Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott

2

Angela

Iawaken on a speedboat, bouncing over the waves of a choppy sea. I feel groggy and all my muscles ache, like I’ve been wrestling with my brothers for the afternoon or something. I blink away the sleep and try to get my bearings.

I’m seated in the back, next to a man in a full face balaclava. Another masked man is driving in front.

The man in back shifts, turning toward me. He’s bigger, more well-built than the man in front, and that, matched with those menacing blue eyes—the only part of his face I can see—makes me feel even more afraid of him. Why are those eyes so angry, so full of a hate that seems focused on me? What have I ever done to him?

Nothing, of course. I’m guilty by association with my father. Though he shielded me from the dark side of the family business, I knew enough of what was going on and wasn’t so naive to believe that the criminal element would never reach me. I knew my father had enemies. A lot of them: it’s fairly obvious, from the number of guards we’re forced to take with us wherever we go. I always knew there was a chance something like this would happen one day. And now it has.

My father, along with my brothers Salvatore, Leonardo, and Michelangelo, and my sister Natalia, would be sick with worry. My brothers and their most loyal men would be bloodying noses and breaking bones across Palermo looking for me. Except I’m not even in Palermo anymore. I’m… nowhere.

I gaze past the gunwales of the boat. I can’t see land on any horizon. No matter which way I look, only waves lie. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I could be anywhere, as far as I know, maybe halfway across the Atlantic. Though somehow I doubt even my kidnappers would be crazy enough to attempt a crossing of the Atlantic in a speedboat. No, most likely I’m somewhere on the Tyrrhenian Sea, maybe headed to Ustica, one of the closest islands to Palermo.

Becoming more alert with each passing moment, I shift in place and feel something odd around my leg. Just above my mary janes, clasped to my bare calf, is an ankle tracker. The bracelet is white and clunky, with a knob that reminds me of those antitheft devices designer stores attach to clothes to prevent shoplifting. Without thinking I wrap my fingers around it and try to break it off, but the stupid thing won’t budge—it might as well be a manacle.

I remember that I’ve been kidnapped and quickly stop what I’m doing. I’ll have to fiddle with the tracking device later when I have some time by myself. I’m thinking a big rock might be able to do the trick. That, or some scissors. Then again, given how tough the material is—some kind of hard plastic—I doubt getting it off is going to be easy.

I glance at the big man, but he seems unconcerned by what I was just doing. That’s when I notice the gun lying on a shelf next to him.

I try to look away from the weapon but I can’t take my eyes off of it. I shiver with terror. Literally shiver. Guns and me, we don’t quite get along.

He seems to realize what effect the weapon is having because he snatches the gun and hides it in a hidden compartment beneath the shelf instead.

I shake off the fear and look away. I wonder who the kidnappers are. Could they be henchmen of the Rizzos? It wouldn’t surprise me. No doubt they’re angry my father refused to allow me to move in with them before the wedding, and they want me now. The Rizzos are powerful enough that they might even get away with it. Maybe The Cleaver masterminded this whole operation himself, just so he could get his grubby little hands on me a few weeks early.

Still, I doubt even The Cleaver would put the wedding at risk by doing something so reckless when he only had to wait four weeks for the official marriage.

So who, then?

Could be some other family was offended that I wasn’t offered to them instead of the Rizzos. Or maybe it’s some random gangsters who kidnap for a living. Still, they went through a lot of trouble to get me… random kidnappers would choose an easier target, I think. So I don’t know.

Either way, if I see a way to escape I’m going to take it. I have to. I can’t do anything at the moment, of course. But I’ll keep my eye out.

I think of how Maurizio fell as he shoved me into the Land Rover. I can still see my other guards, Federico and Donato, their bodies shaking as bullets riddle their chests. Tears fill my eyes. These kidnappers are merciless. I can only imagine what they’ll do to me if they don’t get what they want from my father.

I blink the tears away and focus on the present moment. I need some questions answered. Though I’m afraid of them, I have to at least try to extract some information from these men. Maybe they can be bargained with.

I look at the big man. He senses my gaze and turns those blue eyes on me. They seem no less angry than before. So icy, so full of hate. Not a man to cross.

I have to try, no matter how afraid I am…

So I collect my nerves and tell him: “Please, let me go. I’ve done nothing to you. I just want to go home.”

I glance between him and the driver but neither answer me. The big man merely blinks calmly.

“My father is well known in Palermo,” I continue, doing my best to blunt the tremble in my voice. Not sure how well it’s working. “He can pay whatever ransom you want. Just send him a note, so we can end this.”

Again, nothing.

“Whoever’s paying you, I offer double,” I tell him. I sound so weak. So unsure of myself. “Triple. Just make the call.” When still they don’t say anything, in frustration I can’t help saying: “Fine. But when my father rips off your heads and feeds them to his dogs, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

That’s the most confident I’ve sounded yet and I’m surprised when the anger in the big man’s eyes fades to amusement of all things. He turns away.

“You think this is funny?” I ask him in a shaky voice.

In answer, he opens the hidden compartment beside him and rests the gun on the shelf once more.

I freeze when I see the gun. It takes all the strength I have to turn away; even when it’s no longer visible, I’m still trembling because I know it’s still sitting there out in the open. I do my best not to think about it.

For a moment I consider flinging myself into the ocean. But I have nowhere to go, and they’d merely haul me back into the boat and I’d spend the rest of the trip miserable and soaking wet in the backseat. Maybe when we’re closer to shore I’ll try something.

Eventually land appears in the distance. I recognize it as the island of Ustica. How fitting, seeing as the island used to serve as a prison during Italy’s fascist days. It’s my prison, now.

We head toward a cove. It contains a beach shielded from both sides by extensive rock outcrops. A gaping hole at the bottom of one of the outcrops hints at a cave system. I mentioned the island once served as a prison, but before that it was also a base of operations for Saracen pirates. Not surprising, considering across the island irregular inlets, coves and cave systems like this exist.

In the cove ahead I don’t see a pier, or any boats moored, and I don’t spot any people. I do however notice a lone car parked on the sand. A Fiat. There’s the barest outline of a trail heading away from the beach through the wormwood and mastic trees beyond.

I subtly slip off my mary janes.

As we get closer, the big man reaches into that compartment beside him and removes a small black sack. When he reaches for me, I realize he intends to slip it over my head.

No thanks.

I slip out of his grasp and hurl myself over the boat.

I hit the water. The Tyrrhenian Sea isn’t very warm this time of year, and the chill knocks the breath out of me.

I head toward shore, doing my best front crawl impersonation. My technique is crap—I was never really a good swimmer, and my loose blouse drags against my skin, slowing me down even more. I’m not going to make it.

Should have waited until I was closer to shore.

The way these choppy waves are yanking at me, I’m probably going to drown before either of the kidnappers can fetch me. Maybe that’s for the best.

Water gets into my mouth and I swallow it.

I can’t hear anything above my frantic splashes and coughing. Then, a strong arm wraps around me and pulls me backward. When my coughing fit finishes, I fight him. I do remember one thing from my swimming lessons—if you struggle, there’s a chance you’ll drown not just yourself but your rescuer, too. For some reason, that thought makes me grin.

So I continue to struggle, not really intending to drown the two of us, but I also don’t want to make this easy for him. Still, no matter how much I wriggle and squirm, I can’t seem to affect my rescuer at all. The arm wrapped around my chest is like an unmoving vise crafted out of iron. His other arm ignores the blows from my elbows and fists, and his legs don’t even seem to register my kicks. No, his feet continue to pump rhythmically, and his arm moves back and forth, bringing us ever closer to the speedboat.

I feel something strange poking into me from behind. For a second I think it’s his cock, but it can’t be. Has to be some weapon or something he has holstered at his waist. But who holsters their weapon there?

All sorts of horrific thoughts pass through my head as I imagine what these two are going to do to me. We finally reach the boat and the other kidnapper helps drag me aboard. I’m relieved, because at least I don’t have those strong hands pinning me, and that… thing… pressing into me from behind.

In moments I’m sitting in the backseat, shivering and cold. So much for that wonderful idea.

The big man throws a towel to me and I wrap it around my body. He seems to have lost the black bag he’d intended to slip over my head—at least I can’t see it anywhere. I also notice he’s not shivering at all, as if that dive into the frigid ocean was actually refreshing to him or something. He hauled me out of the ocean like it was nothing. I can’t help but feel a grudging respect for him. He’s definitely strong, I’ll give him that.

My gaze involuntarily flicks to his crotch, and I realize he doesn’t have a weapon holstered there. Instead…

So it was his cock. Great. More problems to worry about. Not only is he a kidnapper, he’s a pervert, too. Then again, I’m the one gazing at his crotch…

He thrums his wet fingers on the shelf beside him, drawing me from my thoughts. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. I spot the gun resting on that same shelf, next to his hand. A subtle reminder of his power over me.

“Don’t do that again,” he says.

I quickly avert my gaze before the sight of the weapon causes me to freeze up. I also bite back my tongue before I say something that gets me in trouble.

I think about his voice. It sounded gruff and overly forced, as if he was purposely speaking in a lower octave. That’s so I can’t identify him at a later date, of course. Complementing the balaclava.

I stare at the approaching shore. My prison.

Regardless of what he said, of course I’m going to try to escape again. The instant this boat touches down I’ll be trying, until the moment I’m finally free. Still, I want him to think I’ve given up. I want him to lower his guard.

So I say: “You should have let me drown.” I’m still shivering, which only makes my voice sound shakier than ever. Good.

Studiously avoiding the weapon with my gaze, I look into his eyes, and I’m surprised when I see worry there. For a moment I can almost believe he cares about me in some small way. No, not me, but the ransom money he can make selling me back to my father.

The worry fades, replaced once more by that suspicious, angry gaze.

“I’m not going to let you drown,” he intones. “You’re worth too much.”

Figures.

“Do you work for the Rizzos?” I try.

He merely blinks, saying nothing.

I turn away, trying to get a grip on my pounding heart. As we get closer to shore and I think about leaping over the side and running, my heart only pumps all the faster. It’s so loud I can hear it in my ears, thundering like the war drums in Fellowship of the Rings. Or something.

The engine shuts off and the boat drifts toward the sand. I can see the sloping seabed below. The water is shallow enough here to wade.

It’s either now or never.

I stand up—

Before I can leap over the side, those big hands wrap around my waist and haul me back down.

I struggle against him, fighting for all I’m worth, but he simply slides the gun in front of me where I can see it, and I flop against him like a rag doll.

He binds my wrists with a cable tie, and I guess he didn’t lose the black bag after all because a moment later a thick fabric slides down over my head and the world goes dark. With my hands pinned and my head bagged, I can’t stop the sudden panic that grips me, and I feel like I’m suffocating. I start hyperventilating and stars begin to speckle my vision.

“Calm down,” he orders. “You’re going to black out if you keep that up.”

His words only make me hyperventilate all the more, and I soon find myself slipping into a full blown panic attack. Without vision, I’m hyper aware of my other senses, which only makes things worse. When I exhale, I feel the warmth of my breath on my cheeks. When I inhale, I taste the bland fibers of the bag. I hear only the rapid in-and-out of my breathing. I feel the bite of the cable tie eating into my wrists, the chill of my soggy clothing. My vision becomes completely devoured by stars, and I feel faint.

The boat jerks roughly: washing ashore, judging from the scraping sound I hear above my breathing.

The man roughly shoves my mary janes onto my feet then easily lifts me off the boat. Held in his strong arms, I don’t even touch the sand. His scent seeps underneath the bag and into my nostrils. Musk mixed with sea salt. Cigarettes. A hint of aftershave. His touch and smell comfort me somehow, and I panic less. His presence lets me know I’m not alone in the dark, even if the man accompanying me is my kidnapper.

I’m still hyperventilating as he lowers me into what feels like the backseat of a car, presumably the Fiat I saw earlier. The door closes beside me, and another one opens.

That familiar musky scent tickles my nostrils as he steps inside. The front door opens, too, and I’m aware of another man entering. He smells like cigarettes as well, and a clashing cologne.

The Fiat starts up and I struggle against my binds for a moment, but the cable tie won’t break. I hyperventilate worse than ever as I feel the vehicle moving.

It’s taking me to my doom.

“It’s okay, miatesoro,” a voice from my past says. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I smile. A pleasant hallucination.

If only Massimo were really here. He’d save me.

My heart hardens as the words enter my head.

Massimo.

He abandoned me to this cold hard world. We were going to run away together. We should have. Could have. But he ran.

It’s his fault I’m doomed to marry a man I don’t love. If my kidnappers ever release me, that is. Yup, it’s just like me to be worrying about some arranged marriage when I have bigger problems at the moment.

Oddly, mentally taking out my frustrations on the man who ran away calms me down. Maybe I just needed something to distract me. Either way, soon I’m no longer hyperventilating, and merely existing. Sitting here with my wrists bound and a bag over my head in the backseat of a car, surrounded by kidnappers.

All I can do at the moment is exist.

And watch for my chance to escape.