“Man, that Red is pissed,” laughed one of Baldie's flunkies. His laugh echoed around the warehouse, making it twice as horrible as his boss snapped his cellphone shut, cutting off the call.
The second flunkie managed to restrain Miranda, clamping her wrists together with a zip tie. He managed to hoist her arms over her wrist with hook hanging from a chain. The restraints forced her to stand on her tiptoes or else her sockets burned. Flunkie Two seemed proud of his work as he stepped up to Baldie. He jerked his thumb toward Miranda, his tone lascivious, “What should we do with sweet-tits?”
“Don't touch me!” Even on her tiptoes, she could kick someone in the balls. Miranda's heart slammed in her chest, prepared to crush some nuts if need be. In the back of her mind, she took note of her setting.
Faint light filtered in through the dust caked windows. A chill swept across the industrial floor and sunk into Miranda's flesh. Other than the sole light bulb, artificial light didn't puncture the darkness of the warehouse. Various hooks and clamps hung on the chains, swaying gently in an unseen breeze. The instruments made a sick shiver curl around her spine, bringing about images of blood-drained livestock and a butcher shop. The scent of dust and oil mingled with a stomach-churning acridity in the air.
Baldie chuckled, his voice taking on a slick and amused lilt. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. If you like Red, you'll like one of us just as much.”
The loogie splattered across his cheek. Miranda glared lividly at him, her nose wrinkling and eyes dark with rage. Baldie swiped the spittle away, his ice-blue eyes harboring a chilly frost. There was a half-beat of silence as he sauntered closer to her.
His hand moved in a blur. Her face snapped to the side, pain cracking along her cheek. The blunt throb his knuckles left behind bit across her face. Tears burned at the back of her eyes as a whimper gasped from her throat. Before Miranda could reign in her shock, Baldie caught her by her chin. He forced her eyes to his and lowered his face. She struggled against his hold, his fingertips holding her in a bruising grasp. “You better hope he comes for you, or else your ass is mine.”
Miranda ceased her struggling and turned her eyes on Baldie. She bit out a growl, “He'll come.”
“You think?” The man chuckled and tilted his head to the side. He brought up his other hand, showing Miranda his prepaid cellphone. “I called Frannie's phone and he picked up. You don't what Frannie does, don't cha?”
Miranda glared, uncomprehending. What did Francesca do? She ratted on Miranda, for one. Something tussled at the back of her thoughts. Did Baldie mean her less-than-reputable job?
His smirk broadened as he supplied the answer for her, “She sucks sad fucks off.”
A sick coldness careened through her stomach. While part of her knew he was lying, a smaller part of her wondered. It would be easier to leave Miranda behind. It wasn't like she didn't spill all the information she had. Tyler could locate the next step and finish off Pete without her. Doubt coiled around her thoughts.
“I guess we'll see at ten, yeah?” Baldie laughed and released Miranda's chin with a forceful yank. Her gaze fell to the floor, the cogs in her brain turning. She didn't hear Baldie's other goading retorts or the guffaws of his flunkies. They clicked the light off, darkness consuming every inch of light. Their footfalls died away into the distance, interrupted by the churn and sliding of metal doors.
Left in the dark, restrained and secured to a chain, Miranda felt the tears ease down her cheeks.
* * *
An hour out of San Marta, a quiet manmade reservoir was tucked away into a far neck of the woods. Tyler had noticed it on the paper map he and Miranda used. The sun blared down, nearing high noon, as the black sports car rolled up to the edge of the water. He stepped from the car, dragging Francesca over the gear shaft and across the driver-side seat. The forest's chirps and chitters went silent as soon as the woman was dragged out of the vehicle. His fingers clamped, vice-like, on her elbow. She didn't put up much of a struggle, now, after an hour of driving.
He led her onto the dam, letting her overlook the flowing manmade waterfall. Nausea clawed up Francesca's throat, quickly, and pinched her features. With just enough momentum, Tyler could force her up and over the edge of the wall. The way down would be long and loud and wet. She wobbled slightly, looking over the edge of the dam.
Tyler shook her arm, threateningly moving her toward the water. She locked her legs and bore down all of her weight into her heels, resisting movement toward the dammed up river. “Where are they?”
“I-I don't know,” she answered, digging her heels farther into the soft dirt. Her hazel eyes gazed at the water with fear.
“Don't lie to me!” Tyler's grip tightened on her arm. A small part of him felt bad for his strategy. Terrify-the-woman-until-she-spoke was pretty common among all less-than-reputable motorcycle clubs, though.
“I don't know!” She cried, fighting against his pull. Her feet scrabbled at the ground, trying to force distance between herself and the water. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to rack her brain for any small detail Tyler may approve of. “They use the van for a lot of shit.”
“For what?” He ceased his pulling and his grip loosened, just slightly. His mind piqued, trying to stack his questions all in line. All information helped him out. “Who owns it?”
“I don't know.” Francesca shook her head, emphatically. Tyler's fingers tightened, jolting her out of her momentary safety. Tears brimmed on the edge of her lashes. She fought to keep her voice level, but a crack shattered across her voice. “Please, if I die, the girls I oversee and my family…They'll get–”
His eyes focused on the woman he still held in a bruising grip. In his waistband, her handgun sat snug and in his pocket, her car keys sat comfortably. She was unarmed and terrified. It didn't help that Baldie left her with him. That sort of abandonment, undoubtedly, played havoc on her mind. He wasn't helping much.
“Shit,” Tyler growled, releasing Francesca from his grip. He paced down the dam a couple feet, running his hand through his hair. The water rushed below them, filling the space of silence easily. It even drowned out the sounds of the forest all around them. He turned sharply and paced back to Francesca, right where he left her. The woman watched him, worry and concern in her large, glassy eyes.
He sorted out the problems in his head as he paced back and forth: Miranda was being held by Pete's lackeys; Pete was stealing and lying to the Bandits; Francesca feared for her life, her girls, and her family. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as a migraine clawed over his brain. There had to be a way to fix this.
Guilt swelled in his heart. If he hadn't gotten Miranda involved, she wouldn't be in trouble now. Hell, he didn't know what they'd already done to her. The sheer thought sent a sick roil rumbling through his gut. He swallowed it down, trying to shove all horrible imaginings from his forethought. Wondering what they were doing wouldn't save her.
“Fuck, I should have contacted her family,” Tyler hissed to himself, running his hand through his hair, again. He stopped suddenly, just in front of Francesca. Realization pinged through his head and his gaze shot to the woman's face. It was all falling into place.
There was one part that still needed to be called, though.