Page 39 of Vicious Hearts

“We need to meet,” he says, then falls silent. So unlike him. “I hear you’ve been busy crossing the wrong sort of people.”

Another grunt. Although I am curious. Marden is pulling me up, which is something he rarely does. He rattles off his goodbye after telling me he’ll send me a text with details of the meet. I don’t even stop to wonder if it’s a trap; Marden would never. That’s the one indisputable fact I know beyond all reason. We were neighbors before we were friends, growing up together in the neighborhood and attending school together since we were in kindergarten. We had always been in sync with each other, from the first day we’d stood side by side and watched Danny Miello scooting down the road in a home-made go-cart and known he was going to crash and crack his skull open. We saw the bigger picture together, and we saw it the same way.

Marden is the courageous one of us, though. He’s the one that approached me when I was in my twenties and told me to stop chasing my tail and marry his sister already. Even though I’d never told him about my feelings for her, he had picked up on the signals anytime we were in the same room.

Eventually, I’d married Sisely and Marden and I were promoted from best friends to blood relations. That bond between us hadn’t ended, even after Sisely was killed. Although these days our time together was limited due to my insatiable thirst to burn down the world, he still had my back. He still called to check in on me, urging me to come back to the fold and resume my place by his side. Something I couldn’t do. Not until I made sure Sisely’s memory was honored and my hands were awash with the blood of the men that killed her.

I strap a firearm into my holster and grab a bottle of water. I can’t leave without ensuring my captive is well hydrated. She’s awake, her new bonds holding her to the chair. She looks at me wearily as I approach and hold the bottle to her mouth. She takes a deep breath as she wraps her mouth around the neck of the bottle. I watch as she swallows slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. She is obviously still in so much pain. She reminds me so much of Sisely. Her features are so similar, it’s uncanny. And I wonder if it was merely the hand of fate that sent me to that bar that day when I learnt about the bounty on her head. There had to be a deeper reason why I ended up there. Why she literally landed in my lap. This could very well be my redemption; I wasn’t able to save my wife, but maybe I could save this innocent from falling into the wrong hands.

35

ARIADNE

He dragged me across scorching coals when he hauled me across the road and into that van. My heels were rubbed raw of their protective layer as my skin lay in tatters, the sting punishing my body. I bounced around the van, sustaining more injuries as he flew through the city to a destination unknown. And then I woke in this warehouse, exhausted and near naked as my heart lay trampled on the dirty floor.

But my captor, just as easily as he had broken me, put me back together again. He fed me and he watered me, and he mended me back to health by administering first aid to my injuries. He clothed me and he checked up on me, loosening my bindings the second time he tied me up. Yet he was still my captor, and I was still tied to a chair with no way out and only time on my side.

Caleph is dead, and no one is coming to rescue me. Soon, my captor will hand me over to those who ordered my capture, and from there, I will probably meet my final resting place. No doubt my tormentors wanted to inflict maximum damage to me before they killed me. Just to let me know that they could, and they would. They wanted to get their money’s worth. That’s what men in power thrived on.

A wracking sob leaves me heaving as I fold in on myself, my shoulders quaking in fear. Caleph was dead, and I might as well be without him. I wanted to be. I didn’t want to go on without him. In so little time, he had become everything to me, and now there was nothing.

When my captor comes in with another bottle of water, he has an oversized shirt covering a t-shirt that is the home of a well concealed firearm. But you can’t fool a writer; I can see the edges of a holster peeking out, even though he tries his hardest to conceal it. It looks like he’s going somewhere, and I bite my tongue, so I don’t say anything that’s going to make him second guess leaving me here. Perhaps I can use the time to make my great escape.

He holds a bottle up to my mouth, and I take a swig, my eyes never leaving his as I swallow, trying to dissect his intentions. If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me already, so there’s that. The person who listed the bounty probably wants that honor. When I’ve had enough to drink, he lowers the bottle and puts the lid back on, then stares at me for the longest moment before he turns and walks away without a word.

* * *

When he returns,the giant has a hard look on his face. He glances my way, then turns around with a small shake of his head, as though ridding himself of a thought he never knew he had. He fumbles with a paper bag, brings out a small box, what looks to be painkillers, and walks towards me.

I have no delusions that he will answer any questions I may have or engage me in any sort of conversation. At the end of the day, he’s my captor, and his sole purpose is to make sure I get into the right hands, not entertain a conversation with me.

He pops two pills and reaches up to my mouth. Wordlessly, I open my mouth and let them glide onto my tongue, then swallow the water he offers me. The pills go down in one hard swallow, and I look at him, my eyes thanking him. Even though he caused me the pain, he’s at least trying to repair the damage.

When he puts the water bottle down, his hands go to his hips as he looks at me, a question swirling in the depths of his eyes. But he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he gives another small shake of his head, turns, and leaves me alone again.

* * *

It’suncomfortable sleeping in the chair, but it’s my only option as the sun glances over the horizon and slips beyond the world, shrouding the land in darkness. The window goes dark, and the faint light in the warehouse is barely enough to see in front of me, but I persist, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark. After he left me, my captor hasn’t returned. I know he’s in another section of the warehouse, because I can hear him moving around, shuffling his feet as he crosses from one side of the warehouse to the other, as though pacing. But I don’t see him. He’s out of sight, and in my painful haze, I can only rely on my senses to paint me a picture of what’s going on.

He hasn’t been himself since he came back to the warehouse, and I don’t know if this is a good thing or bad. I don’t know how his mood will impact me, but what I do know is that he’s probably trying to avoid me at this very moment. Which doesn’t make a difference to me either way, as he doesn’t like to talk, and I’d rather not have to guess why his attitude has shifted so dramatically.

I fall in and out of a conscious state of being as sleep overcomes me and my head nods forward. I try to stay awake, but my attempts are futile. I rub at my bonds, trying to feel their tension. They’re not too tight, but any chance of escape eludes me. This is not a man who doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s given me just enough room to breathe, but not enough to hang myself.

36

CALEPH

“The Hondurans have confirmed Ariadne is still in Guatemala,” Attila says, walking into the room briskly. I look up from my desk, where I’ve been sitting staring at nothing for what seems like hours, all my senses coming to life.

“Where is she?” I ask, standing and coming around the desk. It’s been two days since she was taken, and I don’t know what sort of condition she’s going to be in.

“She’s safe. She’s alive. And she’s still here. That’s all my contact would give me.”

“The fuck, Attila!”

My hands are thrashing through my hair like a madman’s as I consider more delays ahead. Why can’t it be as simple as them handing her over? “Caleph. We gave them our word. And they’ve given theirs. She’ll be home within hours.”

“That’s not good enough when she’s been gone for days.”

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