Lib Novel Page 2
Please God, let her be okay.
Everything happened so fast that I didn’t even get a chance to turn around, never mind get her somewhere safe, but she’s so tiny that my body almost completely envelops her. Between the ringing in my head and the blaring of the fire and security alarms, I can’t hear her—no terrified wailing, not even a shuddering breath. But I do hear the pounding of running feet and the woman’s heartbreaking screams.
A tremor runs down my spine, and my right leg folds under me, my knee hitting the floor. The pain is so intense that drawing enough air into my lungs is getting harder with every breath. I don’t have enough strength left to keep myself upright. The only thing I can concentrate on is keeping the girl plastered to my chest. I slide my hand to her cheek and let myself topple sideways to the floor. Immediately, another onslaught of agony stings my face as it hits the glass-covered surface. Jagged fragments pierce the back of my hand that’s still cupping the girl’s cheek, holding her off the hazardous tile.
It can’t have been more than a few seconds since the explosion, but it seems like hours have passed. My vision is getting blurry, everything around me is dissolving into a shapeless haze. Everything except for a pair of wide dark eyes, shining like polished onyx from between the strands of ink-black hair. Blood and smudges mar the girl’s cheeks and forehead, but she’s not crying. Just clutching my shirt and . . . glaring at me. As if she’s annoyed with me for disrupting her playtime. I’d laugh, but I don’t have the energy.
The kid’s unharmed.
I haven’t become a child murderer.
Still just a killer.
Everything around me continues to fade. Is someone screwing around with the lights? The only thing I can see are the girl’s onyx eyes.
But then, they too are gone.
Chapter 1
20 years later
Present day
Being kidnapped sucks.
Being kidnapped with your bladder full sucks significantly more.
“I need to pee,” I mumble.
The jackass across from me looks up from his phone and sends me a sinister smile. It doesn’t actually have the impact he aimed for because it instantly transforms into a pained grimace. He presses his meaty palm to his chin, patting the big red bruise spreading across his ugly mug.
“No,” he barks and goes back to fidgeting with his device, dismissing me completely. It looks like he’s still stewing over me hitting him with my backpack.
The low rumble of the plane’s engines competes with the sounds of a football game coming from his phone’s speaker. I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. Slipping into hysteria would accomplish absolutely nothing, and will likely make my chances of escape even slimmer. I need to stay calm. Or, as calm as possible, considering my current situation.
Easier said than done.
My eyes glide over the swanky interior of the aircraft. On either side of the central aisle, four large recliner seats dominate the space. Toward the front of the cabin, two cushiony sofas face each other. The interior is all pristine beige leather and rich wooden accents. I’ve been in private planes several times, but this one is another level of extravagance.
As far as conditions for being held against your will go, these could be much worse, but nice surroundings don’t abate my growing panic. Jackass number two is sprawled on the sofa on the left-hand side, watching—of all things—a travel infomercial on the big-screen TV mounted to the bulkhead.
My heart continues its staccato beat inside my ribcage, just like it did when these two pricks snatched me off the street and stuffed me into their van. The bastards never told me why they targeted me or where they were taking me. We drove for some time to arrive at a small private airport outside Chicago. The plane was already waiting on the tarmac when we pulled up.
How long have we been flying? An hour? Two? Ten? I’m not sure because they put some acid-smelling rag over my mouth and nose the moment we stepped foot inside this plane. I guess I shouldn’t have kneed the infomercial-loving lunkhead in the balls on my way up the airstairs. Can’t say he liked it.
I turn back to the scumbag sitting across from me. He’s still pretending to be engrossed in the game playing on his phone, but he’s been stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Fucking creep.
“Listen, if you don’t take me to the bathroom, I’ll just pee right here.” I widen my legs as much as my bound ankles allow. “Not sure the fancy leather will fare well, though.”
“Christ!” He leaps from his seat and grabs my arm, pulling me up to stand. “Hank, I’m taking the nutcase to the restroom.”
“Keep your eyes on her hands this time or you’ll end up sporting another bruise,” Hank groans from the sofa, moving his hand to shift his dick as if worried he lost it.
“I can’t walk with my legs tied, idiot!” I snap as the man drags me down the narrow aisle between the seats. “And I need you to remove the handcuffs.”
“Then hop. And I’m not freeing your hands.” He grabs the links between my wrists and pulls.
I cry out in pain. The skin on my wrists is already raw from when he yanked me up the final couple of stairs while we were boarding. That happened after I got up close and personal with his buddy’s jewels. My eyes prickle with unshed tears, but I blink rapidly, keeping the waterworks at bay by sheer will. I half shuffle, half hop between the seats before the knucklehead’s bruteness has me falling flat on my face. When we reach the back of the plane, he opens the lavatory door and pushes me inside.