My Ruthless Kidnapper

Chapter Six: Screwed

    "I'm Steph." She smiled just like a seven-year-old would when she sat on the armchair opposite me. 

    I didn't respond. I only stared at her. She must know he was a murderer, she must realize I was kidnapped, yet she acted riant like everything was amusing to her.

    "Look, Cheryl, we can have fun if you relax." She added.

    That's when I snorted. "Fun? Relax? I'm sorry I'm not like you." The words were forced out from my closed throat.

    "Like me? What am I like?" She curiously asked, leaning over, with her elbows on her knees.

    "Obedient to some gangsters." I exasperatedly threw to her.

    She shook her head and exhaled a laugh. "Finn was right about you. You're stubborn." 

    "That's his name? Finn?" I confusedly asked.

    "Yes." She answered and leaned back into the armchair.

    So he does have a name.

    "What will you do? Watch me all day and night?" My eyebrows lifted up in questioning.

    "No, I have school and other things to do, a restaurant to deliver orders. I promised Finn I would only stay here after classes to eight." She brought out her phone and began to press the screen.

    "Don't you think you're disclosing too much? My dad's a detective." I told her, in case she had forgotten.

    Steph paused whatever she was doing with her phone and peep at me underneath her eyelashes. "Oh, I know, believe me. I've known about your dad for years now. Finn won't shut up about him." 

    I suddenly froze. For years? Was he planning this for years? 

    "For years?" I muttered, stunned.

    "Yes, I mean ever since I knew him, he's obsessed with the Masons." She rolls her eyes.

    Obsessed with my family? If he wanted revenge as he claimed, he should be killing me then.

    "But why?" I asked Steph since she was willing to tell me things my kidnapper or Finn wasn't going to. 

    "Why don't you ask him yourself." Her lips curl to a smile.

    "He's not telling me." My eyes were pleading.

    "You know, Finn isn't one with a lot to say. He prefers action than words. I was surprised he's talked this week more than he did in a month or probably a year. He told me you are one never to shut up." 

    I didn't know what to tell her. All I knew was I preferred he stays quiet than talk because his words were not always the good ones.

    "Look, this isn't as complicated as it looks. You can calm down. I don't expect you to cheer or dance and have fun, but at least you should eat and take a warm bath. You probably have designer outfits in that box." She added when she sighed and moved over to the bed next to me.

    My eyes instantly began to fill with moisture that my vision became blurry. I shift away from her and hug my knees tightly against my chest. "I understand; it is not easy to be in your situation, but let me help you." Steph's hand landed on my hands, and her thumb lightly stroked my skin. "I'm not saying I will rescue you out of here. I'm not ready to become Finn's sliced barbecue." She laughed. 

    Befuddled—Was how I looked at her, I don't know if she was aware or just kidding, but the memories from yesterday began to replay in my head, from Amelia pushing the service trolley filled with food to her helping me out until her last breath.

    I didn't realize I was sobbing until I felt Steph's arms around me. "Shush." She caresses my hair.

    "I hate him. I hate him." Was the only thing I kept repeating between my whimpers.

    "I know." She agreed.

    For some reason, I almost convinced myself Steph was a victim too. But my conscience reminded me she had her freedom, her life. And she can leave this house freely, not like me. 

    Whatever it is, she has the chance to see her family anytime time she wants. She could report if she were a victim, but no,  she was teaming up with Finn. So no! she was not like me, we were two different people. She happens to work for my kidnapper and will do anything not to get shot in the head while I am his hostage and would do anything to escape here—only if it consist of others' lives.

    So I took a slow breath and shook her embrace off. "I will bath now," I said hopelessly.

    "I will set the water and help you stand." She smiled and stood up energetic.

    ***

    It was after two in the morning when I heard engines raving to stops and numerous car doors thudding shut.

    Since Finn left out of this room when Steph came through, I haven't seen him again. I wonder where he's been and what he had been doing? 

    I stood up from the bed and peeped through the windows, but none gave me access to the driveway.

    The house was quiet again until some minutes later when the sound of men chanting around the hallways echoed until no more, and I was left with no choice other than to lay back under the comforter.

    Where are they coming from, was the only question in my mind. Some party perhaps, I thought. 

    Then again, I couldn't sleep. I kept tossing and turning until I was on my feet. The feeling of anxiety was overwhelming that I found myself tip-toeing down the luxurious hall in soft slippers. I avoided stepping on my foot, for I've refreshed the wounds numerous times.

    Until I heard something that stopped me in my track by the end of the hall, my heart dropped to my stomach. 

    "You slaughtered them, slit their throats. They must feel the wrath, the helplessness, and the regret, and then boom."  A voice below the staircase humorously utter, and many tones of laughter filled up the room just like the smoke of definite weeds clouded the area.

    "Dying's a bitch." Some monstrous tone said.

    "Mostly when they find out who I am in their struggle with survival." Finn's voice came through, and that's when my heart throbs against my chest. 

    They're not talking about my parents, are they? No! My dad's a cop. Finn can't get to him. He can't take the risk. But what if he did. What if he killed both my parents? I'm sure mom had come back to town to help dad with the case.

    Please no! It can't be, right? At least that's what I thought.

    My breathing quickened, my pulse raced, I was beginning to suffocate to the fact that I might possibly be parent-less. 

    I couldn't calm myself down. I tried, though. But the fear of the possibility was high, and I struggled in the depth of despair as tears flowed freely down my face. 

    Finn was a killer. He was a man of his words, and knowing what he was bragging about down the stairs might be related to me, I became filled with uncontrollable emotions, and the need to hurt him was too strong to resist. 

    The husky voices approaching were alarming—I immediately hid below the staircase leading to the third floor.

    "I will go to sleep, it's already late anyway, and the drive was long." I heard Finn say.

    "Goodnight, sir." Some definitely older man muttered.

    I cringe at the sound of each step on the staircase above me as I force my mouth with my palms to swallow the whimpers and sobs.

    I stayed in place for minutes—listening to different footsteps and weird conversations, closing of doors, and gun racking, until everywhere was quiet once again. 

    With my heart peeled open—I came out of my hideout and began to run down the hall to my cage—to where I should be, but some idea hits me, and I came to a halt in my track. 

    "Revenge." Finn's words replay in my head like on a radio station. And I found myself turning back—heading to the third-floor staircase.

    I was very cautious with each step I took, and luckily the floor was empty. So I began placing my ears against the doors, and I realized everywhere was quiet. 

    I even believed—only Finn stayed on that floor. 

    The fifth door I listened to—seemed lively but not so busy. I slowly pushed open the door and found the atmosphere slightly dark; albeit one lamp was lighting the room, the space still looked dark.

    The place was quiet as I walked inside the big bedroom with a private living room and some kind of kitchen. The place was like a studio but a luxurious studio apartment. Apart from the sound of the aquarium, my heartbeat was audible. My eyes hurriedly scanned the area, no one was there, but of course, someone was sleeping on the bed at the far end of the room. The place wasn't decent. Beside me was a table filled with files and envelopes and different unfriendly weapons. I picked up a pistol; it was the only weapon I could handle. Anything other than that was confusing. 

    By the end table were some disgusting things I was sure my dad wouldn't be okay with. There were various illegal drugs. If I've seen well, I think I saw packs of coke. 

    My hands were shaking—each step I took. The intense feeling of fear and anxiousness was real when I stopped over the sleeping body covered in tattoos.

    He was lying on his back, shirtless. And the waistband of his sweatpants hangs at the very low of his v-line. 

    His chest rises and falls, and he looked peaceful and even innocent in his sleep. He was a completely different person. 

    I had to swallow three times to put myself to do it. I hold out the gun to his forehead. And I try to breathe in and out. 

    My dad had always told me about self-defense, but I still don't feel okay with it. I wasn't a killer. I can't even imagine hurting an insect. How am I going to shoot this ruthless human in the head? 

    Then again, I thought—I could do it. It was self-defense, right? I thought. But I was weak when it came to hurting people, mostly physically. 

    I was shivering and weeping already when I closed my eyes tighter to encourage myself. 

    I thought everything would be easy when I opened my lids, but actually, they worsened, for I found Finn's dark eyes intensely staring back at me.

    I'm screwed.

    Finn POV

    "Rowan McCain and James Ford had a meeting today in Kentucky. They're staying for the night before they head to New York in the morning." Teddy told me.

    "Isn't that just great?"  I smirked. It was great news after the sudden Structural Analysis test, not that I was complaining, for I answered everything perfectly, but still having to sketch three structures in the mid-afternoon wasn't something fun for a day.

    "And Jamie called, Cheryl passed out," Teddy added. Okay, that ruined the excitement. If she could manage to stay awake, for the circle of her frequent passing out is a frustration. 

    Of course, I understood, it's not easy to wake up and find yourself somewhere you have no idea, but she has to know by now, I can't hurt her, I would let anyone hurt her. 

    She was my mission failed—my game over. I think that was the reason I felt so happy, knowing I had some two souls to take that night.  

    "Then—we will branch home before I leave for Kentucky, get the car moving, meet me at English department," I ordered the two men behind me.

    Teddy and Reddy were the men I trusted more than anyone in my life ever since I was little. Twelve years ago, they were just gardeners in my home, and today they are the men who knew everything about me. They were the men who wouldn't sleep unless they knew I was satisfied. 

    They were more than friends or my bodyguards, they were my guardian angels, and I was grateful for having them by my side. 

    I was also grateful for having life just like every other person around Illinois university. I walked freely like there was no blood of human in my hands. Hell, I walked next to cops, not flinching at the sound of the sirens—like I was some law-abiding citizen.

    I have to admit it's funny. I have always known I had no regret, but to be honest, if I'd got caught one day after completing my list, what I'd miss would be this life.

    Walking freely, enjoying the blessing of nature and human beings minding their business, I would miss some certain takeout places.

    That's if I ever get caught, for I was successful in my business.

    When I get to the English department where I find my three black Brabus waiting for me, and Liam leaning by his black Lamborghini parked beside my cars. 

    "Hey man, why not follow your rides." Liam was the one who never frowned. His smile was always in his pocket, waiting to be fixed on. His blonde hair was styled, not like my brown hair, which always looked messy.

    Liam and I might be best friends, but we were two different people. He was fun, and I wasn't. He was kind, and I was cruel. He was scared of blood, and I was hungry for it.

    "I need to clean my head before tonight," I informed him.

    "As usual?" He asked.

    "Yup." I heaved a sigh.

    He smiled small and shoved his hands in his denim pockets. I knew how my lifestyle bothered him. He was always nervous around me whenever he knew I was about to kill someone, but as my friend from day one—he had to know why I did what I did.

    "Cheryl passed out again. I need some girl who would look after her." I told him.

    "What about the girl you hired? I thought she signed the contract." He asked, confusion clear on his face.

    Sighing again, I bite my lip. How am I going to say this? "I killed her." I couldn't find the best words to make it sound more reasonable.

    Liam's jaw dropped instantly. "You what? Why? I thought you don't kill girls? Finn, this is crazy. You promise to leave innocent lives out of this." Liam was panicking.

    I clasped his shoulder with my palm, and In a hushed tone, I said. "I didn't kill her with my hands, the men shot her, she was escaping Cheryl, and you know I can't let anyone take her away from me." I roll my eyes reluctantly.

    "That's insane, still insane—you can't go killing civilians just like that." He argued in an equal hush tone.

    "Then they should learn to be trustful. She signed a non-disclosure agreement, and then she broke her promise, if I let her out, she's probably going to tell the cops, so she and her man had to die." I told him irritatedly. Why are people, liars? Deceivers and untrustworthy? 

    "You killed her boyfriend too?" Liam's eyes dilated with more panic.

    "He was the escape driver. What will I do with him? Let him go, and then I'd be in jail?" I challenged with a shrugged.

    "Finn, I'm not okay with all this killing." He frowns and exhales sadly.

    "I only have nine people left, and everything will be normal, just like before." I gave him a reassuring smile.

    "What are you going to kill Cheryl? You're probably in love with her." He scoffed.

    "I'm not in love with her." I defended.

    "Oh really? Then why is she still alive? Why does she need an assistant, and why are you worried about leaving without finding one for her." He crossed his hands around his chest with a questioning look on his face.

    "She's my hostage, and a hostage is supposed to be looked over." I defended yet again.

    But I knew I wasn't fooling him or anyone else. When Reddy told me they had found the detective daughter, that was the happiest day of my life. I knew there wasn't anything more painful than taking away the only child Nate Mason had. I've heard  Cheryl is loved by both her parents, and her mom couldn't wait to have her in Washington after Cheryl graduated from high school. 

    Getting to her lawyer of a mother and detective of a father was only by getting to her first. But when I got Cheryl, she deprived away the eagerness I had for revenge, the first time I saw her—she gave me the meaning of life for the first time, which I never knew existed. 

    She collapsed what I've spent years constructing, and the idea of killing her felt like losing. Her life became precious, and keeping her was the only option. 

    Hurting her parent didn't go how I planned 

    —the night I grabbed her from the bathroom. I felt angry with my own self, I couldn't hurt Cheryl, and it pained more than losing everything. She was a Mason, Everything I had arranged for years was because of the Mason, but Cheryl demolished it, leaving me standing by the door of my car while I stared at the girl I forced chloroform and render unconscious. 

    I had to gather all my courage even to pierce her index finger with a needle to get her blood. It was the hardest thing I found. I needed her blood to at least torture her parent, letting them know their daughter was with the famous yet unknown murderer.

    "Clearly." It was Liam's time to smirk at me.

    Annoyed at the attitude he was applying. "Dude, I really need a lookout for Cheryl." 

    "Ask Steph. I'm sure she would. Besides, she owes you her life." He said when his phone went off.

    "I don't want to ask for her favor. I didn't help her to own her." I reminded him. 

    "I know, but you trust her. I'm sure she won't try escaping your hostage." He snickered. "I gotta go. My dad's hoping we start the barbecue soon before guests begin to arrive. You should stop by —my mom will be glad." He offered.

    Mr. and Mrs. Cameron were like my parents, I always had a place in their house, and I was grateful, but at that moment, I was preoccupied. I had things to cover. 

    "Thanks, but I have approximately ten hours drive, and I have to go back home and check Cheryl."

    "Okay, good luck and stay safe." He patted my shoulder and climbed into his car. And I head to my rides waiting for me.

    ***

    I promised to get Cheryl an assistant, and I had none in mind, so I had no other choice as we drove back home but to dial Steph's number and ask for the favor, and she accepted without hesitation. She only asked for a bit of time to finish baking some snacks for her mother's customer. 

    Steph was someone whom I could leave the continent and hand her my heart, knowing it would be safe when I returned. 

    By the time I got home, I had taken a quick shower, for Peter had told me Cheryl was still asleep. 

    So I had my lunch peacefully before I headed to her bedroom.

    She was sleeping peacefully even though she looked sad, just like the day I laid her in my car after getting her from the carouse. I hated myself for putting her in pain, but I couldn't let her go. I wasn't worried she knew too much about me, but I knew I couldn't let her go because having her in my house was comforting; even though I was lying on the floor over hers, I still slept peacefully than I did for years. She gave me a new warmth I never felt and also the feeling I lacked for years.

    "How's she?" I asked Peter just when Malcolm delivered Cheryl's lunch and left the room. 

    "She will be okay, but she needs to eat," Peter told me.

    "Okay." I nodded and gestured for him to leave the room.

    Peter was my family doctor for years. He was the doctor who delivered me from my mom's womb to the world. 

    "I will check on her later." He let me know before he closed the door behind him.

    I watched Cheryl attentively. She was breathing somewhat excessively; even in her sleep, she looked scared. I wished things weren't this way, I wished she didn't have to hurt herself, the chains really did a number on her, if only I didn't cuff her, but she was stubborn, she was the stubborn woman I've ever seen, she was my headache. 

    I sat beside her and examined her wounded wrists cautiously with my fingers, carefully not to hurt her. But like she read my mind—her eyes flew open, and she jerked her hand away from me, shooting me a hatred stare. Trust me, Cheryl, I've gotten worst.

    Ignoring her stare, I was only worried about what my cuffs did to her. She looked lifeless, and I knew I was the reason. I wished things were different, Cheryl! 

    "You had a mild fever attack, but you are going to be okay. You need to eat and get some rest." I informed her.

    She was mute, I knew she was tired of trying, and I was so sorry for what she had to go through. But I had no option.

    On the bed, I sat the tray of food Malcolm brought and began to make peanut butter and jelly for Cheryl. I've learned it was her favorite; It was in her file. My men saw her eat it all the time for her lunch in school or picnic with her family and friends. 

    As I was focused on making her favorite sandwich, she was focused on me, which made me feel warm. I loved when she looked at me, even though it was with hatred and nothing more.

    "Here! eat this." I handed it over after I successfully made it for her. I don't think I've ever made a sandwich, so that sandwich meant a lot to me, for I made it myself for the first time.

    But she rejected it. "Can I have water?" She asked instead.

    It was like failing for the first time even though I've never failed, not in anything I did. I've always Aces my school tests and successfully doubled my earnings anytime I was involved in business with my father's Partners. 

    But I shake it off—not letting her know how much deeper she stabbed me, I handed her a cup of clean water, and she gulped down everything eagerly. 

    I watched her hydrating herself. She must be starving; she needed to eat, but instead, she asked for more, and I obliged.

    I kept offering other things for her to eat, but she kept rejecting. She had to eat, she was starving, she was weak, and it was bothering me.

    When she refused everything, I gave up and picked her up to the bathroom for her feet had been re-dressed. If only she weren't stubborn, but of course, Cheryl was stubborn. She had to kick me in the balls and run on pieces of glass.

    She avoided looking my way when I sat her on the toilet.

    "Can I have some privacy, please?" Her voice was weak when she asked me. I did as she wanted and walked out of the bathroom to give her the privacy she asked for.

    By the time I helped her back to the bed. She was terrified, like I'd hurt her. She should know by now; I was capable of only keeping her to myself, even though she was trying to leave me. 

    I realized she was still avoiding looking over at me while I sat on the armchair beside her bed. 

    The silence was tense as none of us spoke until the door swing opened, and Steph scampered through, rushing her explanation about her mom's seventy cupcakes which I didn't care or even listened to. All I could respond was.

    "you made it." 

    Steph observed Cheryl just as she usually does when  I showed her things I did. I've told her about Cheryl since when my men told me about the detective's only daughter, I've even complained about Cheryl's stubborn attitude to Steph and Liam. "Soooo—this is Cheryl?" She said, interesting.

    I faced the girl who suddenly hugged her knees to her chest, and I nodded. "Yup."

    "Don't worry, go do your thing. We'll manage here." Steph smiled at Cheryl, and I felt relieved knowing Steph would keep Cheryl for me and my ride to Kentucky would be free from worries.

    ***

    By the time I arrived back home, it was two in the morning, I had already exchanged cars with Teddy, and my driver drove me back to the house while Teddy took the vehicle to the garage to change the look of the car I used and burn the tires. 

    We managed to clean every evidence from all the scenes I've visited—where I slit the throats of the people on my list.

    I was successful at doing that, and I was grateful I could get revenge. It has been my dream since I was eight. 

    When I got home, the men kept praising me as I ate my dinner and celebrated with some whiskey. Reddy was so proud of me, just like every other day, while telling them how it went.

    By the time I was mildly drunk and exhausted, I got myself up for I have school in the morning, and it was already late. 

    I kept the small table knife my parent provided for my birthday cake. It was my weapon, so I kept it hidden. The cops never had evidence because there was none. I always wear gloves. My men made my shoes so the cops couldn't make out a single piece of evidence. Everything was professional. Thanks to my team.

    I took a quick shower and got on my bed when I received a call from the camera room. 

    Cheryl was heading to my place.

    Why does she have to be stubborn?