Chapter Thirty-Five

By the time Seth reached the security room, he was out of breath and the headache he’d gotten from headbutting Prescott earlier was throbbing like hell. Neither slowed him down.

The room’s door was ajar with the unconscious guard slumped in the open doorway, his body keeping the door propped open. Seth rolled him over.

“Oh no. Carter.”

He checked for a pulse, found one, then gave him a shake, but like the others there was no response. Seth winced as he tried slapping him across the face. That did nothing. He got up and hurried inside the narrow security room, Charlie following him in. Seth grabbed the phone on the desk. No dial tone there either.

He dropped into a chair and tried the computer. It was working, but when he pulled up a web browser, nothing would load. He checked the Internet connection but found no signal and no other available connections.

So much for that idea.

He frantically glanced around the room for a weapon or a cell phone or for anything he could use to communicate with the outside world. He found nothing useful, except that the video surveillance monitors were still on.

He examined the monitor for the club’s kitchen. The room was dark, only one emergency light on. He spotted no sign of Prescott.

He leaned his hands on the desk and scanned the rest of the images of the club, including all the public areas of the ground floor and the hallways of the upper floors. Still no Prescott or any movement anywhere. Several more people were lying unconscious at various points in the club. He wanted to zoom in, get a closer look, and see if any of them were Vargas, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had to stay calm, focused. He had to come up with a plan.

He searched the security room again, trying the metal cabinet on the back wall, but it was locked. Maybe he should go for the door at the base of the stairs near Vargas’s apartment, see if that was locked the same as the front entrance. He could check if the gun was still in the apartment on his way. Although he was certain Prescott would’ve picked that up before he left the bedroom.

Maybe he should try to get to a window on the second floor. There were several fire escapes leading to the ground.

Or should he just shut the door to the security room, lock it, and wait this out? When Walter didn’t hear from Vargas, he’d come to the club looking for them, probably bringing half the police force with him.

A crackling sound came from overhead. The PA system. How many places were there where someone could broadcast? Maybe at the guard’s station near the front door, or the employee offices downstairs.

Or the kitchen.

Seth stood. The crackling sound came again. Like someone was blowing into the mic to see if the system was on.

Then came that voice.

“I have Vargas.”

“Oh God.” Seth slapped a hand over his mouth.

“He’s alive. For now. And he’ll stay that way as long as you do exactly as I say. Come to the kitchen through the swinging double doors in the back of the dining room. I have him here with me. You come, and I won’t gut him.”

Seth sucked in a shaky breath. He swung back to the monitors and checked the feed of the club’s kitchen. No Prescott. No Vargas. But the camera didn’t cover the entire room or the storage areas, and most of what it did show was in shadows.

“Come into the kitchen, walk through the room to the emergency exit, stand facing the door, and wait. You have fifteen minutes to get here. Or else I start cutting.” The PA cut off.

Seth dropped into the chair at the desk. Fifteen minutes. He checked the time on the monitor before him. Walter and the police would never show up by then. Seth considered trying again to get out of the club, but even if he did, help would never arrive in time. He couldn’t wait and take a chance with Vargas’s life.

He had to do something himself.

The camera feed on the large center monitor featured a duplicate image of the lounge that was also visible on one of the smaller screens. Using the control panel, Seth tried various options until he found the zoom and pan functions. He tapped an arrow button. The image on the main monitor switched to an exterior shot of the front door of the club. He panned the view left and right. The sidewalk and street were empty. He pressed the arrow button again and changed views until he looked at a larger shot of the kitchen. He zoomed in on the dark corners of the room. There was still no sign of Prescott or Vargas. But there was something else.

Prescott had pushed a freestanding commercial refrigerator in front of the emergency exit—the only other exit out of the kitchen beside the door leading into the club’s dining room.

That was why Prescott wasn’t in the room and why he’d given Seth fifteen minutes to get there, so Prescott would have time to hide somewhere else. He was going to wait until Seth entered the kitchen and then trap him there.

“Fuck that.” Seth stood. He wasn’t about to get cornered. Or let anything happen to Vargas. He glanced down at Charlie. “He’s got him somewhere else. But where?” He checked the time again.

Thirteen minutes to go.

He’d likely never locate Vargas in time. That left him only one choice. He’d have to confront Prescott.

Seth swiftly surveyed the narrow security room again, hoping he’d spot something he could use as a weapon that he’d somehow missed earlier. Maybe there was a lockbox with extra stun guns or other weapons and ammunition. Probably in the locked cabinet. He hastily rummaged through Carter’s pockets for a set of keys. He found nothing.

Then a realization hit him. Something wasn’t right.

He turned back to the bank of monitors. The one farthest to the left was dark. He got up and flipped the switch on. In the middle of the screen sat Vargas, his hands tied behind his back, his ankles lashed to the front legs of a dining room chair.

“Oh God.”

Vargas’s eyes were closed, his head slumped forward. He was unconscious. Same as the guards. Which might not be as horrible as it seemed, given Vargas’s claustrophobia and how much he’d hate being tied up like that.

Prescott was crouched behind him checking the restraints. When he was finished, he picked up the knife from the floor and stood beside the chair, staring at what had to be the entrance to whatever room they were in. He was waiting out of sight until Seth was in the kitchen.

“Okay, you can do this.” Seth breathed deep the way Dr. Arteaga had taught him. “First things first.”

He reexamined the space where Vargas was being held. He couldn’t see the entire room but enough to get that it had tiled floor and no other visible furniture. It wasn’t the kitchen. And it didn’t seem familiar either. Maybe a bathroom.

No. It appeared too big and open. Maybe one of the guest rooms upstairs that he’d never been in. The club had several themed rooms, fantasy settings for BDSM scenes. Maybe there was a room with tiled floor.

It was hard to see much detail with the limited emergency lighting, but something metal lined the wall behind Vargas. A series of lockers.

The employee locker room.

Vargas had mentioned that he’d put a camera in there. The locker room was on the first floor, down a short hallway just off the dining room. Prescott would’ve definitely had enough time to get there.

Seth checked the time again. Ten minutes left to figure out what to do.

“Come on. You can do this.”

He rapidly thought through his options, hating each one more than the last. He’d never be able to overpower Prescott. He’d only been lucky in that regard earlier thanks to Charlie’s help. It was unlikely it’d go down like that again.

Alternatively, if Seth waited until Prescott went into the kitchen, he’d never have enough time to reach Vargas, untie him, and get them out of the club. Besides, Prescott might kill Vargas before he went into the kitchen.

No, that wasn’t right. Prescott had him tied up for a reason. He’d want to torture Vargas in the worst way possible by making him live with the knowledge that Seth was out there somewhere without him, somewhere with Prescott.

Then it came to Seth. The best plan he could come up with. All he had left to work out now was how to get them out of the club quickly.

He reached for the control panel on the desk. His hand was shaking as he pressed the arrow key. The large center monitor switched to a feed of the bar. He tried the next view and the next until he found what he wanted: the main floor of the club on the same side as the hallway that led to the employee locker room. He zoomed the camera in, then panned left and right, searching the dining room wall on each side.

There. At the far end of another short hallway was an emergency exit sign. All the times he’d been to the club he never paid attention to those signs. Prescott hadn’t blocked this exit door. Which meant, he truly believed Seth was going to show up in the kitchen and not put up a fight.

Screw him.

Seth leaned down to Charlie and cradled the dog’s head in his hands. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come with me. I won’t let him hurt you. Or use you to manipulate me. You’ll be safe in here.” And even if something happened to Seth, someone would eventually open the security room and find Charlie.

He kissed Charlie on the top of the head and told him to stay.

At the door, Seth carefully shifted Carter aside, then shut the door and checked that it was locked.

No time to delay. He had less than eight minutes left. He took off for Vargas’s apartment. It would take him a few minutes to gather everything, then a couple more minutes to head down the stairs and get into position.

But first, he had to get to the safe room. His plan had to start there.

* * * * *

Seth crouched down lower behind a prep table in the Haven’s kitchen, his entire body trembling, both from nerves and the cool temperature of the room. The bottom shelves of the table he waited behind were filled with stacks of baking sheet trays, giving him ample cover. Light from the low-voltage emergency spotlight bounced off the numerous bare stainless-steel surfaces in the room, creating an eerie moon-like glow that did little to offer more visibility than there’d been in the rest of the club.

As he’d suspected, the kitchen had been empty when he arrived. On his way through the dining room, he’d sprinted as fast as he could and hadn’t spotted any sign of Prescott watching him. He had to hope Prescott was staying hidden in the locker room and hadn’t seen what he carried.

Now as Seth waited, he wasn’t sure of the time, but he guessed it was already a minute or two past the mark. It wouldn’t be long. He took a deep breath.

This was going to work. It had to.

No more than five seconds later, the door across the room gradually swung inward. Inch by inch, Prescott came into view. His face was streaked with blood. He held the knife at his side. Where was the gun he’d had earlier? Tucked in the back of his waistband? In a pocket?

Seth ducked farther down as Prescott slunk all the way into the room, letting the door close behind him.

“Where are you, boy?” He took a step forward. Then another. “I saw you come through the dining room. What all were you carrying?”

He’d see soon enough.

Seth waited. Just a few more steps would do it.

Prescott paused, then crept forward again as he visually scanned the room. He started whistling, that same creepy tune he’d always used when he held them captive. It reminded Seth of a cartoon theme song, but he’d never been able to figure out which one. He’d hoped he was never going to hear that psychotic sound again.

The whistling stopped. “I know you’re in here. There’ll be plenty of time for games later, but right now we have to hurry.” Another step. “You don’t have to hide from me. I’m not mad that you ran or that you hurt me. I just want us to be together again.” He was almost in line with Seth. “I’ll take care of you. So you can stop being afraid. You’re not alone anymore.”

Was he the most delusional man alive? The trial, all the media coverage, the verdict, the sentencing, Seth’s words to Prescott upstairs, despite it all, this fucker would never understand what he did to Seth and the others. He was a sick, perverted, violent man who had used and hurt so many people and who deserved to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison.

Seth was going to make sure that happened. He was going to make sure this fucker never hurt anyone again. He pulled the trigger on the controller.

Across the room, on the opposite side of Prescott, the replica of the Shelby GT500 revved and surged forward. Prescott whirled toward the sound. The red and white model car sped right for him. Seth leaped up and raced forward. Prescott spun to face him, but he was too late. Seth depressed the button on the canister. Pepper spray shot out, hitting Prescott directly in the face. He cried out and bent forward. The knife clanked to the floor beside him as he hastily covered his eyes with his hands.

Seth let the canister of pepper spray fall to the tiled floor and gripped Vargas’s baseball bat in both hands. He swung with everything he had, aiming for Prescott’s lower legs. The impact had another wail spilling out of Prescott as he fell to his knees. Seth raised the bat and swung again, hitting him in the upper back.

He went down, landing on his side, smashing the model car beneath him. Seth let go of the bat, and it clattered to the floor. He grabbed one of Prescott’s arms, then the other, and raised them over the man’s head so Prescott’s hands were close to the leg of a metal prep table that was bolted to the floor. Without delay, Seth tugged the duct tape from his back pocket and wrapped it around Prescott’s wrists several times and then around the table leg, unraveling more of the tape as he continued winding it around both the table and the man’s wrists.

Prescott’s hands were already turning red from lack of circulation. Coughing and gagging, he had his eyes squeezed shut, the skin around them red and inflamed. Seth searched Prescott’s pockets and waistband for any sign of the gun. He found nothing.

Bending over him, Seth took in the sight of the whimpering, blind, restrained, helpless man before him and said, “Are you mad at me now?”

Then the euphoria of that victory drained away with one thought.

Vargas.

Seth had to get to him. Despite how disabled Prescott appeared, Seth wasn’t about to run for the police and abandon Vargas when he was incapacitated and in such close proximity to this man.

He picked up the knife Prescott had dropped and took off for the kitchen door. Sprinting across the dining room, he wove around a slew of tables and chairs. When he reached the employee locker room, he found Vargas unconscious and still tied to the chair in the middle of the room. He rushed to him.

“Vargas?”

No response.

Using the knife, Seth cut the zip ties securing Vargas’s legs to the chair. Then he moved around to get the ones on his wrists. Once free, Vargas’s arms fell to his sides, and he slumped sideways in the chair. Seth let the knife fall to the floor and caught him. He slid him back to an upright position.

“Vargas?”

Still nothing.

As Seth moved back to the front of the chair, he spotted several drops of blood on the blue tiled floor. He glanced at the knife. It was tinged red like it had been wiped off but not all of the blood had been removed.

“You come, and I won’t gut him.”

“Oh no. No!” Seth dropped down before the chair. Vargas’s face was pale, too pale. Seth searched him for any sign of an injury, running his hands over his chest and then up under his shirt. His right hand met something thick and sticky. He pulled his arm back. His fingers were covered in blood.

He’d been wrong. Prescott hadn’t planned to keep Vargas alive as a way of prolonging his torture. He wanted to kill him so that after they left, Seth would have no hope of Vargas coming to his rescue.