Page 105 of Loverboy
Someone's cut power to the entire building. I take a second to tap out a message on my watch.Power out in Posy’s building. I don’t like it.Taking a look in the basement.
I suppose I could wait for backup. But there’s a five-year-old kid who needs his nightlight. And It’s probably Saroya making trouble with the circuit-breakers.
It gets brighter near the first floor, as the soft glow of the lights from Prince Street filters in through the front window. I haven’t heard the front door open or close these past few minutes. And I don’t see anyone. Although I can’t see the basement door until I've reached the main level.
As I step off the last tread into the vestibule, I turn slowly to face the rear of the building, where the basement door is. But someone is standing there in the shadows.
“Who's there?” I call in a nonthreatening voice.
Two things happen at once. The shadowed person in front of me holds up a high wattage light, blinding me. And the front door wrenches open behind me.
I go for the gun in my waistband holster, getting my hand on the revolver, but I don’t shoot, because I haven’t identified the threat.
There are moments in everyone’s life when split-second decisions will matter. And this is one of them. By the time I turn my head to see who’s coming through the door, it’s too late. The goon behind me is already attaching his iron hands to my elbows, yanking my arms back into a vice grip. His partner advances toward me with that brutal light held high in the air like a weapon.
It’s not Saroya.
I can’t raise my arms or move my body. But Icanangle my hand toward the floor behind me, and fire off a single, deafening round.
The goon behind me screams, and his buddy kicks the gun out of my hand a split second later. I wrench out of his grasp and pinball off the wall to try to break toward the door.
But it’s no good. The guy whose foot I shot has not given up. He blocks my path, and his buddy sweeps my feet out from under me. And—worse—the pounding of feet coming down the stairs accompanied by whispered curses tells me the rest of the bad news.
There are four of these guys.
“Don't fucking twitch, or I’ll blow off your head right here,” pants another large man with a gun as he leaps down the last stairs and into the vestibule. “Your girlfriend will have to clean it up.”
I go perfectly still. But I'm rapidly forming several conclusions. First, I fucked up big time. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. They were waiting for me. Second—even worse—I never should have left Posy and Aaron alone upstairs.
I push that last thought aside, though, because I can’t help Posy until I get out of this jam.
“Get up nice and slow now,” the new guy says. “You’re going to log into your computer for us.”
The fourth guest at this party pulls my laptop out of his jacket and opens the lid. The last time I saw that computer, it was a few feet away from Posy. That was only five minutes ago, though. They couldn’t have done much damage upstairs.
“The laptop is biometric,” I say carefully. “Once you walk away from me, the machine shuts down.” This isn’t strictly true, but it could keep me alive. And right now The Company security system alerts should be lighting up more brightly than the Empire State Building.
“Fuck it. We’ll just remove the hard drive, then,” says the goon-in-chief. “Take him to the basement. We gotta do this quick.”
Shit.My guys better hurry their asses up.
I’m prodded to my feet and shoved toward the basement door. It’s dark down there, and my arms are pinned, making the descent tricky. I reach the bottom and spot a chair and a table waiting. But in my peripheral vision I catch a glimpse of something that makes me cold inside.
One of the goons is pulling on a gas mask. And there’s a red ribbon looped over his arm.
I'm hit with so much dread I actually stumble, causing the man holding my arms to yank hard on them. Max says there’s nobody braver than a man with nothing to lose.
That’s not me anymore. I have everything to lose.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to walk carefully across the room, taking in my surroundings. The space is lit only by one of the goons’ flashlights. But aside from the chair, there’s very little down here that I could use as a weapon. I spot that narrow little window Saroya broke—the pane is still damaged.
The men shove me toward the chair.
“Hurry,” the boss chides.
As soon as my ass lands on the seat, someone moves behind me and grabs my hands. I make fists, hoping for a zip tie instead of cuffs.
I’m rewarded by the bite of plastic against my skin. Thank fuck. But then someone places a metal canister on the table in front of me. It looks like a miniature oxygen tank.
