Page 4 of Taken for Granite
She never should have taken the loan from Louis, but how could she pass up the opportunity for Chloe? Her sister had been accepted into Longwood Academy, one of the most prestigious—and expensive—private schools in the city. Chloe would have the best education and a real chance to get out of the crumbling neighborhood. Of course Juniper took the money. She’d be an idiot not to.
Why Louis even offered, she had no clue. He wasn’t in the business of funding fancy-schmancy educations, and he knew she’d never be able to pay him back. His own son, Little Mickey, went to Longwood, so he knew how expensive the tuition ran. Perhaps he wanted the satisfaction of sending another Frankford kid to the poshest school in the city. Perhaps he had a moment of genuine charity, but Juniper doubted it. Men like Louis always had an angle.
Juniper didn’t like it when Mickey called in her tab, but she couldn’t pretend that his father, Old Louis, never did the same. He ran a business, not a charity. Usually, he had her work a private party at his house, which was tolerable. House parties stayed nearly respectable. As long as she wore a tight little black number and didn’t mind a hand or two on her ass, she survived the night. She served drinks and had no obligation to entertain the lusty requests of Louis’ guests. She could have—and would turn a pretty penny for her trouble—if she wanted, but she was also free to say no. If anyone insisted, she found the nearest bit of muscle and they kept the situation from getting out of hand.
Damn. Juniper couldn’t believe she felt downright nostalgic about a sleazeball who didn’t make her prostitute herself to pay off her debts. That was all kinds of fucked up. Mickey only wanted her to drive and not ask questions. She could do that with a smile on her face, happy to oblige.
Juniper had no good answer. She had been damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.
At least Chloe had a shot. She could still get out.
* * *
tas
Moisture condensed on the inside of the crate as the temperature dropped. He licked the droplets of water, never more than enough to wet his lips. His tongue sat thick and heavy in his mouth. He could go days, weeks with minimal food, but he needed water.
Perhaps Agent Rhododendron wanted him to die in this box. She starved him, chained him, sent him across the ocean, and left time and dehydration to do the rest.
Tas did not have time to entertain any further maudlin dramatics. The rolling motion of open water gave way to choppy, shallow waters. Machine oil and exhaust layered over the sea air, creating a strange miasma. Human voices shouted over machinery. The crate lurched as it was lifted, moved, and finally settled onto solid ground. The warmth of light bled around the edges of the crate’s lid, and he pressed his fingers to the crack, relishing the burn of solar radiation. It had been decades since the sun warmed his skin.
He had arrived but knew not where. Perhaps somewhere off the Mediterranean or across the Atlantic in North America. So strange to think that when his crew arrived on Earth, the two hemispheres had no contact with each other and were unaware of each other’s existence. They could barely navigate their own coastlines, let alone cross an ocean.
One of his captors claimed that humans had traveled to their solitary moon. Not Rhododendron. The one before, with the silly name. Winterberry.Grack, what a ridiculous name.
Even if humans had gone to the moon, Tas remained unimpressed.
He worked his hands and feet free of the cuffs. The crate was barely large enough to hold an adult male and offered no room to rest comfortably. He crouched or sat on his knees for days. Another indignity. His captors thought of everything.
Soon they would open the crate and Tas would have his revenge.
He hoped Rhododendron would be there when the crate opened. While he couldn’t see her face, he imagined she had a sharp, brittle smile, and he wanted to wrap his chain around her throat and listen to her desperate gurgling as the life left her body.
The crate lurched again before a vehicle moved it smoothly. It slid into place, a heavy door closed, and the brief warmth of sunlight vanished. An engine rumbled to life as the vehicle moved.
Soon. He stretched his cramped limbs before shifting the last of his energy to toughen his shoulder. He threw himself against the weak point in the crate, knowing he had a limited window for escape. If he waited until they arrived at whatever destination the Rose Syndicate chose, a dozen humans would greet him with guns when the door to his cage opened.
His revenge fantasy with his handler was just that: a fantasy. The human’s projectile weapons were laughable but he lacked the strength to fight his way through a dozen all shooting at him. Experience taught him that humans were dangerous in crowds. Their flimsy toy weapons multiplied in effectiveness when coupled with nets, hooks, and even sticks with pointy ends.
Tas growled with pleasure, remembering the last human he saw who did have a long pole with a pointy end. The male had been determined to jab Tas, so he broke the pole and then broke the male’s arm.
No, he needed to make his escape in transit. Now.
His days of captivity were over.
* * *
juniper
Mickey had two rules: don’t look at the cargo and don’t stop the van. Simple. Juniper never had a problem following the rules. Black plywood separated the cabin from the back of the van, which made the not looking part easy.
Eyes forward. Drive.
The radio and the road noise filled the cabin with a pleasant drone. Juniper focused on traffic and what she would make for dinner. Considering she had a pound of ground beef that would spoil soon, something with that. Spaghetti with meat sauce or meatloaf. That sounded nice.
The insulation on the stove was a joke and the whole house got unbearably hot if she tried cooking anything in the oven during the summer. The weather had turned cooler though, allowing her to bake for the first time since May.
The more she thought about it, the more she set her mind on meatloaf with mashed potatoes. Normally she wasn’t interested in cooking anything too complex after her shift, but the coffee did its magic. She felt energized and wanted to make a proper meal.
