’s a hundred times better than what Gillian could be living in. Jack insists on connecting rooms. Says he has a bad feeling, and I’ve learned not to question those.

Jack enters the room and sets two pills on the sideboard, along with a bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped in plastic. Looks like the same sandwich I didn’t eat on the plane. “I’m not hungry,” I say even though my stomach growls loudly.

His eyes narrow. “You need to eat, drink the water, and sleep.”

“I told you, Jack, I’m not fucking hungry.”

Jack grips my shoulders hard and brings his face closer to mine, closer than he’s ever come at me before. “Look, you know I’m not usually the type to tell you what to do,”—his mouth pinches tight and his lips turn white—“but if you have any hope of bringing her home, you need to take care of yourself. Eat, take the fucking pills, and sleep it off. At first light we’re back on that land and smoking out whoever has been staying in the motor home. Got it?” He shakes my shoulders as if he was shaking sense into me.

I grit my teeth and look hard into his eyes. They are ebony holes of anger, not at me butforme. I give a tight nod, pick up the pills, and chug back the water. In what feels like a minute, I’ve demolished the sandwich never having tasted it.

Daniel

She better be clean and dressed for me. I can’t wait to burn that disgusting wedding gown. Today I’ll build a bonfire, shackle her, and have her watch while it goes up in smoke just like the memory of the rich fucker. Then, I’ll bring her into my motor home and prove how much I’ve missed having her body under mine. It will be perfect. I’ll kiss every bruise, cut, and scrape, showing her that I can worship her again. Just like before, only this time she’ll know the real me. Maybe I’ll even tell her my real name. She’d like that. Something no one else knows.

Kissing her yesterday was close to perfection until she bit me. Of course, that was because she was overtaken with lust. It has been well over a year since I’ve put my lips on her pretty pink ones. And her scent. Fucking hell, that vanilla lingers even after four days. Maybe she’s just that sweet, her body naturally creating the nectar to drive me wild.

I wade through the backside of the woods from my property. I’ve got my car hidden in a dilapidated barn on the abandoned lot next to mine. You can never be too careful. And now that she’s been missing for four full days, I’m sure all resources are being put to finding her. I smile to myself knowing they never will. If they didn’t figure out who I was before the wedding, they most certainly wouldn’t have since.

As I’m walking through the woods, the moisture from the early morning dew mists across my face keeping me cool. The trees give the air a rich, natural, woodsy scent. Reminds me of the good parts of my childhood. Running through the trees, climbing them, hiding from my father. The memories of him are always hiding just under the surface and being here has not helped me to forget.

My father and I used to shoot paintball guns in these woods. At seven years old, I was a professional. My father was better and ruthless. He didn’t allow me to wear protective gear. Said that I needed to learn how to be arealman. After a session of paintball in the woods, I’d barely be able to crawl home. Mom wasn’t much help. She’d clean me up, of course, or she’d end up getting smacked around, but she didn’t care that her child was hurt. I’d stand there naked, embarrassed, my entire body covered in black and blue bruises, red welts, and open sores. My father liked to use the stronger bullets and higher air speed toward the end of our game. A game. Shooting your seven-year-old repeatedly with hundreds of paintballs, was a game to him. One I lost every time, but not before getting in several of my own shots.

When I was ten, we stopped playing. I’d gotten as good as he was, and he ended up receiving as many hits as I did. One of the best days of my life was seeing my dad walking as if he was a cripple back to our home. Only my mother didn’t fare so well that night. He beat the shit of her, which she then took out on me the next day. Back then, I’d never hit a woman. Now, I know what women are. All useless holes to fuck, to shoot your wad in as many times as a wet pussy could take. Not my princess though. Her skin is white like an Angel’s. Her pussy is soft, pink, and snug. I shake with desire, recalling the last time I was inside her tight sheath.

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