Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 (14 page)

“We’ll be contacting you again shortly. In the meantime, maybe you should spend some quality time with your monitor and determine just how important she is, and what you’re willing to give to have her back.” Grainger cut the connection on the call. I could hear him drop the plastic cell phone to the floor, and his boots repeatedly smashed it into little pieces until he was satisfied it was unusable.

“Adamson, gather all these parts up, use your coat pockets to hold the pieces, and toss them in the fireplace. May as well make use of the fire Banner insists on feeding. The man’s so thin, it’s a wonder he can generate any body heat of his own.” With a grumble, the other man moved around my chair to do as he was told.

“And, as for you. You lied to me Miss March. You tried to deceive me,” Grainger whispered in my ear, dangerously calm. I could feel him gather my hair into a fist, and I was expecting him to wretch my head back. I wasn’t prepared for him to use my hair to lift me off the chair, which he kicked sideways, out from beneath me. Without the chair’s support, I lost my balance, gravity pulling me unmercifully to the ground, uncaring of Grainger’s grip on my hair. My hip hit the ground hard, and my ribs felt like they were on fire. I felt the sharp jab of a needle in my shoulder, and I struggled to pull away before he could inject the full dosage, but I had no leverage.

Bas is watching, must be brave, I thought, as the bone chilling numbness overtook me again.

The last thing I heard was Grainger, gritting in my ear, “Don’t fuck with me, Miss March.”

Chapter Thirteen

The nightmare had me in a stranglehold, but it was slightly different
than normal. Instead of swinging wildly, defending myself from my attacker, I was restrained tightly, unable to fight. Panic welled in me, I struggled to escape the suffocating hold which pinned my arms to my sides and bound my hands, leaving me defenseless. I was encased in an icy tomb…

Awake! Finally. Thank god.

The drugs in my system made it hard to shrug away the lingering fear from my new nightmare variation. Wonderful, now I was probably going to add claustrophobia to my growing list of night terrors. I gulped, harsh breaths which hurt my chest for reasons unknown to me, even as I catalogued the new aches and pains. The combination of Adamson’s abuse, and the stiffness from having my legs and arms re-bound, were taking a toll on my stamina. I had forgotten my gloves in the bathroom, when I washed my hands, so my fingers were icy.

The first thing I needed to do was reengage my brain. I vaguely remember Grainger said something about a normal injection lasting ten to twelve hours. Unless someone gave me another shot while I was sleeping, I could assume it was early, Saturday morning. I strained to hear birds, traffic, or any exterior activity. Nothing. I fought grogginess, threatening to pull me back to sleep.

Camera. I was being watched. The three stooges didn’t strike me as particularly computer savvy, so I was going to assume they wouldn’t bother watching the feed when it was so easy to walk down a hallway and open a door. First thing I needed to do was figure out where I was in relation to the camera. Wary of making noise by accidentally knocking something over, I lifted my bound legs in a sweeping motion. It took a few tries before I managed to inch my way to the tool bench I had used to brace myself when I fought off the asshole, Adamson. Right or wrong, I was going to consider the bench as my south. Therefore, the camera would be in the south-east corner of the room.

Much as I wanted to try sending a message to the security team, my need to take advantage of the tool bench trumped the camera. I didn’t know how often the kidnappers checked on me, so I planned to explore the room, specifically the tool bench, while I had an opportunity. I managed to struggle to my feet and partially hop until my hips aligned with the bench. Since my arms were useless, I bent so my face was an inch or two above the work surface, hoping if I used my head like a swiping hand, I could brush my cheek over the countertop to find a tool to use for defense or to free myself. Yeah, like I’m sure they left a box-cutter out in the open, right? I had to try. It was important to do something proactive. I listened for movement in the house, but even the TV was silent.

Ten minutes or so after my attempted grid search, I determined the house was probably vacant, or a rental, as there wasn’t even a loose screw to be found. On to Plan B, communication with the camera. I knew the Mustangs would be taping, so even if the people monitoring the feed didn’t understand sign language, they could play it back. But, I knew Bas would be watching. If he wasn’t at the console himself, he would have been alerted as soon as I started to wake up. He’d be watching the monitors by now.

One of my worries was to be discovered using ASL to the camera, so I decided I would lay back on the floor, all the better to pretend unconsciousness if one of the kidnappers decided to check on me. I would assume David and Bastian’s computers could zoom in on my hands. Belatedly, I remembered the chair. Did Grainger leave it where it fell, or did he move it out of the way? I didn’t want to lay back down, and find out later, the chair was between me and the camera, blocking their view of my hands.

I resisted the temptation to swing wildly, risking noise if I connected with the chair and knocked it over. Patience was rewarded when my ankle brushed the leg a few minutes later. I was in luck, the chair was between me and the garage door, according to my mental map, located to my south-west. I was bruised and battered enough, so I carefully lowered myself to the cold floor, rolling so my hands would (hopefully) be visible to the cameras.

It was painstakingly slow, but I signed the events which led to my capture. Since I had no range of motion, most of my story was spelled out alphabetically—letter, by letter. The tape on my wrists was loose enough to allow movement to sign a period dot, but commas and question marks would probably not be clear, so I decided to keep my ASL short, using only full-stop punctuation. I finished explaining the darts, when I heard movement from the house.

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” Grainger declared, as he entered the garage. “You can continue to pretend you’re asleep, or I can escort you to the bathroom. I won’t offer a second time.”

My bladder decided for me. I partially rolled to my back, indicating my awareness. “I’d appreciate the bathroom break,” I said sincerely. I didn’t want either of the others touching me, even if it was to remove the tape binding me. Banner would cut me for the thrill of drawing blood, and goodness knows what Adamson would try.

I struggled to a sitting position, an attempt to appear groggy and listless. Too late, I realized my position on the floor had given me away, as I probably hadn’t moved for hours after the drug pulled me into unconsciousness. “What time is it?”

“Morning,” he answered. There was probably a deep, psychological reason not to answer the question. I simply found it annoying. I barely bit back the sarcastic remark hovering on my tongue. Best not to make an enemy of this one; he stood between me and the other, more volatile men. I would take what protection I could get and be thankful for it.

When I was returned to the garage, I was told to sit on the floor. Much as I would have loved a cup of coffee right now, I gratefully accepted the bottle of water pressed into my hands. Grainger left me alone with a warning “not to move” and came back with a slice of cold pizza. Yuck. Yeah, I ate it. It was the only food I’d been offered and a strange combination of toppings. “Pineapple, garlic, olives, and chicken? I don’t think I’ve ever had chicken on pizza before,” I said diplomatically. I was pretty traditional with my pizza topping choices.

“Banner’s a weird bird. This is about the only thing he eats. Disgusting, and unfortunately for you, the only thing left over from dinner.”

“However bad it tastes when fresh, I assure you, it’s a thousand times worse when cold,” I joked. “I can honestly say this is the worst thing I’ve ever voluntarily eaten. But, thank you for the food.”

I gnawed the last gummy bite, trying not to gag on the congealed cheese. My stomach was queasy, I’m guessing a result of the tranquilizers they gave me. A few swallows of water helped wash it down, right before Grainger poked another needle into my arm.

“Aww, man. Really?” I mumbled as I slipped away.

And so began the pattern. I’d no sooner awaken, usually in the throes of a nightmare, when Grainger would offer to escort me to the bathroom, give me a bottle of water and a slice of pizza—different types each time, and knock me out again. A few times, I thought I heard the doorbell ring. Pizza delivery? Honestly, I lost track of what was real and what was drug induced dreaming. There wasn’t another opportunity to search the room, or orient myself to take advantage of the camera’s observers. Grainger was now able to anticipate how long I’d be knocked out and came for me shortly after I managed to rouse myself to some semblance of awareness.

I was always cold, and vaguely concerned by the numbness in my feet. But I was able to walk to the bathroom, and took advantage of a few minutes of warm water over my hands to ease some of the chill in my fingertips. I had, long ago, lost track of what day it was, or even how many times I’d been tranquilized. My hours consisted of an endless loop: awaken, bathroom, bottle of water, slice of pizza, needle in the arm, sleep. I tried to concentrate, to sign, regardless of whether my hands may or may not be seen by the cameras. Part of me wanted to scream and struggle, but another part was a disinterested observer, shrugging at the unfairness of life, content to let fate play itself out. I knew the drugs were making me docile, but I couldn’t gather enough energy to care. I wanted the cycle to end.

Chapter Fourteen

“Teresa!
Teresa! It’s me,”
Red shouted excitedly, as our mind link established suddenly. I was unsure if his enthusiasm, or the feel of the bond snapping into place, woke me from a dead sleep. A sign of my discomfort, and the lingering traces of drugs in my system, my first thought was, “No shit. Who else would be talking in my head?” I was grouchy, in pain, hungry, and worst of all—suffering from caffeine withdrawal. I hated the disorientation of not knowing something as basic as if it were day or night. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious when Red’s excited voice woke me up.

Crap! If I could hear him, they were within two miles. For the first time in memory, I hoped our links hadn’t increased exponentially since we tested them… Damn, I didn’t know how long I’d been here. A day? Two? A week? I had no idea how long they’ve kept me drugged.

“Bas is with me. He’s pulling the car over and he’s going to tell me what to say. I miss you Teresa, I hope we find you real soon.”
There was a slight pause, possibly Bastian giving Red some instructions?
“Okay, Bas is ready.”

I rolled to my side, my hip and ribs protesting the movement. Drawing my knees up toward my chest, in a fetal position, I attempted to hold on to what little heat I had. That’s when it hit me—the prick stripped me while I was knocked out this last time. He left me in bra and panties—probably leverage to insure my good behavior from this point forward. The rest of my clothes were gone. Even my socks were missing. No wonder I felt so cold. As my brain cleared, I also considered my clothes were taken to emphasize to Bas I was vulnerable. Oh, I bet he was pissed.

My bound arms ached, especially my shoulder joints, hyper-extended behind my back. Shit, they’d retied my hands behind me again, only this time much tighter. The tape dug into my wrists, punishing. My ankles were also wrapped in duct tape, but there was deliberate space between them, as if they meant to hobble me, rather than restrict all movement. Cold fury filled me as I imagined Banner or Adamson had stripped and re-bound me while I was unconscious. Grainger, at least, treated me with a modicum of respect.

“Bas says to tell you that you’ve been missing a little over forty hours, roughly two days. It’s Sunday morning, a quarter after four. The overhead light in the room where you are is always on, so we can see you sign ASL.”
There was a pause before Red added,
“Right now, your hands are away from the camera. Bas says you need to roll over to your stomach, or your other side, so he can see them. Bas doesn’t think they’re monitoring the camera, because they keep checking on you every few hours.”

Red’s information mirrored my own observations. I wasn’t sure if I could straighten my legs out again, so I rolled onto my back, swinging my legs to gain enough momentum to roll one hundred-eighty degrees, until I was resting on my left side. It made sense the kidnappers would leave the lights on to assure David and Bas I was alive. I’m sure there was an element of torment involved, also, as I was left on the cement in my underwear with no blankets.

“Bas says that’s perfect. He can see your hands. He told me to tell you he loves you.”

I tried to focus on Red’s words, and was able to sign:

I love you. Feel groggy.

“Your last shot was six hours ago. They normally last eight hours before you show signs of waking, and they dose you again,”
Red told me.
“We’ll try to get to you before the next injection.”

Sick (my brain couldn’t form the spelling for nauseous). Thirsty. Pissed off.

“Last night Bas told Russ he’s gonna kill every single one of those motherfuckers,”
Red added solemnly. I was pretty sure Bas hadn’t coached him on the last disclosure. I managed a weak grin. “
The scrawny guy cut your clothes off with a switchblade. The Mustangs were really mad. Bas went into a blind rage—well, that’s what Russ called it. Bas threw one of the weights into a mirror. There was glass everywhere.”
 

I could relate. I was so
furious, my normally laidback nature took a backseat as I contemplated revenge.

Messy. Violent. Maybe Bastian would loan me a gun? And, being blind and all, if my aim was a little off and it took a few extra bullets to do the job? Well, oops!

“
Bas said to tell you there have usually been two masked men on the cameras at a time. We know there were three snowmobiles. Can you confirm there are only three people who took you?”

Yes. Three men. Adamson. Grainger. Banner.

For good measure, and because I was feeling grumpy, I added:

First asshole hit me. Second boss injections. Third psycho with knife.

As before, my signing was restricted by the duct tape to spelling out each letter alphabetically, and I wasn’t sure how clearly Bas could see my hands, but I felt better for the venting. Bas knows me better than anyone, except maybe Janey. He would understand the second list’s number-order corresponded with the first.

“Bas said to tell you Adamson now has a special place in his heart, and he will be sure to spend quality time with him. He said Grainger was an important name, and it’s helpful to know it.”
There was another pause.
“Bas wants to know, if you know where you are.”

Sadly, I knew very little.

House. Garage. Quiet. No car traffic.

Inspired, I added:

Pizza delivery. At least twice. One chicken garlic pineapple olive pizza.

With limited range in my bound hands, it was time consuming because I took care to make sure each letter was clear.

“Bas says you’re brilliant. He will have Russ look into pizza deliveries. Bas says we are going to start driving again. He wants to train glate your position.”

It took me a moment to realize he meant to say triangulate. The idea made sense. Our mind-speak range was approximately one and a half miles, if Red was able to connect with me via mind-speak, or better yet mind-sight, they may be able to dial in on where I was.

Love you both.

I heard the rattle of a deadbolt as the door opened. Dragging footsteps alerted me to Adamson’s presence.

“Bitch,” he snarled. Yep, it was the asshole all right. “I have to say, black and blue is a good color on you.” His laughter held a rusty quality, as if he was out of practice. I could hear him approach slowly. Circling me like a wary predator. It was satisfying to know he had a healthy respect for my feisty nature.

“For every bruise you’ve given me, my people will return the favor threefold,” I slurred exaggeratedly, hoping to convince him I was still heavily under the influence. Probably not smart to poke the bear, but I’d had it with the asshole. “You’re on camera,” I reminded, “and I guarantee if they witness you hurting me, you will never be safe. They
will
find you.”

“Ha. We’ll be long gone, with the computer program, before they find you. The boss says we can’t kill you, but he’s promised I can give you a parting gift,” Adamson threatened, with sexual innuendo strong enough to cause me momentary panic. Closing my eyes I focused on maintaining calm breaths; I promised myself I would survive this.

“Touch me, and Bastian will never stop looking for you.”

I was startled when his sweaty, callused hand ran up the length of my bare thigh, I hadn’t realized he had gotten so close. Repulsed, I attempted to roll away from him, but he slammed his weight into my lower back, pinning me in place. “Oh no, bitch. You’re not going anywhere,” he growled in my ear, his sour breath offending my nostrils. Eww, oral hygiene was not high up on this guy’s priority list.

“Goddamn it, Adamson, leave the woman alone. You’ll get your chance later,” a voice, Grainger’s, said from the doorway.

Taking advantage of the distraction, I slammed my head backward into where I assumed my assailant’s face would be. I was rewarded by the crunch of cartilage and a yelp of pain, as I scored a direct hit against his nose. Having stunned him, I twisted under Adamson’s loosened grip, trying to roll on my back so I could use my bound legs to thrust him away. He would have rocked back on his knees to cradle his injury, and so I swept my feet sideways to kick him away from me.

“Fucking bitch!” he snarled, just before I connected my knees to his ribcage. Crap, he hadn’t been more than a foot or two away. I didn’t have much force behind the hit, but I’d gotten lucky with a blow he hadn’t blocked. His body crashed back against the same cans he’d hit last time we’d did this dance.

“No!” Grainger snapped sharply, I assume to stop whatever retaliation Adamson planned. “Leave her be. When we get what we want, I promise to hold the bitch down for you, but you have to leave her alone for now. That’s an order! You touch her again before I have what I want, and you’ll forfeit your cut. The woman now, or your money and the woman later; your choice.”

“When I’m done with you, you’ll be bleeding, broken, and begging,” he threatened, ominously. He lashed out with a punishing kick which landed on the same thigh he’s stroked earlier, and snickered at my cry of agony.

Moments later, the door closed, and the lock clicked. As I listened to the pair of footsteps walking away, pain and fear curled me into a fetal ball.

“Teresa?”
Red’s voice was tentative.
“Bas is real worried. He’s so mad he’s shaking and swearing. Are you okay?”

In my terror and rage, I had forgotten there were people watching me. People who cared about me. I could imagine Bastian, as well as the Mustangs, seething with anger on my behalf.

Is Bas watching.

There was a slight pause before Red answered,
“Yes.”

Laboriously, I spelled out:

Grainger promised me to Adamson once they have software.

There was a pause before Red answered.
“Bas wants me to remind you, we’re close. We’ll find you. We’ll find you before Adamson hurts you again.”
Red’s tone was sad and worried, contrasting with his hopeful words.

Should not have head butted. Reacted. Didn’t think.

“You’re a warrior, and a survivor. Bas says he would have fought back, too. We’ll be there soon, Teresa. We’re going to start driving again so we can locate your position.”

Love You Sebastian.

I fell into a half-sleep… yeah, okay, so I think I was most likely unconscious. In the hour or two following, I was peripherally aware of Red’s mental presence as he popped in and out of mind-speak range, yet never close enough to establish mind-sight. Cold, sore, scared, it was a comfort to know they wouldn’t stop until they brought me home.

****************

The light of early dawn woke me. I watched as Red retracted his head through the window to alert Bastian he had established mind-sight. I didn’t know where I was in relation to the camera, so I rolled onto my stomach, and signed:

I can see.

Bastian’s head whipped around to look at Red, and I watched as he pulled the car over to the side of the road and checked the navigation program. The laptop sat open on the padded console between their seats. There I was, laying on a cement floor, stripped and bound. On a positive note, I was able to adjust my body to afford my rescuers a better view of my hands. I repeated:

I can see.

“Bas is making sure Russ has the coordinates, and we’re sending drones to locate the correct house. You’re near the Nine-Mile dam.”

I concentrated, but couldn’t hear noise indicating I was next to the river.

Do not hear rushing water. Confident no one would hear me yell. Isolated.

Red watched Bas as he opened a metal briefcase. Nestled in what resembled a felt-lined egg crate, were a dozen helicopter-like mini drones. The crate lifted out to reveal a keyboard—that’s when I noticed the lid held a flat screen monitor. Convenient. Pretty smart, these PreClan boys.