Chapter 3
Gemma
The van squeals as it takes a turn on two wheels.
“Oh my god!” I scream. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”
There are no seats in the back, and I’m forced to brace myself against the vehicle’s metal walls as we’re tossed around carelessly. The masked men laugh, and one of them pulls his balaclava off, revealing an ugly smile with two missing front teeth.
“To the hospital, girlie,” he sneers. “That’s where you wanted to go, right?”
I stare at him even as we go over a huge bump, making me hit my elbow painfully. Yes, I said we should go to the hospital, and it becomes even more clear as Jimmy lets out a grunt of pain from the hard jostle.
“Jimmy are you okay?” I say in a panicked tone, shaking him by the shoulder. “Wake up! Don’t pass out. You’re suffering from blood loss. Stay with me, stay with me!”
The other masked men pull off their balaclavas, revealing an ugly array of unwashed, dirty criminals. All of them have yellowing teeth, beady eyes, and evil smiles that promise of a nightmare come true.
“You said hospital,” one remarks as we go over another bump. My head almost hits the ceiling of the van this time. “This was all your idea.”
“My idea?” I shriek I protest. “It’s because you have a dying man on your hands! Do you want to go down for Murder One?”
One of the guys shrugs.
“Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck. Johnnie’s the one who shot him.”
The man who must have been the one who hurt Jimmy shrugs as well.
“I don’t care either,” he says. “I was using Tommy’s gun, so who says it was me? We all look the same on camera.”
That’s right! There are video cameras at the Silver Star that must have recorded everything, from when these criminals first stepped in through the door to every detail of the shooting. They’re going to jail, for sure. I press my lips together, determined to hang tight. The police will find me. Maisie called 9-1-1 and it’s only a matter of time before law enforcement’s on our tail.
Suddenly, the driver turns back to look at us.
“How do we get to the hospital?” he demands. “Where is that fucking place?”
The men stare at each other, befuddled.
“GPS doesn’t say?” asks one.
“I can’t use fucking GPS!” screams the driver back. “It just gives them another way to track us! How many black vans do you think are hurtling through the streets of Vegas right now? The hospital, goddamn it! Where is it?”
That’s when the leader turns on me.
“Tell him,” he hisses. “That’s why we brought you. Fucking billionaires, they don’t tell you anything,” he says with disgust.
What the hell? What billionaires? These guys definitely are not billionaires, given their unshaven, grimy appearances, and the fact that they just did a stick-em-up at the local diner. What billionaire would do that? Plus, it’s not like they even took the cash. The only thing they’re making off with is a fat, injured man and a waitress in a stained, bloody uniform.
I press my lips together, determined not to speak. But then Jimmy lets out another moan, and I swear, he’s even more pale if possible. The florid color is gone from his cheeks and he looks like death warmed over.
“Please,” he gasps. “Please Gem.”
Fuck this. My chin snaps up and I look the driver in the eye.
“Left on Roosevelt,” I say, craning my head to see out the windshield. “Go two blocks, then a right onto Mary, then a left onto Garland. All the way up for another few blocks, and you’ll see it on the left.”
The driver puts his foot to the metal, and we speed off, hanging on for dear lives as the van makes another screeching left.
“My knee!” mutters Jimmy. “Oh god.”
“You’re going to have a lot more problems than your knee if you don’t shut up,” grunts the driver. “Come on, faster, faster! He’s bleeding all over the van! Who the fuck’s gonna clean this up once this is over?”
But fortunately, after a few more squealing turns, the vehicle pulls into the hospital’s circular driveaway and the guys pull their masks down over their faces once more. The double doors in back bang open, and my kidnappers literally roll Jimmy over and over until he falls out of the van and onto the pavement in a painful, bloody heap. The doors slam shut once more, and one guy screams, “Come on! Let’s go! Go, go, go!”
Once more, the van leaps to life with a jolt and we’re speeding down the roads of Vegas again.
I look dumbly at my captors.
“Is that what you do with injured men?” I ask in a dead voice. “You dump them at the local hospital? What if no one finds him for a few minutes? You know he’s dead.”
It’s the wrong thing to say because suddenly, something strikes me on the face, and I fall to the floor, gasping with pain. A white light flashes before my eyes and stinging pain jolts straight from my cheek to my brain, making it difficult to think.
“Unnnh,” is my ugly groan. “Ouch.”
“Fuck you,” says the guy who hit me. “Someone shut this bitch up.”
As my eyes smart, another man stuffs a gag in my mouth and ties my hands behind my back. The pain is still making my vision blurry, and I’m limp like a rag. The van jolts over another bump and I groan again, hardly able to believe this is happening to me. After all, I thought today was going to be a normal day. Nothing new, nothing exciting. Instead, I’ve been kidnapped, beaten, and my boss was shot in the knee before we dumped him off at the local infirmary. Plus, the men are now jabbering on nervously about some billionaire this, and some billionaire that. What billionaires? Are they out of their minds? Clearly, they must be some lowlifes hired to do a hit that’s gone wrong. The only problem is … now that their plans are completely out of whack, what’s going to happen to me?