Her Striker by Charlene Raquel
Chapter Three
Liquid dousing him over his head and running down his face roused Drew from his unintentional unconsciousness. He jerked his body upwards in reaction to the frigid drenching only to discover that he was secured to a heavy chair.
What the fuck? Drew’s heart was pounding madly in his chest even though he was telling himself to calm down and assess. It had to be a prank or a stunt, but who the hell would do something like this to him? He hadn’t pissed anyone off yet, and no one knew he had come to Stonewall to find his brother’s killer.
Slowing his breathing to calm down, he tried to focus. The bag had been removed from over his head, and someone must have taken out the rag from his mouth as well. His head throbbed, and his throat was raw. The drug that had been on the rag they shoved down his throat left him with one hell of a hangover and cottonmouth.
Blinking the fog from his eyes, he tried to clear his vision. Even the low flickering light bothered him, so he only cracked his lids until he could tolerate more brightness. Water continued to drip from his hair down his face, so he shook his head to spray the droplets away, but a bout of dizziness nearly knocked him out.
Damn, my head hurts, he thought.
Drew couldn’t move his arms or legs and could barely move his torso. The heavy, wooden chair he was tied to was in the center of a large stone room with windows close to the ceiling and covered with bars. Two thick oak doors were aged with dark stain and steel fittings. Old-fashioned torches were secured to the stone walls with sconces. It seemed as if he was in some sort of cellar. It might as well have been a dungeon.
Great, I’m in one of the scenes from National Treasure. Drew wondered what Nicholas Cage would do.
No one was in the room with him, so he had no idea who dumped water on his head. They had to be watching him from behind one of those doors. One big fucked up game that he had no choice of playing.
He was not going to yell out and give his captors the satisfaction. Drew forced his body to relax, allowing him to slouch slightly. The bored expression he had perfected since childhood graced his face as he waited for their move.
His father had taught him to play chess, requiring him to always think several steps ahead and do the unexpected. Drew would never admit it aloud, but his asshole of a father had actually taught him something useful.
Drew gathered as much spit as possible to wet his mouth so he could whistle. He began a slightly off-tune version of Guns N’ Roses’ Patience. It didn’t sound all that great to him, but it was the only song he could whistle to. He had learned it when he had been in middle school to bug the hell out of his father.
Only a few bars into his terrible rendition, the door creaked open, and six people dressed in all black with hoods pulled low over their faces entered the room and fanned out in front of him. Drew stopped whistling and gave them his cockiest smirk. It was the one that had gotten him backhanded a few times at home.
He started the song over again when they stood silently facing him. Drew knew they were trying to intimidate him, but that would never happen. He could play with the best of them. Focusing on the stone ceiling, he continued to ignore his audience. He didn’t see the second bucket of water thrown at him until he nearly choked on it.
Drew leveled a distaining glare their way. “Didn’t like the song?” He shrugged.
“We don’t like your attitude.” The voice was somehow altered by a computer so he wouldn’t be able to recognize it.
“You might be surprised, but I’ve heard that before.”
Drew surveyed his captors. There were five men, and he would bet the shortest was a woman. They all wore black leather gloves so he couldn’t be sure, but that was the person with the empty bucket.
One of the center men stepped closer. “This isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it?” Drew cocked an eyebrow.
“You’re here to be judged.” Another figure sneered in that weird, computerized voice.
Drew threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t do contests. I can’t sing. You heard my whistling, and tied to this chair, I can’t strip down and dance.” He paused for effect. “I know. You want a piece of me. I am a nationally ranked soccer player after all. I hate to tell you, but I’m not into dudes, so if you want to suck my dick, you’re out of luck.”
He knew he was getting to them since a couple of them had their hands curled into fists.
The end guy, who was the stockiest of the group, took several steps closer but was stopped by two others who put their arms out to block him. Drew smirked again.
“Don’t.” The lead guy barked. “We are here to set things in motion. What he does after this will determine his fate.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“You will.” Drew was right; the smallest was a woman. The computer could not completely disguise the higher voice.
“This has been fun, but I’ve got to get back to bed, so, if we could move this little meeting along…”
The leader stalked forward and kicked the front of the chair with enough violence that it tipped back and fell to the floor with a bang.
Drew’s reactions were quick enough that his head did not hit the stones under him. His body jarred, and he knew he would be bruised tomorrow. He was also a little dazed.
The leader stood over him but not close enough for Drew to see his face. “You’re lucky you are a legacy. We don’t normally allow a transfer to enter our ranks. We also don’t allow such insolence in our presence.”
Another came up next to the first. “You will have to prove yourself worthy.”
Drew looked at them all surrounding him and wondered if he pushed them too far.
“We’ll be watching you.”
A rag was stuffed into his mouth from behind and he thought he saw a couple of red curls from under the hood of the woman as she shoved the bag back over his head. Finding every tall female redhead on campus was his last conscious thought.
~*~*~
Drew shot up from his bed and frantically scanned his bedroom. He was back in his apartment and in his bed. The clock on his nightstand showed it was 4:30 AM. Kicking off the sheet, he stood and started pacing his room. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
It wasn’t a nightmare. He had souvenirs to remind him. Rope burns reddened his wrists, and his hair and shirt were still damp. Whoever had taken him wanted to demonstrate their power. They hadn’t wanted to hurt him; if they did, he wouldn’t be back at his apartment. He had a feeling he would have been dead, and no one would know what happened to him.
His little adventure just convinced him without a doubt that his brother had been murdered and he had probably just met his killers.
~*~*~
The early morning sunlight peeking through the branches of the trees flashed brightly as Gwen jogged through the trail in the woods surrounding Stonewall University. The well-worn trail circled the university, giving a wide berth to the neighborhood bordering the campus.
There were a couple of different paths she could take, but after yesterday’s drama and a night spent tossing and turning, she needed to work off as much stress as possible. Her route would take about an hour of much-needed physical activity.
Gwen had finally given up on sleep at 5AM before throwing on her sneakers and giving herself over to the rush running always provided. Pearl Jam flowed through her earbuds, effectively blocking out everything else.
She had started off circling behind the neighborhoods and through the less populated areas so she would avoid seeing many people. She loved the peaceful pre-dawn hours before the noises of the town and campus awakening ruined the serenity.
Dew still clung to the leaves and brush along the trail. It would dry up quickly as the sun rose and the heat of summer started beating down on everything. Gwen followed the trail deeper into the trees that led to a small lake. She usually rested there for a few minutes before finishing her run.
Someone jumped out from behind a grouping of trees, blocking her path and startling her so badly that she tripped, landing on her hands and knees.
