Tricks (Take It Off #6)(43)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I can’t lose them both.

The thought had me sitting up a little straighter. Max was gone, his life cut entirely too short. But Tucker was still here and he had come to mean a lot to me in such a short amount of time. I knew that we likely would go our separate ways and that was fine, but the thought of him not being out there at all… it hurt me.

“You got what you wanted. Please just let us go,” I begged for like the fiftieth time since the men who took us hauled us into this abandoned building and tied our bodies to chairs.

I glanced at Tucker again, noting the way his chin lolled against his chest and how his breathing grew shallow. The way they harshly tied his hands behind his back only exaggerated the bleeding in his side, and I couldn’t stop picturing the way the wound was being pulled farther open by his forced position.

“So you can run right to the cops? Ain’t gonna happen,” one of the men said from across the room.

There were four of them. They were all sitting around a table with a laptop in the center. I could see the flash drive I surrendered to keep Tucker from being shot lying beside it (Fat lot of good that did me). Also sitting on the table were various paper sacks of fast food. The greasy, heavy smell literally made me want to gag. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could eat at a time like this.

I guess kidnapping and attempted murder was a real appetite stimulant for those guys.

I couldn’t help but think of all the charges that could be brought against these men when they got caught. Harassment. Stalking. Destruction of property, kidnapping, attempted murder, and those were just for starters. Oh, how I would love to get them in court and nail their French-fry-eating, bad-breath, Tucker-shooting asses to the wall.

But in order to do that, we had to get out of here. Giving up on the idea these men were just going to cut the ropes that bound my wrists, I began to study our surroundings. I looked for all the exits and for anything that could be used as a potential weapon.

Unfortunately, my choices were limited.

This was some sort of abandoned building and it was fairly empty, aside from trash littering the ground here and there.

“Is it what the boss needs?” one of the thugs who kidnapped us said, drawing my attention. He was standing behind the man at the laptop, eating some kind of giant burger, and as I stared at him, a big glob of ketchup fell out of the sandwich and onto his chest.

Wasn’t he a real picture of manners? I bet girls lined up around the block to take him home to Momma.

Not.

“It’s still pulling up!” the guy behind the computer said.

I wondered what kind of evidence was on that drive. I wondered if it was the only copy Max had. My guess was yes. It was our one shot at getting justice.

I also wondered what they were going to do with us once they realized they had the evidence and we were no longer necessary.

From somewhere in the building, I heard a man scream a string of profanities. I recognized his voice as Garlic Breath, the man who broke into my apartment, the man who Tucker shot, and the man reciprocated and shot Tucker.

It sounded like he was in a lot of pain and whatever kind of first aid his ghetto friends were administering wasn’t helping.

A gunshot pierced through the building.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tucker’s slack form stiffen, but I didn’t look his way because I didn’t want to draw attention to either of us.

The single popping sound bounced off the walls and faded away, leaving everything and everyone in silence. Garlic Breath was no longer screaming.

There was a sick feeling inside me that whispered he couldn’t scream anymore because he was dead.

What kind of people killed off their own allies when they were injured? Sick ones. Seriously mentally unstable people.

And we were at their mercy.

The man behind the computer whistled low beneath his breath. I looked up, noting his face as he stared at the screen. “Now I know why he wanted this shit so bad.”

Computer guy looked up at me. His eyes seemed to glow with the bright artificial light shining out of the computer. “You’re dead.”

I shivered.

A man stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing a three-piece suit, well cut and expensive-looking fabric. His tie was made of silk and his dress shoes were shined so not a speck of dirt covered them.

His face was lined and slightly craggy. His hair was graying.

His eyes met mine.

Recognition struck me like a lightning bolt. It was Mr. Wallace, the CEO of the company Max worked for. We’d been to countless charity dinners with this man. We’d visited his home for a holiday dinner. I shared a meal with this man. We exchanged small talk and he and Max joked about sports.

“Ms. Carter,” Mr. Wallace Sr. inclined his head. “My apologies you became involved in this unfortunate situation.”

Disgust rolled through me and threatened to rot my insides. I barked out a harsh laugh and strained against the binds. “Unfortunate?” I spat. “You disgusting little worm. How could you?”

He didn’t seem offended by my insult. “It’s business.”

As if that somehow made everything he’d done okay.

“I hope you rot in hell,” I spat.

“I very well might, Ms. Carter, but I daresay that you will get there long before me.”

His cocky, haughty attitude made me so angry that all I could think about was clawing out his beady little eyes.

“Is it all there?” he asked the man controlling the computer.

In response, he turned the screen so Mr. Wallace could take a look at whatever was on the file. As he read, his face flushed with anger. “You’ve certainly been a busy boy, Max.”

The man eating the ketchup-dropping burger looked at his boss and was given a light nod. My stomach cramped as he made his way across the room toward us. His eyes were intent on Tucker, and I wanted to cry.

“Hey, asshole,” I taunted, trying to draw his attention away from Tucker. “You ever heard of a napkin? Or maybe a shower?”

Okay, yes, those were horrible insults, but it was all I had.

He gave me the finger.

His insult sucked too.

Tucker was still out of it, his head still down, his eyes closed. I was beginning to worry that he had slipped into a coma… or worse.

The man struck out quickly, slapping Tucker across the side of the head so hard that the sound of flesh hitting flesh made me scream.

“Stop it!” I wailed, struggling anew. The chair I was sitting in jostled around on the floor.

Tucker’s head rolled back on his neck and then flopped forward again. The man grabbed the top of his head, taking in the short hair in his fist, and yanked his head back to stare down into his face.