Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 25- Callie

Flowing between clear concrete tunnels, to wood and densely packed soil, to some Frankenstein mix of the two, I'd imagine the route was simple. Stick to the well-built tunnels since they're newer and probably more well used. That method led me to no less than two dead ends and at least ten minutes of useless back tracking. God and Rave could be back any minute and the last person I want to catch me in the midst of my daring escape plan is the guy who hates me. I can just kiss the last vestiges of any freedoms they allowed me bye right now.

The echoes don't help. I swear I can hear breathing not my own down here, but that's likely just my anxiety playing tricks. No one is whispering down here except me. Which is silly. Normal people don't whisper aloud to themselves. They just talk to themselves inside their heads where no one can judge them for it.

"Oh, my dear sweet Bambi, you really shouldn't have run."

Time's up.

Either I've officially lost it and my inner thoughts have become full on hallucinations or I'm not nearly as alone as I had hoped.

My breaths come in heavy pants, my lungs fighting to inhale enough oxygen despite my erratic running and the dust it swirls up. I'm cursing myself for not taking up Nicole on her numerous invitations to the gym and whatever new class she was obsessed with; how was I to know I'd be running for my life through a labyrinth that would rival the goblin king's.

Pretty Boy's omnipresent voice echoes around me and the laughter that follows has goosebumps erupting all over my skin. His words slither through the air, my very own snake tempting me into ruin. I should've known it was too easy. Stupid. As if they would forget and just leave the door open for me when they've been so careful this far.

My luck has never been that good. I refuse to lie down and accept that this is my fate, to be toyed around with at their whims until I'm worn down and just accept however they treat me. Been there and done that. Lying down never changed anything. Running did. And that's exactly what I plan on doing.

I told him before I wasn't Bambi. And he'll soon find I refuse to be scared of the big bad wolf prowling through these tunnels after me. If he wants to drag me back to the bunker, he's gonna have to fight me.

Behind me, my footprints are clear as day in the dirt. He can't track me if there are no tracks. Layers would have made this easier, but beggars can't be choosers, so I'll have to work with what I've got. Whipping Cupid's oversize shirt off leaves me vulnerable in only his shorts and my t-shirt bra, but my options were limited. Besides, pretty sure that being caught at all is worse than any state of undress I find myself in. I can thank a brief obsession with Lifetime movies and true crime podcasts for this bit of ingenious thinking. Alright, I lied. It was 101 Dalmatians, but that just sounds lame even to my own ears. But if this works, I'll shout it to the world. Disney will take my story and run with it and I'll get a lifetime pass to Disney World.

A girl can dream.

Walking backwards while sweeping is slow going. My breathing and the soft brush of the shirt are the only sounds piercing the quiet around me. I keep waiting for Pretty Boy to taunt me again, but it's hard to tell if any sound is him, me, or just my anxious mind weaving sounds out of the air.

My blood is racing through my veins with a mix of adrenaline, fear, and what could almost be mistaken for excitement, but that can't be right. This isn't some kiddy game of hide and seek where the only thing the winner gets at the end is bragging rights. Winning means freedom.

That's my end goal or it should be. It's hard to stop my mind from wandering back to what awaits me outside. A dead-end job I hate, not exactly compelling. Rachel and Nicole are really the only things driving me to leave.

No.

That can't be right. I have a life outside that is worth more than the morsels of freedom these men allow me. Here I can't even be trusted with a pen and paper. Cupid's warm cinnamon kiss, God's husky whispers and commanding touches even as reluctant as they may be. Hmph. Even Pretty Boy has his alluring moments. Had. Nothing about this moment is alluring. Terrifying, but definitely not alluring. Thinking that is just asking for some grippy sock time. I can't deny that I've felt more alive in the past twenty-four hours than in the past three years. Bleak, but true. Who knew a life in hiding didn't inspire an extroverted lifestyle?

Focus.

Looking back, my tracks are about as covered as they're likely to get. It's not as if he's Dog the Bounty Hunter and they're not exactly covering their tracks down here either. Too clear a path is just as obvious as my footprints. If Pretty Boy wants to hunt me down, I plan to make him work for it.

As I turn another blind corner, I hear the crunch of his feet over the rocks embedded in the dirt floor. Time to test my stealth skills.

"Bambi, Bambi, ah, Bam-Bambi," he croons. "Don't get too near for there's lions, beware," he sings in that hauntingly smooth voice of his before it tapers off into an amused chuckle. His steps don't even appear to be in a hurry. He could be out for an evening stroll at this pace.

Funny how the killers in slasher flicks don't seem so far fetched now. It's the anticipation. The fear that warns us that they must have some hidden knowledge that allows them this endless well of patience and calm even as your own heart is running the New York marathon at an Olympic speed. I can't allow that to deter me. He doesn't know for certain and I refuse to allow my fear to push me into making a mistake.

Deep breaths. I can do this. I am strong, smart, and capable. All of the things that Colt tried his best to convince me I couldn't be without him controlling my strings.

Slow steady steps, I remind myself; though if I moved any slower I'd be lapped by both the tortoise and the hare. Keep erasing my presence and stay aware of his. With those thoughts in mind, I swish the increasingly dirty shirt behind me, listening for Pretty Boy's intermittent hums.

Still there, though not as close as before.

The fact that he clearly finds all of this amusing is switching him quickly from the neutral hot kidnapper column straight onto my Galveston list. Pretty to look at, but utter trash up close. Maybe there's a few hidden treasure spots in him, just like our family's favorite beach vacation city, but my hope in that is eroding faster than the beaches themselves.

At least Rave won't be alone on the list now.

Another straight-ish tunnel lies ahead. I'm pretty sure I've gone down this way before, but it's hard to be sure since I started trying to hide my steps. Probably should have left myself some sort of sign that I'd cleared that path already. Hindsight, I guess. That's fine, just going to plow ahead. Cautiously. It seems a bit of a contradiction, but it'll all work out. Yup, that's the attitude I'm going to maintain. Positive manifestation.

My positive manifestation lasts another three twists and turns through mostly dirt and wood framed tunnels, until my last turn back onto the newer concrete paths. I heave a sigh of relief. Between the sweeping and the bending, my back has aged me straight past go on thirty and onward into the eighties with not even two hundred dollars as a prize. I would kill for even an overpriced massage from one of those chairs at the mall.

It's become blaringly obvious that trying to leave here on my own is a hopeless endeavor. Pretty Boy lives here, no doubt he knows the tunnels here better than I could even try to, especially under the threat of capture. Or is it recapture? Semantics at this point. Either way, I need to think this through. Work smarter, not harder.

He wants to play cat and mouse. Fine. Cupid already calls me his Callie Cat. I should try my best to see whatever it is inside me that he does.

Time to play Pretty Boy.