REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (37 page)

He seems unfazed by the picture I’ve painted.
 
I’ve underestimated his kidnapping skill-set, I think.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me like that,” he says, sounding almost bored.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m the guy who decides what happens to you after you tell me what I want to know.”

“Bullshit.
 
You’re not in charge.
 
You’re an amateur.”
 
I look around, wondering when the real bad guys are going to show up.
 
This guy doesn’t even have a weapon.
 
At least the scab eater has his fists.
 
I’m pretty sure the only thing Robert has ever hit is a golf ball.

“I’m a businessman, and I’m here to make you an offer.”

I sit back into the cushions and calm myself with a slow breath in and out.
 
When I’m sure I won’t call him very bad names, I speak.
 
“If all you wanted to do was make a business deal, you could have called me up or emailed me and just asked.”

He smiles without humor.
 
“I tried the nice way, the non-invasive way.
 
But you didn’t cooperate.”

“When? I’d love to know, because trust me, I would have preferred that to the concussion.”
 
I point to my aching head.

“I came to your dorm once and your apartment at least twice.”

I narrow my eyes as I realize another place I saw this turd basket.
 
“You drive a Prius, don’t you?”

“Very good.
 
I had a feeling you saw me.”

“What is it you want?”
 
I have a feeling it’s the toy car, but I’m going to go ahead and play stupid for as long as I can.
 
I’m hoping that if I can get them to believe I’m so dense that I don’t know what it is they’re after, they’ll never suspect me of making copies.
 
Maybe I’ll be allowed to live.

“Your father sent you some documents.
 
We want them.”

“He didn’t send me any documents.”
 
I have my stupid face expression going full court press, giving it everything I’ve got.
 
“He sent me a
letter
telling me to keep his toy car safe, that’s it.
 
It was a single page, and it wasn’t really a
document
unless you consider four sentences a
document
.”

I roll my eyes and do the best imitation of an overacting Disney show actress that I possibly can.
 
“Geez, if you want the damn car you can have it.
 
How much is it worth, anyway?
 
Like a thousand bucks or something?
 
I knew I should have put that thing on eBay.”
 
I bite my fingernail, feigning a complete lack of interest in his silly car obsession.

“You didn’t, did you?”

“No.
 
But I wish I had.”
 
I flop my hand down by my side.
 
“I can’t believe you actually kidnapped me for a toy car.
 
Are you on drugs?”
 
I squint at him, acting like I really believe what I’m saying.
 
“That’s really sad.
 
You can get clean, dude.
 
One day at a time and all that stuff.”

“Where’s the car?”
 
Apparently he’s not interested in my Narc-Anon intervention.

“Uhhh … it’s in my sweatshirt pocket.”

“Where?”

“At Rebel’s.” My stomach goes into knots as I realize I’ve just directed this guy over to my new boyfriend’s house.
 
I move quickly to try and undo the mess I just made.
 
“I think that’s where it is. But maybe it isn’t.”
 
Rebel won’t let anyone in there without a fight.
 
God, please don’t let Rebel get hurt.

I’m sick over the idea that I’ve finally found a guy I can get serious with, and I’m going to get him killed by a redneck who doesn’t know how to dress for a barbecue and a turd who doesn’t know how to arrange a proper kidnapping.
 
Life is so damn unfair.

Robert stands.
 
“Come on.
 
Let’s go.”

“Go where?”
 
I struggle to stand, the dizziness and pain from my head injury making me wobbly.

“To the toy.
 
I want it now.”

“Fine.
 
Whatever.” I clamp my lips shut so I can focus on putting one foot in front of the other and not saying something that will blow my cool cover story.

I wait off to the side as Robert rolls up the door, revealing a hallway in front of us.
 
Sure enough, we’re in one of those storage buildings.

“What are you going to do with me after I give you the car?” I ask.

“I’m not sure what Dack has planned for you.”

I swallow hard.
 
“I could guess,” I say, knowing now that once they have the car there’s no reason to keep me around.
 
Tears come when I realize that I’m about to become a statistic.

Adrenaline rushes back into my veins and I begin to shake.
 
I want to run, but I know I wouldn’t get five steps before being tackled.
 
My head hurts too much and it’s affecting my equilibrium.
 
Maybe if I get outside at some point where there are other people, I’ll be able to scream or something.

I hold onto that slim hope as we move out into the sunshine.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

THE THREE OF US PULL into the empty Rebel Wheels parking lot.
 
I don’t know whether to be happy or sad about the fact that my kidnappers have a wide open opportunity not only to get what they came for but to murder me and leave me to be found by the only people in town who would give me a job.

The selfish part of me was hoping someone would be there to come to my rescue, but deep down I know it’s better that no one is.
 
This is my mess and I need to clean it up.
 
All I can hope now is that one of those heavy tools in the garage might make a good weapon … if I can get my hands on it before Dack slams my skull into something, that is.

I get to the door and try the handle.
 
“It’s locked.”
 
A few seconds of relief wash over me before Dack comes up with the brilliant idea of getting a tire iron out of the truck and using it to pry the door open.
 
The lock cracks after just a few hard pulls on Dack’s part and the door swings wide.

“Where’s the car?” asks Robert.

“In the apartment upstairs,” I say, pointing inside.
 
I stay where I am, hoping he’ll be content to just search around himself.
 
I find it harder to believe that they’ll kill me out in public view, so my plan is to stay out here as long as I can.

“Go get it,” says Dack, pushing me on the back with the tire iron.

So much for staying outside.
 
And now he’s the one with a heavy weapon in his hand.
 
I am so screwed.

My feet drag and I keep my eyes on the floor.
 
I don’t want my last view of this world to be the inside of a mechanic’s garage.
 
I want to remember the blue sky, the view of Rebel through the smoke of Quin’s barbecue, and that fruity purple punch with sherbet floating in it before I threw it up.

My kidnappers are mumbling behind me, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying.
 
All I can hear is the sound of some specter in my head, calling out,
Dead girl walking!
I can almost picture cells lined up on either side of me with death-row criminals egging me towards some chamber that will hold my doom.
 
Electric chair.
 
Lethal injection.
 
Firing squad.
 
Hanging.
 
I’m going to die and I’m not even old enough to rent a car yet.

The phone rings in the office.
 
I hesitate, wondering who’d be calling on a Saturday.
 
Could it be a customer?
 
A telemarketer wanting to sell me cable service for the eighteenth time this week?
 
Normally I’d want to reach through the phone and yank a telemarketer through it, so I could berate him for being the scourge of polite society, but today I’d gladly jump through the phone in the other direction to hang out with him in his little cubicle in India.
 
We could be best friends if only he’d save me from being killed over a toy car.

Rebel has one of those old-school answering machines with a cassette tape in it.
 
The thing’s so dirty you can’t even see through the plastic window the tape sits in.
 
I hear a voice come out over the speaker and it echoes all over the garage.

“Teagan?
 
Are you there?”

My heart sinks like a rock down into my stomach. I want to scream,
Rebel! I’m here!
 
But I say nothing because it’s no use anyway.
 
He can’t hear me.
 
He’s still at the party, and the answering machine only answers; it doesn’t transmit.

There’s a scrabbling sound coming over the speaker and then Quin’s voice.
 
“Give me that phone … Tea!
 
Can she hear me?
 
Hey, Tea?
 
It’s me.
 
Your best friend of all time forever, even when I’m a dick.
 
I’m sorry, okay?
 
I shouldn’t have said that.
 
I’m an asshole of the highest degree.
 
Please come back to the party.
 
I’ll eat a piece of liver to prove to you I mean it, okay?
 
You know how much I hate liver.
 
Are you there?
 
I know you’re there, pick up.
 
Stop being a baby.”

Dack shoves me in the back again and I trip out of the office in my efforts to not have a bruised spine.
 
I’m crying like a baby by the time I’m at the top of the stairs.
 
Quin’s begging and cajoling fades out as we go through the door into the upper hallway.

I want to tell my best friend of all time I’m sorry too, that I didn’t mean what I said, that she doesn’t need to ask for my forgiveness because friends just offer it freely and without condition.
 
I’m painfully aware that it’s too late for me to learn that lesson about always treating your friends as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see them.
 
I hate that she’ll never get to hear my apology but that I heard hers.
 
And I both hate and love my dad more than I ever have in my entire life.

The nearness of my own death has brought a hyper-awareness that makes everything crystal clear.
 
I’m almost sure that my dad didn’t die of natural causes.
 
He died because he was a good guy trying to do the right thing and he was married to a demon with an equally evil brother.
 
Maybe he wasn’t dad of the year for me, but he wasn’t a bad person.
 
And he was counting on me to have his back, but I fucked it up.
 
All those years he took care of me and made sure I never wanted for anything, and when he asked me to do one for him, I let him down.

I put my hand on the doorknob and turn to face my kidnappers and eventual murderers.
 
“It’s in here, I think.”

Dack nods.
 
“Open it.”

The complete lack of remorse in his expression redlines my anger gauge.
 
He’s taking my memories of my friends and turning them to shit.
 
Yes, it’s partially my fault that I’m going to die and probably be a restless spirit for all of eternity because I left unfinished business on this planet, but it’s also going to be his fault that I’m a murder statistic.
 
I’ve never been good with accepting unfair situations, and nothing strikes me as more unfair than being killed right before I know for sure whether Rebel loves me or not.

I slowly pull my hand off the doorknob.

“I said, open it,” Dack growls.

I speak through gritted teeth, matching his tone and letting all my anger seep into my voice.
 
“Fuck you, Dick. Open it yourself.”
 
I prepare myself for massive pain as he raises the tire iron above his head in a threatening gesture.

It’s in that moment, right as he’s opening his mouth to deliver his last and final order to open the door, that my previous planning-for-kidnap skills and maneuvers finally kick in. A surge of pure adrenaline jacks me up like a hit of lab-quality speed.
 
Testicles, spectacles, wallet, and watch!
 
Here I come!

His legs are spread wide open and I waste no time in bringing my foot up and planting it firmly between his legs.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

DACK GOES DOWN IN SLOW motion, his face paper-white and his expression a mix of fury, pain, and surprise.

The tire iron falls from his grasp with a clang against the wall and flips end over end onto the floor.
 
He’s in a heap at Rebel’s door and Robert is behind him, trying not to go down with his friend while also attempting to give him some support.

I’d fist pump in triumph over my glorious ninja moves if I weren’t so panicked about dying.
 
Instead, I begin to back away, sliding my hand along the wall to keep from tripping on my own feet.

Before I get too far, Dack lands on the ground and his leg goes over the tire iron.
 
I lean down to snatch it away before Robert can get to it, but it’s hooked on Dack’s jeans.

Screaming, I yank it free, but it comes loose too suddenly.
 
I fall to the ground on my ass, jarring my skull and making my headache flare up to new painful heights.