Page 34 of Vicious Hearts

My condition is so dire, worsening by the minute, that I think I might expire before I even reach my destination. Whatever this man has planned for me, he might not even get that far. My injuries will see to that.

I can’t help the moans that fall from my lips as the van starts to move. With each sharp turn he takes, my body slithers around the van and I hit something until I’m screaming with each violent turn. The driver bangs on the barrier and tells me to shut up, his voice a broken scratch to my ears as I feel myself falling in and out of consciousness.

At some point, I must become too loud and too much for him to handle, because he stops the van and flings the cabin doors open. He lets out a stream of curses before he climbs in, his boots heavy against the mat. I try to crack my eyes open, but it’s near impossible with all the agony surrounding me. I feel a prick in my arm, then the gentle euphoria of flying before my mind goes blank and I lose control of my consciousness.

* * *

I don’t knowhow much time has passed when I wake again. The ache in my body hasn’t subsided. I can’t inspect myself, but I know there must be bruising everywhere. I can feel it everywhere. I’m groggy as I lift my head, but there’s a thundering pain in my head and I drop down again, but not before I feel the snap of a breeze caressing my legs. I try to turn my eyes downward, but I must be dreaming, or my mind must be playing tricks on me, because my legs are bare. My eyes are still swollen; maybe I can’t even see through them properly. But I feel as though I’m missing something. I don’t think I’m wearing any bottoms. I close my eyes to suppress the dull pain that envelopes them and move my hands to my thighs and start to feel around. I’m in underwear but no bottoms, I realize. Oh God. I was so out of it, I don’t know what may have been done to me. I wouldn’t even remember it.

My hands move to my chest, and my breath catches on a choking sob. I’m wearing only a bra. My fingers clumsily try to cover my body up, although I don’t know what good that would do. I’d need more than my hands to cover myself, and I can’t see past my three fingers to see if my clothes are somewhere in the van.

God only knows what he’s done to me. I shudder at the thought that I was violated while I was unconscious, the only saving grace that I would never remember a thing. Still, just the thought if being violated in that way… but then I remember, a man who would willingly try to kill others, who would drag a woman by her feet and kidnap her – why would he stop at assault or rape? What’s to stop him? In his mind, the world is his oyster.

* * *

I can smell gasoline.The stench is affecting my senses. I hear the sloshing of liquid as it falls in luxurious waves onto something, and that something must be close, because the damage being done to my nostrils is overwhelming.

I hear the van doors open, feel the flood of light that enters the cabin, and the heavy thud of my kidnapper’s boots as he jumps up beside me. I can’t open my eyes, even though I try to crack them open. It’s like they’re tightly welded together. I know this could be a safety mechanism I’ve activated to deal with the fallout of what he’s done to me.

He’s not a man of many words, even as I grunt something indecipherable to him. He heaves me to my feet, but just a quickly, my legs give out and I go falling back down to the van floor. He must have grabbed me before I impacted, because suddenly I have arms around me, and I’m being hauled across a chest before he jumps out of the cabin again.

I can feel the blistering sun as it bears down on my skin, and my eyes, still closed, flutter under their eyelids against the sharp rays that threaten to infiltrate my heart. It’s too sunny for such a dark day. Too happy for the day I’ve lost my present and my future.

I try to move my lips, but there’s no movement, and I wonder if he’s put a gag across my mouth. I can’t feel one, but I’m numb, so maybe I just can’t feel it.

A door opens and now I’m sitting on what seems to be a car seat. I still can’t open my eyes. I hear the click of a seat belt.

The smell of gasoline is thick in the air. I hear the click of a lighter, then the hiss of flames as they jump into the air, their heat competing with that of the sun.

30

CALEPH

“Iknow that limp,” Attila says, looking intently at the screen. He asks our tech guy to play it again a second time, and then a third. The giant of a man who took Ariadne is a bald-headed man who walks with a limp and has no moral compass if he’s willing to drag a helpless woman forty feet only to throw her into his vehicle like she’s a sack of potatoes.

“They call him The Jekyll. He’s a Honduran transient.”

The tech guy pushes a few more buttons until he brings the man’s photo up on the screen with his bio. A few of the men crowd around to listen, their interest ignited. From their murmurs, it seems some have heard of him before, but none has ever actually believed that the myth of The Jekyll is actually truth.

“They say he went a little loco after he lost his wife in one of the cartel wars. Some say he’s trying to get his revenge for his family, but the consensus is that he turned to suicide missions because he was too much of a coward to off himself. Man only wants to die, but he’s like a cat with nine lives,” Attila rattles off, telling us what he knows about the man.

“So he took the contract, knowing he’s messing with some pretty heavy hitters,” I surmise. “What he hasn’t accounted for is who he’s stealing from.”

Attila flicks me a look laden with understanding… and yet more surprise. For me to refer to Ariadne as my property and that she’s been stolen from me is big in our world. It tells him everything he needs to know about what she means to me. And I don’t care if he knows. I don't care what he thinks he knows. I don't care that he sees me and my weakness or if he even feels that Ariadne has become my weakness. All I know is that I need to get her back and I will burn the city down if I must in order to do that.

With a name like The Jekyll, there’s no telling what this guy is capable of, but I’m guessing it’s a lot more than merely kidnapping. The whispers alone that filter through the room when his name is mentioned tells me there’s so much more Attila hasn’t told us about him. With a name like that, if I am considered a ghost, this man is certifiably invisible, and I wonder why I haven't heard of him before.

“I have a plan,” Attila says, turning to me. He orders the men to all get a good look at The Jekyll, then he shoots off a text before he turns back to me. “It’ll kill two birds with one stone, and it will speed up our timeline for our friends who shall not be named.”

* * *

We sitin the corner of a room that has been converted into a makeshift office and go over the plan once again. We dissect, we refine, and we go through it yet again until we think we have a foolproof plan.

“I somehow don’t think they’ll go for it,” I tell him.

Attila nods his head, certain his plan will work. “The defective arms the politicians sold the Hondurans means a death sentence for those low lifes who think they’ve gotten away with murder. It’s as simple as playing on the swindle – they stole from you, so let uspay youto steal back from them.” His plan is genius. Pit the two sides against each other. Once the Hondurans have what the pollies want – namely Ariadne – we offer them double the bounty to get her back. What the Hondurans lack in financial capability, they make up in might and intelligence. It wouldn’t hurt to have them on our side as we extend our search and have eyes on all sea and air entry and exit points. But it’s also risky if it backfires, and I’m not willing to risk Ariadne’s life.

“Sweeten the pot,” I tell him. I want no mistakes. I’ll accept nothing less than Ariadne coming back to me safe and sound. “If they deliver her back intact within twenty-four hours, I’ll have a sit down with them to discuss supply.”

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