Wren

Part 27

Wren was suddenly tackled from behind and drug through the bushes to the outside. He fought and kicked and managed to knock his attacker off balance, but he fell with him and his head slammed into the ground. He was immediately dizzy, and before he could recover a hood was pulled down over his head. He lashed out blindly, feeling his shoe slip off as he kicked, but the person quickly restrained his arms behind his back and tied his ankles together. 

A sudden kick to the stomach made him curl up in pain, cutting off the scream he'd attempted for help. The attacker grabbed the hood and a fistful of hair along with it and jerked his backwards. "You make one more damn noise and you'll lose your fuckin' tongue," he growled in Wren's ear.

Wren didn't recognize the voice. 

He was lifted and carried bridal style, the man grunting as he struggled to move quickly with Wren in his arms. 

It sounded like they were going through the woods; Wren could hear leaves shuffling and sticks cracking under their combined weight. Panic was taking over as the adrenaline rush faded. Who was this man, and what did he want? It had to be his father's doing, right?

After about ten minutes, he heard traffic. They must've come out the other side, and were at the back fence. A road ran past about a mile away from the fence line, a green field in between. He heard car doors slamming way closer than that though, so they must've driven through the field and come right up to the back gate. Chills ran through him. If it was his father, he'd been trying to find a way in this whole time.

Wren was tossed roughly into the trunk of a large vehicle, and the lid slammed down. It was spacious. . . must be a suburban or something. He heard hushed conversation from the front, but couldn't hear what was being said past the blood rushing in his ears. He wiggled his wrists and ankles, testing the bindings, but they were far too tight for him to break free. Not like he could escape from a moving car, anyway.

He didn't know how much time passed, each second ticking by in agony as he thought about Sophie and Matteo. Would these men kill him? Were they using him for ransom against Vincenzo? What would happen if--

The car slowed to a stop and he heard cars doors opening and closing. The back suddenly opened and he was grabbed roughly, hauled out and thrown to the concrete. The trunk slammed closed and he was lifted again, feeling the temperature change as he was carried inside of a building. It smelled of dust, mold, and whiskey.

"Boss!" a voice to the left of him called, but he already knew there were at least two men. Now three, the boss he'd called for.

He was dumped on the ground and his arms cut loose, only to be forced into a chair and retied with his hands to the legs of the chair. The hood was whipped off his head.

He blinked a few times, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim room. He was surrounded by high shelves, and the floor was made of cracked pavement. A rusty barrel with a fire blazing in it stood in the far corner in front of him, a semi-circle of lawn chairs around it. Scary-looking men sat in them, smoking cigars or playing with whatever they had in their hands. The man who'd carried him stood a few steps in front of Wren's chair, another man standing near him. The one who'd called out.

A sharply dressed man stepped out from behind the shelf he was leaning on and into view. But Wren only focused on the man who followed him.

"Fuck you!" He spat, glaring at his father. 

Killian grinned and held out his hands. "Hey, no hard feelings kiddo. Told you we'd meet again, you're the one who made it such a rough delivery."

Wren seethed, staring daggers at Killian, who just smiled. The Boss stepped in between them, chuckling. "You've got a fighter here, Killian." He remarked, and bowed theatrically in front of Wren. "Hello, little one. My name-- well, that isn't important to you. You'll know me as Boss." He stepped in, grabbing Wren's chin and forcing his head back. Wren met his eyes with a look of defiance. 

Boss smiled. "Fight back while you can, I suppose. . . you may not be able to after a while." He let go, shoving Wren's head to the side. He snapped his fingers, and the man who carried him, (let's call him goon1) produced a chair from somewhere behind Wren's back. He gracefully whipped it around and set it about three feet away and facing him. Boss sat down. 

"What the hell do you want from me? You already sold me off, so what now?" Wren shouted at his father who stood behind Boss, a whiskey bottle in hand.

He took a swig before answering. "What do I always want, kiddo? Money!" He grinned. 

Wren would tear that greasy smile right off his face if given the chance.

"I don't have money," Wren spat. 

"Ah, see, there must be a misunderstanding. Your father has been telling me that you've been living with a very wealthy family, right? Our rivals, the Sabatino family."

Wren froze. What the hell? Why did his father think he had money, and why was he tangled up with these guys? "No."

"Surely your father was telling the truth, right? Right, Mr. Solace?" Boss turned to see Killian fidgeting nervously. He sighed. "Well, fuck me. They're both liars. Must run in the family!" He stood and again snapped his fingers at goon1, who suddenly grabbed Killian and started to drag him away, begging and pleading, to some unknown place. Wren ignored the ordeal, not giving a shit what happened to his father.

Boss shook his head slowly. "I'll give you exactly one chance. You will give us the passcodes to the family's banking accounts, or you will be in deep trouble."

"I don't know any 'passcodes', and if I did, I wouldn't give them to you." Wren growled.

A blow landed across his face, the rings Boss wore shredding his cheek. Blood dripped down his neck as he fought the stars out of his vision, trying to figure out what happened. 

"Wrong choice, 'kiddo'."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Matteo was losing his mind. It had been 29 hours since Dace had run into the room to tell them Wren was missing. They found a trail of upturned leaves through the woods and skid marks in the grass at the back of the property, along with footage from the cameras that lined the fence. Two men had snuck in, and an hour later were seen carrying a hooded and bound figure through the field and tossing him into a black SUV. The plates had been covered.

Matteo hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't really even moved from his desk, scanning through hours and hours worth of CCTV footage from a 20 mile radius around the place. It was like. . . the vehicle had disappeared.

In the first few hours of turmoil they'd immediately sent out a group of men, Matteo in the lead, to the warehouse they traced Killian back to, but all they found was a bunch of people high on drugs, mold, rat carcasses, and a sick note saying 'nope, try again!' marked with the initials K.S. Killian had known they were watching him, and had set all this up.

The moment Matteo caught that bastard, he was going to rip his throat out.

                    Part Twenty-Eight Coming Soon