Page 110 of Lucky Strike

31.Bria

Now

We drive for a while, maybe half an hour. I’m guessing we’ve left the city, because it feels like we’re on a highway, but I can’t be sure because minutes after they took us, the man to my right slipped a blindfold over my eyes.

“I won’t tie your hands,” he’d said softly, uncomfortably close as he reached across my body to fasten the lap belt. “Because I know it would hurt you. But don’t fuck around.”

My mind was racing at first, a dizzying jumble of worry and fear, but it’s quieted now. There’s only the steady hum of the road, the warmth of the heater, the ache in my ribs, the ache in my wrist, the ache in my stomach. Liam hasn’t said a word. I wish I could hold him. He’s terrified, I know.

The man on my right smells like cigarettes. The one on the left is bulky, large. Our abductors barely talk to each other, and when they do, they talk in code. And in English, not Russian or any other language. In fact, they sound just like the Kelly boys—Boston born and bred.

Does Lucky know we’re gone yet? How will he figure it out? And Mitch.Mitch.My eyes well up beneath the fabric. I’ve been praying he survived somehow, but it didn’t look good. I’ve never seen someone getshot. Seen someonedie.Tears fall, getting absorbed by my blindfold.I have to keep it together.

Eventually the vehicle slows, and we begin making stops and turns. We must be in a neighborhood again, a city or town. We stop. The engine shuts off and the doors open, replacing the heat with frigid air. I’m freed from my seat belt and tugged toward the door. Pain flares up with the movement, and I gasp. “Please, hold on?—”

“Bria,” Liam cries from the back.

There’s a muffled argument, and then a gentle pair of arms scoots me across the seat and out of the vehicle. I hear some shuffling and then little arms wrap around my thighs. Trying not to sob in relief, I hold Liam close. “I got you, buddy,” I whisper, shuddering as his tears soak through my jeans.

“Let’s go,” someone says, grabbing my elbow. I take Liam’s hand and we walk for about fifty feet. The brightness beyond the blindfold disappears as we’re led over a threshold and into a building. “Upstairs,” says the calm voice, giving me a little tug. We ascend ten steps, turn on a landing, and then go up another ten. Down a hall, maybe, and into a carpeted room that smells like fabric detergent. With a small push, we end up on a couch.

“Do not move. Do not scream. If you do, things will be a lot less pleasant than they have been. Do you understand?”

I nod once. “Yes.”

“I will not hesitate to subdue the both of you if necessary.” His voice remains calm, but his hand is harsh as it forces my face up.

The door closes. Liam whispers my name, but I quiet him. He melts into my side, his breathing slowing after a while. We sit in silence for a long time as I strain to hear something, anything, but beside the muffled hum of voices somewhere else in the house, it’s silent. After what feels like hours, I pull off the blindfold and look down at Liam.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, tracing my fingers along the tear tracks on his face.

He shakes his head, burying his face in my lap. I stroke his hair, both grateful to have him here and sickened by it. If only I’d been able to get him into the school first, maybe they would’ve taken just me. But no—they’ve been watching us. They knew just where to find us, even when our routine switched up.

I look around the tastefully decorated bedroom. The matching bed, dresser, and nightstand seem brand new, more magazine spread than someone’s personal space. Setting Liam aside, I hurry to a large window across the room and peek out. There’s a small backyard below, and then a dense wall of trees that goes on for as far as I can see. Beautiful. Isolated. Liam follows me over, gazing out.

Taking a deep breath, I ease back onto the couch. I can't panic. I need to keep my wits about me if I want to get us out of here alive. My injuries throb faintly, reminders that I’ve missed my next dose of ibuprofen.

“I needa pee,” Liam says, curling up into my side again.

“I do, too.” With a jolt, I remember his watch, hidden beneath his jacket. “Liam. Don’t let anybody see your watch, okay?”

“Okay.” He looks up at me, eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because …” Footsteps come down the hall, approaching the room. “Shh.” I yank my blindfold over my eyes again, not knowing if it matters, and wrap an arm around Liam.

The door opens. They remove my mask altogether, and then one of the masked men holds up a phone. “When I start recording, you’re gonna say your names and the date. That’s it.”

Proof of life.How the hell did we end up here?The man trains the phone on us and points at me. I clear my throat. “Bria Grant. Liam Kelly. It’s November fifteenth. Please?—”

He lowers the phone. “That’s enough.” Pocketing the phone, he turns to leave again.

“Wait,” I call. It’s pointless, but I’m desperate. “Can we at least use the bathroom?”

Ignoring me, they leave again. I wait a minute, listening, but there’s only silence.

Liam fallsasleep with his head in my lap, lulled by the soft strokes of my fingers in his hair. I wish I could sleep, too, but I’ve never been this scared in my life. Poor Ma. She sent me away as a kid to avoid the violence in our Bronx neighborhood, but Beacon Hill proved to be justas dangerous. I shudder, a sob disguised as a laugh. I never did respond to her text about Thanksgiving.

I gaze down at the small, sleeping boy beside me. I’m not sure exactly how Liam’s watch works or how accurate it is. I have the app on my phone, but I’ve never really used it. Lucky has the app too, but unless he’s actively checking it, would he even know that something was amiss? Tugging Liam’s sleeve up, I examine the watch. There’s a small button on the side, so I press it. The screen lights up, but otherwise, nothing happens.

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