Starr Gone Page 10

  Every sleepover at Di’s, we’d pop out the screen and sneak outside. In the beginning, we’d stay in the yard and watch the stars. She loved the Big Dipper. My favorite was, and still is, the Summer Triangle. That rush of excitement we felt every time we snuck out became contagious. Soon the backyard and the night sky weren’t enough. Houses with motion detectors and dogs became our chessboard. We’d see how close we could get before we set off the motion lights. Then we wanted to know just how much noise we could make before we woke up the neighborhood dogs. Di’s next-door neighbor had a cherry tree. When the cherries were in season, we’d stuff our faces, then sneak back into her room with our lips stained and our bellies full. During one midnight raid, Di snapped the screen in half. It was the last time I slept over at her house. Not because of the screen, but because she stopped asking.

  I pull one screen lock. Then the other. Without waiting, I push the screen and catch it before it crashes to the ground. The sound of tinging metal rings through the room. I pause for the frame to stop shaking. Once it’s quiet, I rest it on the ground against the side of the window. I sit back down on the window sill and swing my legs out. The breeze of freedom soothes my ankles. I’m so close to it, just a leap away. I shimmy to jump out. This is it. This is it. This is...

  Two iron cuffs squeeze my biceps. “Stop,” Thomas growls.

  I struggle against him trying to swing my legs over.

  He jerks me backward and throws me on the bed. I roll off the other side and hop-race toward the door. Again, the zip-ties slow me down. I grab the door knob and tug just as two arms bear hug me. “Starr, stop,” huffs Jude. I wrench out my arms, but it doesn’t do any good. They’re pinned against me. “Stop fighting,” he says. I jerk. I kick. I grunt. I squirm. I am not going to stop. I am not.

  The overhead light flicks on, temporarily blinding me. Once I can see, I struggle to break free. Thomas grabs my legs, squeezing so tight they feel like they might snap in two like dry twigs.

  The door opens. “What’s going on in here?” Another male says. I assume it’s the guard from the hall. What’s with all the male testosterone? Was I the first female Treadwell thought capable of becoming an assassin? Are we such a weak, simple species that assassin training isn’t in our DNA? I’ll make Treadwell and the rest of them realize how wrong that assumption is.

  “Get those zip-ties and rope on the dresser and double-bind her legs,” Thomas instructs the guard. Soon my thighs are bound with rope, with a second set of zip-ties around my ankles—they’re not taking any chances. “You cut her wrists,” he orders the guard. The guard slices the zip-ties so fast, I’m barely ready for it, but Jude is. He pulls me closer. My lip curls on its own. He better not be enjoying this.

  “Jude, put her arms behind her back,” Thomas orders.

  “Is that necessary? She won’t be able to sleep,” he says.

  “She should have thought about that before she tried to escape,” Thomas huffs. “Now, either do it or move.”

  Jude grabs my wrists. I struggle to break free. “Starr, stop fighting.”

  “Not on your life,” I growl.

  He pulls harder. “Starr, please cooperate.”

  My shoulders start to burn. I think little of the consequences of fighting in this position—the potential damage to both my shoulders and rotator cuffs. I just want to get away. “No,” I grunt and swing my legs back to kick him. My bound thighs make it hard to kick properly. I keep thrashing. He grunts with effort, but instead of stunning him or throwing him off balance, he squeezes harder. He’s more skilled than I gave him credit for.

  “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth, “have it your way,” and wrenches my arms tight behind my back. Thomas zip-ties them once, then adds a second one.

  With my arms and legs re-bound, there’s no fight in me. They push me and I fall face first over the bed. Without waiting to see if I’m okay, someone yanks my upper body over and my face flops into the pillow. In frustration, I scream into it, but the effect is far less dramatic than I intended. The overstuffed pillow stifles my protests and steals my breath. It strikes me how easy it would be to stop fighting and let the pillow smother me to death before Treadwell can deliver his prized possession to my grandparents. I wonder what his reaction would be if he marched in here in the morning and my prone body wasn’t breathing.

  I relax into the pillow. It would be so easy....

  But then he’d win.

  Then they’d all win.

  And I can’t let that happen.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Di

  A shadow crosses my face. You wouldn’t think in the dead of sleep, in the dark of a room, you’d notice a light variation, but you do, at least I do. I startle awake.

  “Who is that?” I hiss.

  “It’s me,” Christian says.

  For nine months, I prayed that Christian would visit my room and have his way with me, but now, I wish it were someone else.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  I reach over to turn on the light. “Sure.”

  He shields his eyes, but his hand doesn’t hide the dark circles.

  “Have you slept at all?”

  “Starr’s gone. How do you expect me to sleep?” There’s a harshness to his voice that’s never been there before. He jerks his head from side to side. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I just, I can’t sleep knowing that Starr’s gone because of me. It’s all my fault.”

  “Christian, don’t blame yourself. Treadwell wanted Starr. He wasn’t going to rest until he got her.”

  “You saw what I did. The last thing Starr saw was me doing those terrible...,” he chokes on a sob, “horrible things with Sami and Jody. She hates me.” He folds over, clutching his stomach. “I hate myself.”

  I’ve never been a touchy-feely person. I don’t talk about my emotions. I don’t say “Hi” to random strangers. I don’t give hugs to people just because, but Starr does, and without her here, I need to be her—well, no one can be her, I don’t want to be her, but I need to help fill the void she left behind.

  I call on my inner Starr—WWSD. Not the Starr who would throw her arms around Christian and start making out with him, but the Starr who would know how to make a person feel better, the Starr who would give people hope even if there was none. I rest my hand on his back. “Christian,” I say tentatively, “you had no control over what happened last night. We all knew we shouldn’t trust Jude, but we did.”

  He looks up at me. “But why did Jude bring me back to the apartment? He could have left me at the club. He could have taken me to the ranch. Why did he bring me back to the apartment? Starr was already gone.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe he wanted to make sure she was gone. I don’t understand the games Treadwell plays. He takes sick and twisted to a new level. Maybe Jude plays games too.”

  Tears form in Christian’s eyes. “I can’t believe I hurt her. I swore I would never hurt her.” He hunches back over.

  I wrap my arm around him and pat his back.

  “I want to kill him.”

  “Christian, you don’t mean that.”

  He stiffens. “Yes, yes, I do. I want to rip his heart out. I want to shoot him in the head. I want to make him pay for what he did to Starr.”

  Small acts of violence have always been my go to. Call it a defense mechanism. Call it self-preservation. Call it whatever the fuck you want, but kicks to the groin, liberal use of pepper spray, and the Taser give me a liberating sense of power. But Christian is not that guy, not even remotely that guy. That guy doesn’t save crickets that wander into coffee shops and release them back into the wild a half mile down the road. A straightedge peace activist doesn’t slit throats—he disappears into the woods with a girl and does everything in his power to keep her safe.

  “What’s going on in here?” Frank says from the doorway. I can’t see his face but I can take the pulse on his anger. I pull away from Christian as if I’m doing something wrong. Which I’m not, but that smal
l action makes me appear guilty.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you? What Starr’s gone, so now you go after Di?”

  Christian lifts his head and doesn’t hide his tear stained face. “I will never forgive myself for what I did to Starr. Di was trying to make me feel better.”

  Frank crosses his arms. “I bet.”

  I jump off the bed. “How dare you? Who are you to point the finger Mister I’ll-make-out-with-whoever-is-in-the-room. And to think I fell for it.”

  Christian stands up. “I should go.” He brushes past Frank. I try to follow him, but Frank blocks the doorway.

  “Move,” I grunt.

  He reaches out for me. “Di, I’m sorry.”

  “Move or I will make you move,” I growl.

  He grabs my hand and jerks me down the hall, into the kitchen, and out into the yard. He turns to me, still holding my hand. He pulls my other hand to him and rests them on his chest. “You are not pushing me away. You are not finding excuses not to be with me. The feelings I have for you. The feelings I know you have for me—they’re real. I might have acted like a jackass in there but it’s only because of what he did to Starr, and I thought he was trying to do the same with you.”

  I try to shrug away, but his tentacle hands won’t be pried off.

  “I care about you Di, and sometimes I’m going to act like an ass and sometimes I’m going to do this,” he says and kisses me.

  I consider kneeing him in the groin, but the thought flies out of my head the moment his tongue slips into my mouth. A hundred emotions whirl through me. No one has ever been so honest with me. I’ve never had anyone get jealous over someone else. I’ve never had anyone make me feel like fireworks are exploding under every square inch of my skin, and that’s the scariest thought of all, but for the moment, maybe just this nanosecond, I decide to stop fighting and let this kiss and whatever comes after continue.

  Self-preservation be damned.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Starr

  A mass of bodies surrounds me, pushing and pressing against me. Loud music pulses all around. Jody, Sami, Di, Frank, Coda, Ben, even Rebecca, Jude, and Thomas—they’re all there. Dancing, moving, swarming each other. I can’t find Christian though, and that’s who I really want to see. I elbow and shove dancers out of the way. Frank pulls me one way. Jude tugs me the other way. Thomas pushes me backward. Someone else presses into my back. It feels like punches. I try to swat them all out of the way. All I want to do is find Christian.

  Finally, I see him on the edge of the dance floor. I smile and wave. My heart soars to the heavens at the sight of him. Then I notice his arm wrapped around someone who looks just like me, but with black hair. She sneers in my direction. Her face, ugly and twisted. Her heart, bitter and broken just like me.

  I suck in air, but I can’t catch my breath. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

  Someone shakes me. “Starr.”

  I ignore him.

  “Starr, wake up.” Someone flips me on my back. My arms get wrenched behind me. The pain wakes me up.

  Gasping for breath, I recognize Jude hovering over me. I narrow my eyes at him.

  “You okay?”

  “What do you care?”

  His face softens. “Starr, don’t be like that.”

  “You made me this way. Now, leave me alone.”

  “You heard her,” Thomas grunts from the chair.

  Jude pulls his lips to the side. I pinch my face at him. Daring him to say something, anything. His eyes grow sad. He sits back on the rocking chair.

  I glance at the window. Even from the bed, I can tell it’s locked and the screen’s back in position. My shoulders burn from the awkward position. I fall over to my side away from Jude and Thomas, away from the reality of this room and my status in it.

  My clothes cling to my body. My hearts still racing against my chest. I lay there trying to steady myself, to ignore the gross reminders that the nightmares have returned because my dream catcher broke my heart.

  I am destined to a lifetime of nightmares because I will never allow romantic notions to soften me again. The pain hurts too much.

  Someone knocks. “Come in,” Thomas says. He must be in charge. In Treadwell’s twisted military rank system, Jude must rank lower. I will use this knowledge to my advantage.

  “Breakfast for the prisoner,” someone says.

  My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten in days. Without prompting, I try to sit up, but the binding makes it difficult. “Here,” Jude says, “Let me help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  I jerk and twist, then tighten my stomach muscles and crunch up. The thousands of flip turns pay off.

  It’s the same guy who delivered my dinner last night. The dinner, I not so politely refused. Once, several weeks ago, Treadwell said that I would lead a group of recruits. He praised my leadership abilities, my problem-solving skills, my athletic physical prowess. He also included my looks as an assassin tool. I will use these attributes to my advantage.

  “Hi,” I smile at him, tilting my head to the side.

  His brown eyes open wide.

  “Sorry for being so rude last night.” I blink a few times.

  “Gah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Ready for breakfast today?”

  “Yes,” I smile wide, letting it crinkle the corners of my eyes, “but I’m not sure how I’ll get to eat. I’m all tied up.” I pout my lips.

  And there it is—that light in his eyes, that idea taking root, that impenetrable wall falling. “Could we untie her to eat?”

  Jude’s shoulders tighten. He doesn’t like this light banter, dare I say, flirting. Thomas flicks his knife open. “Behave,” he warns me.

  I blink at him as I smile. “Of course,” I say, but my efforts are wasted on Treadwell’s clone. He tugs at my wrists, letting the zip-ties dig in. I wince, but he doesn’t cut me loose. Not yet, he wants to punish me for my escape attempt.

  “Is that really necessary?” food delivery guy asks.

  “Yes, it is,” Jude says. “Be mindful of the prisoner. She attacked us last night while we slept. She’s playing with you right now.”

  Food delivery guy glances at me. I blink again, but whatever progress we were making disappears. Caution lines his eyes. He sets the tray down across my legs and quickly backs up as if I might lunge at him and bite his throat. I wouldn’t do that to him. Thomas maybe. Jude definitely, but not him.

  “Alex, never assume any interaction is harmless,” Jude says. “It’s the ones you least expect that have the greatest power.”

  Alex. I’ll remember that name.

  “Right you are, Jude,” Treadwell says, marching into the room, “and that is why this fine young man is one of our top recruits and you deliver breakfast.”

  Alex drops his head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Take the tray and leave. She doesn’t need to eat,” Treadwell orders.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I smile apologetically at Alex, but he avoids any contact with me. He doesn’t even accidently touch my lap when he grabs the tray and walks out of the room. I need to get him back on my side and keep him there. He doesn’t follow the rules like the rest of them, and that’s the type of person I want on my team, or at least on my side however tenuous a turned recruit may be.

  Learned that lesson the hard way.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Di

  The sunlight burns me. I think I turned into a vampire sometime in the night and now that the sun shines down, I am slowly incinerating. It’s the only explanation for the fire smoldering within me.

  “Di,” someone says.

  “Frank,” my brain whispers.

  Fluttery kisses cover my cheeks, my lips, my nose, fanning the flame.

  I must be in hell.

  “Di, it’s time to go.”

  Heat not only radiates within me but all around me. Instead of dousing the fire, I want to ignite it. I push my lips up t
o meet his. He laughs and pushes harder against me.

  “Di, Frank, I’m leaving with or without you,” Christian yells.

  I pull back in time to see Christian’s bald head turn back into the house. I shift away from Frank on the hammock. I keep my eyes on the ground. “We should go,” I whisper.

  “One more,” he says and pulls me to him.

  Who am I to argue?

  ***

  Starr

  “Jessica, I assume you slept well,” Treadwell says. It makes no difference to him whether I slept well or not. It makes no difference to him if I ever sleep again. He doesn’t care if nightmares haunt my sleep. He doesn’t care if those nightmares follow me into my waking hours.

  “We’re scheduled to meet with your grandfather late this afternoon. He has no idea the true nature of the visit. Once your identity has been confirmed, I’ll begin the negotiations. If all goes according to plan, you should be with your beloved grandparents by the end of the week.”

  I sit stony-faced. Frank and Di always teased me about my easy tells. Treadwell and the rest of his men must never know what I’m thinking or planning. Revenge for my dad’s death will be sweet.

  “Let me introduce you to the remainder of your new team—oh wait, you know them all quite well. In that case, get reacquainted,” he says. Sarcasm does not become him.

  In stalks Sami and Jody. I knew Treadwell planned to thrust us together, but the last time I saw them, they were lip-locked with the boy I thought was the great love of my life. The room suddenly feels cramped like there’s no escape from the reality of it.