Page 16 of Ride with the Devil

Who did this? The Devil of Springfield? The chauffeur who answered my knock on his window? It can’t be Walt Collins since I distinctly remember hearing the gunshots that rang out, obviously ending his life before anyone else had the chance to kill the shady vice mayor. But when I was convinced that I was next, what the hell happened that I ended up…

Where?

I glance around. I have no idea where the fuck I am. I get ‘basement’ vibes, from the chill down here to the cement floor and the stairs across the room that lead to another level, but it’s December. For all I know I’m in some weirdo’s bedroom or garage. Either way, I’m stuck, and considering the last thing I remember, that’s probably not a good thing.

Well, fuck me. That’s what a dash of boredom, a pinch of recklessness, and a hint of a death wish get you. I screwed up, and while I was almost welcoming the bullet I expected between my eyes for getting snagged by the Devil of Springfield and one of his goons, they made a mistake, too.

They took me alive.

I take another gander around, getting a better lock on my surroundings.

There’s a mini fridge that I’m pretty sure is plugged in based on the slight hum I’m picking up on. A long, narrow table about a foot-high in the middle of the space. A waste basket. A doorthat’s closed, and not a single window. Luckily, there is a single high-watt light bulb in the center of the room, helping me see everything down here. Otherwise I’d be sitting in the darkness, judging my life choices.

No. I’m just doing that with the blinding light causing me to squint.

Ugh. I know I’ve been in a rut lately. I’ve been chasing the same high I got when I took my first life, and after a decade, it’s lost its luster. I’ll admit it. I’ve been going through the motions. Even the prospect of a high-profile hit wasn’t enough to really rev my engine. That was why I jumped at the chance to finish it all off tonight if I could. I’d beat the Christmas deadline, get the money owed to me by Winter, and find something else to give me that same sense of satisfaction and enjoyment.

I actually experienced a spark of it tonight. For the first time in a loooong time, when I rapped on that window and the man inside jumped like a frightened rabbit, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

That wouldn’t have fit the image I was trying to put on. Neither would have the outright flirting I wanted to do when I got my first look at him. He was better-looking than I was expecting from the profile, and if he hadn’t been sitting in the expensive, shiny black car idling outside of the Blockbuster, I might have flirted with him after all.

The car had to belong to the Devil of Springfield. I’d heard about how he has a personal driver to ferry him around the city. Why? No idea, but even if itwasn’tDevil’s car, there had to have been a reason it was the only visible car on the stretch of road where Crewes and Collins were supposed to meet.

Unless, you know, those two guys at the Playground got it wrong. It could’ve been a drug deal taking place around back, or one of the girls the street over found a willing buyer after all.I didn’t know, but without going around back myself, I had no idea.

The direction I headed down the street meant I couldn’t do that unless I wheeled back around. I could’ve, but something about the driver waiting in the car had me going with my first idea.

Up until the moment I knocked, I planned on just walking by as if I had every right to be there. I couldn’t get to my target with others around anyway, and Winter only paid me for one head, not three. I wasn’t going to eliminate the vice mayor, the mafia leader, and his driver on one commission which meant that this entire trek over was a colossal waste of time.

And yet… I’d never turn down the chance to get some intel. Even if it was cementing my story for why I was there, then moving on, I was going to do it.

I just never expected that Lincoln Crewes would blow away Vice Mayor Collins when I was right fucking there—or that he would set eyes on me after the fact before I could pull a rabbit.

To be fair, until his gaze landed on me, I did think I had a bit of a death wish. When that murderous gaze found me in the dark and the cold, I realized just how much I wanted to survive when my first instinct was to bolt.

The driver guy caught me, though. He dropped me in the trunk like Devil told him to, and I played the part of a good little girl, letting him think I was under his complete control while plotting how I was going to escape the trunk before they got me to a second location.

That’s self-preservation 101. Never let them take you to a second location, and I wasn’t planning on it.

Too bad I didn’t plan on the driver injected me with something that had me knocked out within minutes…

How long was I out? No idea. Long enough that someone was able to bring me here, truss me up, and I was unconscious through all of it.

I’m not anymore. I’m wide awake now, and my focus is on getting out of this bed first, and out of this unfamiliar room second.

Focusing on the handcuff to start, I give my wrist an experimental twist. Whoever clasped in on me was careful not to tighten it too much. I’m confident that I can slide my hand out with only a couple of scrapes around the widest part of my hand, but before I attempt to do that, I notice something about the cuffs.

They’re cheap. Chintzy. Unless I’m wrong, they’re fuckingtoys.

And my captor only had a single pair to trap one of my hands. That means my right hand is free to do whatever I need it to.

Dumbass. Considering a majority of the population is left-handed, he could’ve made it a lot harder on me by cuffing my right hand. He didn’t, though, and I quickly use my dominant hand to unclasp the back of my silver hoop earring.

I’ve worn the same pair of earrings since my mom and dad gave them to me as an eighth-grade graduation present. They’re comfortable, work well with my style, and when I need something a little sharp and pointy in a pinch, they do the job.

It takes a little more effort to twist my body and my head so that I can get a better look at the handcuffs. What I see proves my initial suspicion correct. These are shitty cuffs. You don’t even need a key to remove them. A pin—or the back of an earring—is enough to trigger the locking mechanism on cuffs like these.

It takes a few frustrating minutes to get the earring in the whole while only being able to use my one hand, but I’m determined. I don’t want to catch the attention of my captor, either—assuming he’s somewhere nearby—so when I manage topop the lock, I swallow my cry of, “Fuck yeah,” as best I can before turning my attention to the chains.

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