Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller. by Marie Reyes (the false prince series txt) 📗

“Oh, my god.” She picked up the scraps of card from the floor and thrust them into his hand. “It’s his auto-shop. The scum bag that kidnapped my sister was the guy that gave us his card.”

Michael arranged the pieces to see the name Ismael Garcia in smudged black ink.

“This is it, Michael. We’re so close now.”

“Josie.” Michael leaped from the ground, putting his hands up in a defensive stance as a man stood approaching from behind Josie with an AK-47 in his arms. An unintelligible noise escaped his mouth as he flinched in anticipation of pain, but the man didn’t fire. With her back to him, Josie’s hand disappeared into the pocket of her tailored shorts, and her phone almost slipped from her hand as she pulled it out. The voice in Michael’s head screamed for her to stop, but her fingers started pushing buttons. The man shouted words he didn’t understand, but he knew they weren’t good.

“Leave! Now,” Josie shouted down the phone. “Get help.”

Before Michael could react, the man struck her across the back of the head, sending her phone flying into the grass as her body dropped to the floor in an instant. “Please,” Michael uttered. He wasn’t use to begging for his life.

As he felt a presence behind him and a shadow appeared at his side, Michael’s organs leapt up inside him.

“You took your time. Trouble finding the place?” Samuel’s gravelly voice rasped near his ear, close enough so he could feel the heat of his breath. A loud noise, like a car backfiring in the distance, made Michael flinch.

“What is that?” Samuel yelled and Michael couldn’t tell if he was talking to him, or the man with the machine gun.

“I… don’t… know.” He stuttered. The sound still rang, bouncing off the hills from the direction of the car where Alex was waiting for them and Michael’s stomach churned. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to vomit. His body screamed, confused, not sure whether it wanted to run, throw up, cry, or curl up into a ball.

“Never mind. I’m sure Che is dealing with it.” He gave the man with the gun a knowing look and he hoisted Josie up, pulling her along whilst carrying the gun over the other shoulder. Samuel looked at Michael. “Move it. You’ve got legs, right?”

The turquoise pool reflected in the glass panels of the ground floor doors as they neared the house and stepped up onto the paving. Despite the expansive windows, the trees that surrounded the property provided plenty of privacy. Even though he could barely think straight, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the lavishness of the place and he felt like he was locked in an architect's wet-dream. It reminded him of the real-estate shows he’d watch at midday when he was unemployed. Never in his life had he stepped foot in somewhere like this. The fully white interior, glass staircase and shiny floors were dazzling. Although the floor space hadn’t looked like much in comparison to the height of the house, the inside was vast, the open plan floor, designed to make optimal use of the space. Despite the wow-factor, the place felt sterile. No nick-knacks, no photographs, nothing to make it look like a home. An enormous television and sound system took up one wall, and a highly stylized artwork hung on the opposing wall. Minimalist bright colors that ultimately didn’t make you feel anything when you looked at them.

The back part of the ground floor was raised up from the rest, and Samuel led them up to a bar area. A curved granite counter with various spirits laid out and a row of pristine glasses. A charcoal-gray chaise lounge took up the other half of the space. “Sit.”

The armed man slumped Josie up against the backrest, and Michael placed himself gingerly on the edge of one of the cushions.

“Playlist three,” Samuel said, and in a second classical music blasted from the speakers. “Blinds down.” As soon as he said it, a mechanical whirring started as a covering came down from above the front doors and windows, lowering slowly like a garage door, and the house grew dim as the sunlight disappeared bit-by-bit.  “Cool, no?” He grinned, baring perfectly straight, white teeth. Pleased with himself like a teenage boy who had gotten his hands on the latest gaming console. Michael shuffled on the edge of his seat. What was Samuel waiting for? Why didn’t he just kill them already and get it over with? It was the waiting that was excruciating.

The other guy laid his gun out on the bar and answered his phone, talking a mile-a-minute, pacing up and down—a caged lion in a zoo enclosure—frustrated and unpredictable. Michael couldn’t bring himself to look at their faces, so concentrated on the tattoos on the man’s arms, his eyes following the lines and patterns.

The man then relayed whatever was said on the phone to Samuel. The words were foreign to Michael, but the volume and tone didn’t inspire him with confidence. Anger always sent his heart-rate soaring. In all his years of working in customer service, he could never get used to it. Josie groaned at his side as she started to come around. He wished he could reach out to her, but didn’t dare move.

A projectile hurtled towards the back wall. He hadn’t even realized what it was until the glass bottle exploded against the wall, leaving liquid dripping down the walls and shards of glass firing in every direction. Something had seriously pissed Samuel off, and he strode towards them, shoving a phone towards him.

“You call your friend. Tell him to get back here now. Don’t you dare tell him anything is wrong. Tell him whatever you need to tell him to get his ass back here.”

“Who?” he stammered and looked over at Josie, who looked confused and held her hand against her head, where she had been struck.

“Your driver. Don’t play