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We stepped into the courtyard shared by all the flats in the block, security cameras hidden in every corner of the perimeter. Hannah locked the door behind us. We then proceeded through the tall wrought-iron gate separating the courtyard from the pavement. Specks of icy rain needled my cheeks, and I burrowed into my scarf as we dashed across the pavement. A black cab idled by the curb, yellow headlights beckoning through the gloom. I scanned the busy street before letting Hannah climb inside ahead of me.
The interior smelled of stale coffee and air freshener. Hannah reminded the driver of our destination. Rain pattered against the windows as we eased into traffic. I fiddled with my bag strap, excitement kindling as I watched festive shopfronts slide past. The closest I’d come to a real Christmas was back when Dad was alive. Most years it had just been the two of us. Not much effort or festivity. This year, all things going to plan, I’d spend Christmas with a group of old friends who were staying in London.
I looked out the window, losing myself in the steady drum of rain and the swish of passing cars as we wound deeper into the city. Vibrant holiday lights, storefronts, and pedestrians blurred into Impressionistic smears of colour. But gradually, the shop displays faded, giving way to warehouses, chain-link fences, and loading bays. I blinked hard. This didn’t seem right. Were we still heading towards Hyde Park?
I shot Hannah a questioning look. She returned my gaze, lips pinched tight, eyes round. My chest squeezed. No words needed. Her tense look mirrored the unease now sitting like a stone in my gut.
“Excuse me,” Hannah ventured, artificially bright. “I think you may have taken a wrong turn back there. Hyde Park is the other way. Could you turn around, please?”
No response came from the driver. Just the steady rumble of tyres over wet pavement. We continued gliding deeper into nowhere.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a taxi heading to the wrong destination against my will. Last time, it was Daniel Ling’s doing. I whipped my head towards Hannah. She gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Chapter Sixty-One
Panic engulfed me as the taxi continued farther from the intended destination. I had mentally prepared for this kind of situation, but now that it was actually happening, all my preparation was out the window. “Stop the car!” I yelled.
The driver ignored me. I jostled the door lock, but it was stuck fast. The child safety lock was engaged. I checked my phone, but it mysteriously had no signal. Something must have been blocking it. I sent an emergency SMS anyway, hoping it would still transmit.
Hannah shouted and pounded on the back window of the car, but the window was foggy, and there were no cars close enough for anyone to see.
The driver’s hunched shoulders tightened further as he turned down a narrow alley leading towards a dilapidated warehouse surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. My pulse crashed loud in my ears. I clutched Hannah’s arm as we slowed towards the ragged chain-link gate barring our way. A suited man bearing a neck tattoo stepped into position to open the gate. Hannah hammered on the car window to get his attention, but his deadened eyes skated over us, unmoved.
We bumped across a forecourt overgrown with weeds poking through cracks in the concrete, then into the warehouse’s gaping entrance. The car slowed to a stop. The man with the neck tattoo, and a shorter, stockier man, approached either side of the vehicle. The driver rolled his window down slightly, and the neck-tattoo man slipped a thick envelope through the gap. As the driver counted the cash in the envelope with grubby fingers, the ominous men yanked open both rear doors in jarring unison.
“Get out,” the brute at my side barked, fetid breath billowing as he dragged me from the taxi with enough force to nearly rip my arm from its socket. Hannah yelped as the other man wrestled her out with equal violence. They forced us to our knees on the freezing, wet concrete.
Hannah locked eyes with me, communicating wordless reassurance as the men bound our hands behind us with zip ties. I didn’t know whether she had a plan to get us out of this, or if she thought we’d get rescued soon. I was doubtful on both counts.
The men frisked our pockets and bags for phones and cash and confiscated them, so even if we could somehow escape, we’d have no resources to depend on. The driver drove the car away, and with a metallic rumble, the warehouse roller door descended behind us, encaging us in musty darkness.
I sucked in a deep breath, willing my frantic mind to think. I had to stay calm. If the men planned to use me as leverage in a bargaining situation, then my life wasn’t in immediate danger since I’d be no use to them dead. If I could keep my wits about me, maybe I could get information. Anything that could help bring Daniel Ling and his people down.
“What do you want from us?” I managed.
The stocky one shrugged. “Just following orders.”
“Whose orders?” I pressed.
He scoffed. “Need-to-know basis, love.”
His lanky partner with the tattoo curling up his neck studied me closely. “Which one of you is Amelia Cross?”
Before I could respond, Hannah piped up. “I am.”
I blinked in surprise. The neck-tattooed man narrowed his eyes, scrutinising Hannah’s features. “Funny,” he said. “Our photograph looks more like this one.” He grabbed my jaw, his yellow teeth bared inches from my face. “Did you really think we’d fall for that?”
He yanked me to my feet and dragged me towards a chair set behind a tripod and video camera. My knees quaked, but I locked them rigidly. I had to cooperate, buy time, and if worse came to worst, I just hoped Hannah could get out of her zip ties.
One man guarded Hannah, while the other one tied me to the chair. I took stock of my surroundings as the rope tightened around me, seeking anything to help me formulate an escape. The warehouse was large and empty, with a concrete floor of chipped grey squares and rusty pipes snaking along the walls. Above, skeletal trusses weaved across the ceiling and broken skylights let the cold seep in. A few grimy bulbs hung from exposed wires, providing a hazy light source. A double door at the back of the warehouse was barred, chained, and padlocked. The only other way out was the roller door we came in through. There had to be a switch for it somewhere, but we wouldn’t be able to activate it with our hands bound behind our backs.
I turned my focus to the camera in front of me. “Are you going to video me?” I asked my captor.
Neck Tattoo leaned down, his hot, sour breath on my face. “Obviously.”
“So, how does this work? Do I have to say anything? Do I get a script or something?”
“Bit of pleading for your life will do the trick.”
