RidingtheWaves (22 page)

Chapter Thirteen

“Smack me again and you’ll be eating your next meal with
your fucking feet,” Brent warned after a third crack landed on his cheek.

“Then get up,” Brody said. “Annalee is gone.”

“Mother fuck. They have her.” Brent tried jumping to his
feet, but he fell back down on his ass. “There’s two of them. Rashand and a
sidekick.”

“A black four-door sedan barreled ass out of here when I
pulled in. I only saw one person inside, but it headed east.”

“How long ago?” He took Brody’s hand and pushed himself
forward while Brody pulled. When on his feet, he took a deep breath and
steadied his legs.

“Maybe twenty minutes,” Brody responded, following him out
the door.

“What the hell took you so long to get to my room?”

“I was inside in thirty seconds. The additional time I spent
trying to rouse your ass.” He trotted around Brent to the driver’s side of
Annalee’s SUV. “Give me the keys.”

Brent dug them from his pocket and tossed them to his
brother while he checked the time. He and Annalee had registered at 9:20—it was
now 11:15. “Brody, did you feed the cat?”

“Yeah, he was happy to see me.”

Brent punched in Sterns’ number while Brody drove through
the parking lot and turned right onto the street. The call immediately went to
voicemail. “It’s Delaney. Rashand has Annalee, and an approximate
twenty-five-minute head start. Call me ASAP.”

He disconnected the call and opened the browser on his
phone.

“Where am I going?” Brody asked.

“Stay east on Hilliard until I get a trace on her.”

“You track her? Isn’t that illegal?”

“It’s mutual. We just set it up a little while ago online.”

Brody glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Does she
have her phone?”

“Let’s hope to hell she does, or we’re fucked.” As soon as
the website downloaded, he logged in and highlighted her number. “What’s taking
Sterns so long to call back?” he blared. “Time is wasting.”

“It’s only been a few minutes.”

“Rashand’s going to be halfway across the fucking county.” A
map appeared on the screen. He inhaled sharply. “She has her phone, thank God.”
He zoomed into an area where a blue line butted into a red, balloon-shaped dot.

Brody squeezed Brent’s shoulder affectionately.

“I’ve got her. Take I-480 East to 71 South.”
If Rashand
lays one hand on Annalee…
He’d beaten and raped women for no reason other
than to satisfy his demented cravings before selling them to the black market.
What were his limitations for getting even? The possibilities churned Brent’s
guts.

“How in the hell do I get to 480?” Brody asked, looking back
and forth across the road.

“Make a right up here on Wagar Road. I don’t know the
following street names, but I know the route. Speed it up. I’ll tell you when
to turn.” He rubbed the tension knots at the base of his neck, but it made them
worse. What the hell was he doing? Why’d he let himself get tied up in all this
bullshit? His job should’ve been done when he’d originally handed Rashand to
the authorities. Anything beyond that scope should’ve been their problem,
including his escape.

This wasn’t the life Brent envisioned. He was perfectly
content protecting ships at sea. How often would a similar situation like this
develop? The next time he prevented an attack on Whiltby’s freight and another
greedy pirate sought revenge? Sadly there would always be some type of threat
lingering in the background. He clearly saw now what he couldn’t see before.
When he had no one to worry about but himself, it didn’t matter. But now he had
Annalee. And having exposed her to Rashand tore his heart from his chest.

His cell phone rang. He quickly lifted it to his ear.
“Delaney.”

“Rashand stayed clear of the downtown area, but someone
matching his description was spotted boarding a small Cessna about fifteen
minutes ago,” Sterns said. “We’ve received word he’s heading back to Miami.”

“That’s bullshit.” Brent glanced at Brody. “He’s on—”

“That came straight from our snitch.”

“The son of a bitch who said Rashand was planning a
disturbance when he’d obviously been following us? He’s leading you on a ghost
chase. We’re—”

“He’s been apprehended and taken into custody for giving
false information. Let’s just say he’s being more cooperative right about now.”

“He’s feeding you—”

“Listen, Delaney, we have proof to back up his claim. Five
foreigners were spotted boarding that aircraft, along with a bound, dark-haired
female in yellow sweats and brown coat.”

The woman probably worked for him, and they’d staged the
abduction while he inconspicuously dragged Annalee down a different route. Even
had Brent not been tracking her, he wouldn’t have believed it. Yellow sweats?
No fucking way. “It’s a damn decoy. Brody and I—”

“You’re delusional.”

“God damn it, Sterns, will you let me talk?”

“What?”

Brent slid a hand through his hair. “We’re tracking her
right now. They’re on 71 South in Medina County.”

“Damn you, Delaney, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Sterns?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss my ass.” Brent hung up the phone and checked the map.
“They’ve stopped someplace on 130
^th
. Take exit 222 to Route 3.”

Brent’s heartbeat thundered while he called Sterns back. The
call went straight to voicemail. “They’re on 130
^th
Street. You’ll
see Annalee’s SUV parked on the street. We’re fifteen minutes away, and we’re
not waiting on you to go inside.”

* * * * *

Annalee awoke to faint, mumbled voices, but she couldn’t
open her eyes. As hard as she struggled, they wouldn’t budge. It was as if
something heavy tugged on her lids, holding them closed. Even her body felt
weighted down and partially numb. What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she
move?

A thick haze fogged her brain, chopping her thoughts into
bits and pieces. She’d never been so groggy and dizzy and utterly helpless in
her entire life.

The smell of mildew and musty, dirty clothes invaded her
nose, and cool, damp air wrapped around her body like a wet blanket. Somewhere
in the distance, a woman screamed. Was it her?

Where am I? Where in the hell am I?

Deep, subdued voices intermixed with loud thumping sounds
above her head. Footsteps?

Was she in a basement? Underground?

She gulped and as she strained to open her eyes, her
heartbeat accelerated. The boom-boom throbbed in her chest, pulsated in her
jugular and it muffled her ears.

Finally her lids popped open, but pure blackness surrounded
her. She tried to focus through the heavy, frigid darkness where not even a
slice of light bled through. She gasped, darting her gaze to her left, then
forward, then to the right.

Little by little, the fog in her head cleared and her body
tingled painfully as if being revived from a deep sleep. One rapid thought
after another charged to her brain. The last thing she’d remembered—being
punched in the stomach when struggling to escape from two men.

Rashand.

Again she heard the painful female cries. They were so
chilling. And blatant. And profound. And close. And…and they weren’t hers.

Goose bumps prickled her skin as dread mixed with fear
crawled up her spine. She trembled and snapped her eyes shut. Maybe when she’d
reopen them, the nightmare would stop. She’d be lying on her own bed, snuggled
in Brent’s arms while waiting for the alarm clock to buzz.

But when her lashes fluttered open again, it was painfully
clear she wasn’t dreaming.

Was Brent okay? He’d been bleeding from an area close to the
prior injury. What if he’d been pistol-whipped again? What if his brain
couldn’t take any more trauma? What if a second case of swelling caused severe
damage?
Please, God, let Brody find him.

What if the blow killed him?

No.

No-no-no.
This wasn’t real. None of this was real.

She tried bolting upright, but her shoulders screamed in
pain and her head plopped back down on a hard surface.
Tied?
She was
tied! With her wrists restrained above her head!

No…this…no…no, it couldn’t be happening.

She attempted to lift her legs but they wouldn’t move. The
tissue along the crease of her inner thighs bulged when she tried pulling her
feet together.
Oh no. No.
She was completely restrained.

Spread-eagle.

Helpless.

Shaking in fear.

And at his mercy.

Dear God, help.

She had to get out of there. Now. This instant. Before he
appeared to satisfy his blood-crazed lunacy.

She yanked her arms hard. Abrasive bindings tore into her
wrists, but the loops didn’t slacken. Not even a fraction of an inch. She
yanked again. Nothing.

“Please,” she begged. “Please.” Tears filled her eyes. And
as she tugged and pulled and twisted to release her hands, her flesh ripped and
searing pain shot to her elbows. But she didn’t care. Not even the warm blood
oozing around the restraints swayed her attempts at freedom.

Just then a switch clicked. Rays of light filtered around a
corner on the left side of the room. Heavy footsteps pounded on what sounded
like wood. Another switch clicked and the immediate area lit up. The brightness
assailed her eyes. She blinked until they adjusted, then she squinted while
acknowledging her whereabouts. She was inside a small room with chipped, gray
brick walls. Dirty white sheets covered the bed she lay on, and she was dressed
only in her lacy bra and panties. Below her navel, a dark bruise had formed on
her tummy from the blow she’d sustained.

Reluctantly she glanced at the entrance. She swallowed hard
and glared into the eyes of the person responsible for her fate.

Rashand.

She remembered the filthy white headband stretched across
his forehead. He stood just inside the room, his lips twisted in an eerie grin.
His nose was crooked. Dried blood covered the left side of his mouth. His
bottom lip was swollen and twice the size as the upper.

At his heels stood the other man from the motel, wearing a
tan-colored tunic and black, baggy pants. And if the devil had a face, she was
looking at it. He glared at Annalee. A sinister smile contorted his face,
exposing a gold tooth behind thin lips.

She gulped as that grotesque guy strode to the bed, removing
something from the belt of his grungy clothes.

A knife!

No! Oh no! Oh God!

She tugged frantically at the restraints, her eyes
transfixed on the curved, pointed blade.

Her ankles now bled too from the bindings, but she felt no
pain. She felt nothing other than her pulse beating the hell out of her throat.

He grabbed her face in one hand and squeezed her cheeks. His
gross mouth mashed down on hers and he slipped his tongue between her lips.
Oh
shit. Oh fuck.
Get away from me!

His rank breath permeated her nostrils and she gagged,
forcing him to back off. And, dear God help her, she instinctively spit in his
face.

A gut-wrenching laugh rolled from the depth of the man’s
bowels. As quickly as it’d started, it stopped. His eyes bored into Annalee’s.
He wiped his mouth with the backside of his hand then whacked her hard across
the face.

Her head flung sideways, but the sting from the blow hadn’t
even registered before he sliced her bra in half, grabbed her breast and
squeezed.

She clamped her jaws tight, fighting the agony.

“Give her more dose,” Rashand yelled.

Dose? Of what? Oh God. What?

The man released her breast and spun around. He shouted
something foreign. Although she couldn’t understand him, his tone signified
anger. Palpable fear raced through her blood.

“No so much this time. She no need to sleep so long now.”

Another inaudible, garbled response followed the order. The
man glared into Annalee’s eyes as he slid the knife down her neck. She fought
to breathe while watching the shiny blade move lower. In between her breasts he
grazed it across her skin in the shape of an S, then he glided it along a
straight path over her navel to her lower abdomen.

Short, choppy breaths flowed in and out of her nostrils. She
sucked in her stomach, disengaging her skin from the knife. The reprieve lasted
only a second before he pressed the tip along the inside of her left hipbone
above the waistline of her panties and punctured her flesh.

Ohhh God!
She swallowed a scream and snapped her eyes
shut against the excruciating pain while warm blood oozed toward her belly.
Don’t
scream. Don’t cry.
Dear God, help me.
She wouldn’t give him the
satisfaction—tears might only intensify his perversities. But he didn’t appear
to thrive on weakness. Blood seemed to be his driving force and he dragged the
blade an inch, carving her flesh.

Ahhh, Jesus, please!
She bit her lip, trying to
suppress screams, but one long, bloodcurdling cry blared from her lungs as
tears slid from the corners of her eyes.

He laughed. The maniacal sound crept through her veins like
ice. Her eyes bulged as he repositioned the knife and carved another slash diagonally
across the first. Cries of pain expounded inside her head. She clenched her
fists and eyelids shut, digging nails into her palms, and flexed her stomach.
Holy
Mother.

Seconds droned on and on. Hesitantly she opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was the amount of blood oozing from the cuts. What
hadn’t absorbed into her panties pooled in the hollow of her stomach. On the
mattress beside her waist lay the knife, and in his hand he held a syringe
filled with clear fluid. He shot a stream of liquid into the air. As he lowered
the needle to her throat, she scrunched her eyes closed and held her breath.