Hostage (Big Time Rush fanfic thriller)

Part 2

I hope I’m right, Stephanie thought.

                “Change the radio station,” Kendall said once Miley Cyrus started singing ‘We Can’t Stop’. “Put it to a news station. I’ll bet anything that they’re talking about the concert shooting already.”

                “Yeah!” Logan was suddenly alert. “And they’ll have police out there looking for you. You’ve killed people. Get ready for a take-down – or the slammer.”

                “You guys, both of you just chill!” Carlos laughed. “Let’s all just sit tight and let these idiots get themselves arrested.”

                “Well, aren’t you all a band of heroes?” The man in the driver’s seat chuckled. “Ask James about the price he paid for his little act of courage.” His blue eyes glared in the rearview mirror. “Go ahead. Ask your band mate if he regrets saving a fan’s life now.”

                Stephanie watched James close his eyes bravely. She slipped her dark hand into his pale, warm one, squeezing and not minding that her fingers were stained with blood.

                “Your sense of heroism is a farce, Big Time Rush. Do you know what a farce is? It’s a joke. You boys aren’t heroes – you’re opportunists. You heard me right.” The man challenged Logan’s hateful stare through the mirror. “You use your good looks, your charm, and your talent to gain hundreds of thousands of fans across the world, and then you manipulate them. Yes, you do. You take advantage of your fans and how much they adore you. They buy your merchandise, they watch your TV show, they follow your music, they go to your concerts – and how do you repay them? Tell me.”

                “We love our fans,” Kendall said defiantly. “The fans know we love them.”

                “It’s called ‘Twitter’, dude,” Logan added.

                “Do you have a fan mail address? Yeah, right, I didn’t think so. By the way, it’s 2013. Nobody gets famous by committing acts of terrorism anymore, so, if that’s your M.O.? You might want to re-think your plans.”

                The man ignored Carlos’ sarcasm. “Do you want to know how you repay your fans, Kendall, and Logan, and Carlos, and James?” he asked. “I’ll show you. Just wait.”

                His scary voice echoed in Stephanie’s mind and stayed there. She thought about his words as the kids were forced to scarf down hot fries and Quarter Pounders, and a bunch of cold wet napkins were pressed onto James’ wound just before they drove away.

“Thanks,” James said through gritted teeth when Stephanie held a straw to his lips, and he sipped the Coca-Cola greedily. Stephanie could tell he needed the fluids.

                “Want to take a bite?” Stephanie let him see the McChicken that was left over, but James shook his head in her lap. The van rumbled forward.

                “I feel like ... I’m going to be sick.”

                “Not on my jeans, please. I just got them,” Stephanie teased.

                “How about your shoes?” James tried to smile. “Can I puke ... on your sneakers?”

                Stephanie laughed, even though their lives were in danger. Maybe that time when James had stared into her eyes – right before the crazies brought out their guns – he really had been admiring her.