Obsessed Page 5

  Blake walks next to me along the dock, while Jason leads the way and Oscar brings up the rear. It feels like we are on a runway, putting on a show for the other yacht owners. I feel a bit like a prisoner being transported to a new facility. The odd procession of the skinny red head being escorted by three men along the dock, two of them menacing, draws attention from the other boaters. One particularly snooty looking woman, who looks as if she's just had her lips plumped, lifts her sunglasses to stare boldly at me from the deck of her expensive yacht. I shrink down under her glower. Paranoia creeps into me as I mull the possibility that everyone in the marina saw Kane and me at the stern. A warm blush creeps up my skin, making the tingling sensations worse, as I talk myself into the idea that everyone wants to get a good look at the woman who openly had anal sex in front of the whole damn dock. I know the unsettling paranoia is from the nectar but it doesn't help ease my mind.

  I release a sigh when we are finally off the dock and out of sight of the other boats. Some of my earlier hope returns, along with a rush of adrenaline, when we reach the open market. It's packed with people, locals, anxious to sell their wares and vacationers, anxious to fill their suitcases with unnecessary souvenirs.

  Jason stops at the entrance of the market. Even with his dark sunglasses, I have no doubt he is watching me. With the slightest lift of his chin, he gives Blake the go ahead to lead me into the market. I truly am a prisoner, and the guards know that if their ward runs off, there will be hell to pay.

  Blake and I stop at a stand with straw hats. I pretend to be interested in choosing one. I see Oscar walk through the market, head and shoulders above everyone else. His big, dark head stops at the end of the market stalls. A guard at each end and my personal guard at my side. It doesn't make for an easy escape. In between trying to figure out how to get out of their line of sight for long enough to make a run for it, I'm feeling less and less confident about leaving at all. The nectar has me under its control, possibly even more than the man who formulated it.

  Blake is grinning ear to ear as he jams a wide brimmed hat onto my head. "Jason and I are really bonding on this trip. We needed this time away."

  "That's great." I force a smile. Without thinking, I rub my arm vigorously to stop the invisible ants.

  Blake's mouth drops open. "Oh fuck. We forgot your injection." He speaks loud enough to draw the attention of two women also perusing the hats. We are all so sheltered it seems we've forgotten what it's like out in public.

  "I'm fine," I say quietly. "You can give it to me when we get back." There's just enough edge in my tone to make him worry more.

  "Maybe we should cut this trip short." He takes hold of my elbow and leads me away from the hats and the nosy women. "The boss is already angry about the extra dose I gave you before we left. If I don't keep you on schedule—"

  "Stop," I say curtly. "I'm fine. You said he won't be back for a few hours."

  "What the hell do I know? You might have noticed that the man doesn't exactly share personal details about his day."

  "Please, let's just stay a little longer."

  Blake follows close at my heels as I wander over to a produce stand. The heady fragrance of tropical fruit in the hot sun should make my mouth water. Instead, I feel sick to my stomach. I force myself to taste a sample of the mango being held out to me by the round-cheeked produce seller.

  Blake has temporarily forgotten his anguish as he picks up a cup of freshly cut papaya. "This is Jason's favorite." He glances toward the front of the market where Jason is standing, looking completely out of place in his black t-shirt and sunglasses.

  I elbow Blake. "Buy him some. He looks awfully hot standing there. I bet he'll appreciate it." I wink. The simple gesture hurts my head, reminding me that the headache is gaining in intensity.

  Blake likes my idea and digs into his pocket for some money. "While you're handing out cash, I would love one of those pastries from that cart over there."

  Blake looks more than a little shocked. "You are craving food and fattening food at that? Can't say no. Here you go." He drops some cash into my hand and picks up the biggest cup of papaya. "Buy your pastry and make sure it's the one with the most calories. I'm going to take the fruit to Jason."

  My muscles tighten and I go into flight mode. I would give anything to be free of the hampering side effects and residual lack of clarity left behind by the nectar. Angie Tennyson would not only have run by now, but she would have been halfway home. The thought of home makes my chest tighten and pushes steely resolve through me.

  I glance toward Oscar. His focus is on a pair of street vendors arguing about something. Blake has Jason's full attention and vice versa. Young love has given me my opportunity. I slip past the pastry cart and shoot out to the street. A sharp horn grabs my attention. I jump back out of the way of a taxi cab that is barreling through town.

  I'm on the back side of the market. I head toward the next street and decide to get lost in the pedestrian and bicycle traffic ahead. I glance back to see Oscar's tall head disappear into the market. They are on to me. I turn another corner, not sure which way to go and wishing my head felt better. I decide my best bet is to head away from the coast.

  A fairly young, lanky man wearing board shorts is leaning next to his truck. The tails of two surfboards are sticking up over the tailgate. He is surrounded by a fragrant cloud of marijuana as I approach him. His skin is tanned so dark, it looks a bit like leather. It makes his stained yellow teeth look almost white by contrast. His grin widens when he sees me walk toward him.

  "Excuse me, could you direct me to the police station?" I realize too late that my question might be a little off putting for a man hiding a joint behind his back. "I've lost my party. I'm hoping they can locate them for me," I add quickly.

  He clucks his tongue. "Is that right? Well, it's a good six miles to the station, but I'd be happy to give you a ride. My friend and I are heading back that way right now."

  I lean over and notice another guy with more of a sunburn than a tan staring at me through the back windshield. I take a quick peek over my shoulder. Jason and Oscar are running my direction.

  "Sure. Thanks. But could we hurry?" I motion back. "See that big guy running toward us with the shaved head? I stole his wallet."

  I take a chance by adding a bit of spunk to my character and intrigue to my story. He looks like the kind of guy who would appreciate it. The lie works. He's smiling ear to ear as he opens the truck. I slide into the cab next to his friend. My heart nearly jumps from my chest as it takes the guy three ignition turns to get the motor started. We take off down the road. I glance back.

  Oscar and Jason have just reached the place where the truck was parked. Blake is a block or so behind, looking white as a sheet. A knot of guilt forms in my chest. I can only hope that Kane doesn't take it all out on him.

  I turn forward and sigh with relief. Tears sting my eyes, but I wipe them quickly away. The two men on either side of me smell overwhelmingly of weed and body odor. And I'm slipping into the full effects of withdrawal. But I don't care. I'm going home.

  12

  Angie

  The truck turns down a long road that seems to be leading away from the hub of the city. My intuition isn't nearly what it should be, but my body tightens with the first indication of trouble. I would never have climbed into the truck if Kane's two guards hadn't been closing in on me.

  The road gets rougher as most of the asphalt falls away leaving only potholes and dirt. There are overgrown fields and jungle-like copses dotting the side of the road.

  "Why is the police station all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?" It's obvious we aren't heading toward any station or any part of civilization, for that matter, but I decide to play the innocent until I see my chance. Detective Tennyson would be angry and steeled for a fight, but my weakened physical and emotional state makes it hard for me to stay strong. It seems I can't catch a break.

  The driver who has a sharp nose and weak chin peer
s over at his buddy with a not too subtle sparkle in his eye.

  "You know what," I say airily as if I still have no clue what's going on. "I just remembered, I can't go into the station. I've got a few outstanding tickets. Just let me out here, and I'll walk back to town."

  "Might as well join us for a little party since you've got nowhere to be." The driver pulls a bottle of tequila out from under his seat. He takes his hands off the wheel. The truck waddles side to side on the crumbling road as he opens the bottle. His eyes are off the road too as he lifts the bottle straight up in the air and takes a few loud gulps. "Ahh. Good stuff." He hands it to me. I pass it straight to his friend.

  "Aren't you going to take a drink?" he asks. "And here I thought our sweet little wallet thief was going to be more fun."

  "Nope," I say. "I'm the opposite of fun." My skin is crawling from withdrawals. An idea pops into my head. I start rubbing my arms vigorously. It gives me some relief and makes me look much less appealing as a new party friend. "Plus, you don't want to catch what I've got because it's not pretty. I've got rashes all over my body." I lean over and rub my legs. It feels so damn good I don't want to stop.

  The passenger has a gristly beard and dirt in the creases on his neck. "Don't see any rashes," he says.

  "Oh, they are there. Feels like an army of ants on my skin." The driver pulls a sharp left turn. I pop off the seat and land halfway on the passenger's thigh as the truck hits a big rut.

  The creep takes advantage and quickly jams his hand under my ass for a major grope. I squirm away from his grasp but really have nowhere to go.

  The driver stops in front of the ruins of a small building. The roof is filled with holes and every window has been broken out. Vines snake around the leftover walls as if they are the only thing still keeping them standing.

  My body is rigid and ready to fight or flee or both. We're far away from the town, and I feel weaker by the minute. But I'm ready to run a marathon to get away from these creeps.

  I reach for the tequila. "You know, I think I'll have some of that after all."

  The driver laughs. "See, that's the spirit."

  The passenger opens the door and climbs out. I scoot out after him and smack him hard on the head with the bottle. He yells out and drops to his knees. The driver is on the other side of the truck. I'm off and running before he figures out that I just crowned his buddy.

  Two months ago, I would have been able to outrun the guy and race at full throttle back to town. But I'm a physical shell of my former self. I grunt in pain as the jerk tackles me to the ground. Rocks grind into my bare limbs and cheek as he flattens me with his body. I gasp for air and reach blindly around for something to hit him with. My fingers slip just past a good sized stone as he pushes off of me.

  "Nice try, dolly," he growls. He pinches my skin as he grabs viciously at the back of my shirt. He yanks me directly to my feet, jarring my head back with a snap. My knees buckle, but he pulls me sharply to standing again. Warm blood trickles from the scratches on my knees and thighs.

  He swings me around so fast, I lose my balance again. The entire landscape spins around like we're in the center of a tornado. I lean forward and puke. I catch my breath enough to speak.

  "See, you don't want to mess with me," I say. "I'm sick with a deadly disease."

  He pulls me against him. The rank odor circling around him brings me close to throwing up again. "Right, doll, like I don't know what fucking withdrawals look like." He pulls my arm so hard, it feels as if it might separate from my shoulder. "You've got pin pricks all up and down those pretty arms. You're a fucking junkie, and now I'm going to give it to you good."

  His words temporarily stun me, making me forget my grim situation. I'm a junkie. I stare down at my arms, both covered with tiny red marks. How can I go back and not die with shame? How can I face Clark or Maddox with needle scars all over my arms?

  The guy I smacked with the bottle is sitting on the ground, wiping the blood off the back of his head with his hand. "That bitch deserves to die," he snarls as his friend tightens his grip on my arm and drags me past.

  All my self defense moves seem impossible now. I'm as frail and helpless as a kitten. I'm a junkie. The phrase repeats in my head again and again. Despair, shame and a bleak cold creeping sensation shudder through me. It's part of the withdrawal effects I tell myself. I can't let it get hold of me or I won't make it out alive.

  While still holding my arm, my attacker kicks in the dented door. It breaks off rusted hinges and falls into the room. The walls have only shreds of plaster left, exposing the stacks of cinderblocks beneath. Walls sturdy enough to withstand a hurricane but not the test of time. I stumble over the fallen door as he drags me ruthlessly into the vacant space. Vines hang down through the holes in the ceiling. Abandoned birds' nests clutter up every corner of the room. The floor is littered with plant debris. I have no doubt there are creatures hiding out, watching us.

  The other guy joins us. He still looks a little wobbly from the blow to his head. And he looks mad enough to take it out on me. I search frantically around for something, anything I can grab to defend myself, but dried and decayed palm fronds make pathetic weapons.

  My head has started to pound and shards of pain shoot through my limbs. I'm feeling dreadfully sick from withdrawal. The pain and nausea coupled with the dread of what is about to happen to me makes me consider death as the best way out. It's the lack of nectar which allows the dark thoughts to seep in and take hold, but I don't have the strength or will to fight them off. An hour ago I was nervous and thrilled about the possibility of going home. Now all I can think is I hope these guys are the kind of perverts who prefer to kill me first.

  My kidnapper releases my wrist for a moment to clear some debris away from an old cot. His friend steps in to give him a hand. I turn and run, only to stumble over the fallen door. I slam to my knees. Tears fill my eyes as I push to my feet. Before I can take another step, the guy grabs hold of my hair and wrenches me back. I fall hard on the ground, jarring my teeth together. Stabbing pain shoots up my tailbone and back. Detective Tennyson would have had both these guys tied up with their own fucking balls by now. Shit, where is she when I need her?

  He pulls my hair again causing my already pounding head excruciating pain. I scream and reach back to take hold of the hair close to my scalp, lessening the bite of his grasp. With one good yank, he pulls me through the debris on the ground. Grit and rocks scrape the back of my legs as I struggle to get my feet under me.

  "Less defiance and we'll all be better off," he mutters. He whips me onto the dust drenched cot. Musty clouds of dirt puff up around me, making my eyes and throat burn. The unexpected dust storm makes both men cough. I push up from the cot and try and bolt for the opening. In the middle of his cough fit, the asshole sticks his arm out. I smack face first into his fist and fall back onto the cot. The room and their monstrous faces go out of focus. I close my eyes and hope for a blackout. My shorts being wrenched from my body brings me quickly to.

  I make a last effort to bring my foot up into the guy's balls as he drops his pants, but my aim is off and I smack his leg. "Tired of this, bitch," he sneers. His hand comes across my face so fast, I never see it coming. Pain explodes through my head and things go blissfully dark.

  A roar echoes around me. In the blackness, I visualize a giant, angry beast. There is no other explanation for the sound. The hands that were holding me fall away. I can only reason that I'm dead and can no longer feel my attackers touching me.

  My lids are heavy but I manage to open my eyes. Everything is a painful blur, but I'm sure I see more than two people in the room. They've brought more friends, I conclude and quickly close my eyes to get back to that death-like state of mind. It's no use. I open my eyes again. My vision is clearer. There are three more men in the room. The small space is packed with them.

  Oscar and Jason come into focus as they step back and cross their arms. The guy I hit with the bottle is crumpled in a heap on
the broken door. I pull my bleary focus around to the adjacent wall. I sob instantly at the sight of him. It's a reaction I would give anything to erase, but seeing Kane's confident, strong shoulders and the straight set of his jaw, turns me to jelly. I can't, I tell myself. I can't go back to him. But all I can think of now is running to him and jumping into his arms.

  "Kane," I say weakly. He looks back at me over his shoulder. His blue eyes are dark like an angry ocean. The look in his face sucks the wind from me. I sway back and my head taps painfully against the cinderblock wall. More of the scene comes into focus.

  Kane is holding my attacker by the neck. The man is purple and gasping for air. His nose is grotesquely skewed to the side of his face, and both his eyes are swollen shut.

  As Kane lifts his bloodied knuckles to hit the man again I'm shaken out of the fog. Due process, law, jury trial swish through my head.

  "No!" I cry out. My shorts are still around my ankles. I pull them up. "Let him go. He's dying," I sob.

  Kane ignores my pleas. He's in a fog too it seems, a fog of revenge and anger. A thud echoes through the room as his fist hits bone and flesh. I cover my mouth to stop from puking. My feet land hard on the ground. I stumble toward Kane.

  "No, you can't," I cry and grab hold of Kane's arm. It tenses beneath my grasp. He turns his face but looks past me. It seems he will do anything not to look me in the eye.

  "Get her out of here," he barks the order.

  Oscar lumbers across the room toward me. I make a pathetic attempt to avoid his grasp. Seconds later, I'm tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carried out of the building. He holds my legs tightly against him, but I get in some good blows on his back with my fists. I'm certain I'm the only one who feels it.

  Oscar takes pity on me and drops me off his shoulder and into his arms. He doesn't say anything to me. The nightmare scenario happening in the abandoned building falls into the past. I'm hardly safe and I have no idea what will happen next, but I'm no longer at the mercy of the creeps in the truck.