Saving Dallas Forever (Saving Dallas 3)

PROLOGUE

DALLAS

PRESENT DAY

“Picture it, Sicily 1979, a beautiful young woman, trying to find her way in the world, meets an aspiring, handsome, business man for the first time.”

“You’re talking about you and dad?”

“No, I’m talking about Giorgio Armani. Your father was a schmuck.”

Despite the circumstances, I laughed as I listened to Sophia and Dorothy’s conversation from the T.V. sitcom, “Golden Girls”. Due to the blindfold I wore over my eyes, I couldn’t see them, but someone had been nice enough to leave the T.V. tuned to a decent show, and the volume loud enough for me to hear. I knew I was in a hotel somewhere in Atlanta, Georgia. I knew it was three men who had captured me, and I knew that at any minute now, my saving grace was going to burst through the door and rescue me. So far, I had not been harmed, other than my hair being pulled, and losing feeling in my arms and legs, due to the duct tape that bound them. Once again, I had been kidnapped and secured with thick tape that was sure to remove part of my skin when it was finally cut off. I mean, what the fuck was the deal with the duct tape? If this kidnapping shit was going to continue to happen in my life, then at least they could be professional about it, and use rope, zip ties, cables, or something other than damned duct tape. I was in a chair, between two full size beds, in a shitty room that could be rented by the hour. The sound of the door being opened had me smiling. He was here.

“What the fuck is so funny?” the voice asked. My smile disappeared, because it wasn’t the voice I’d been expecting. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you expecting LLC?” he asked, his voice laced with fake regret. I remained quiet and still, my mind racing as I prepared my next move, which wasn’t possible, because of the motherfucking shitty ass duct tape. “I don’t know what is so fucking special about you. I mean, a million bucks to take you out seems a little extreme. But, I guess if that’s what the buyer wants, then that’s what he will get. Since I have you here, all to myself, I’m going to have a little fun with you.” Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I kept my mind in a trance, thankful for the yoga classes I had been attending. Well, there wasn’t a whole lot of yoga, but laughter was therapeutic too, and there had definitely been a lot of that. I focused my mind, letting the happy memories of the past few weeks block out the rise of the terror growing within me. His footsteps moved closer, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. “Oh, what fun we are going to have.” I tried to tune him out. I tried to focus on the sound of the door opening. I took Sophia from the “Golden Girls” advice and tried to picture the moment, the look of shock on the face I had yet to see, the sudden intake of breath, as he realized his life was about to end, and the gunshots that would ring out to announce his death. I tried, and I failed miserably. He moved from in front of me, heading off in the direction of what I knew was the bathroom, giving me time to breathe a little more easily, regain control of my mind, and gather my thoughts.“Dallas, have you ever heard of waterboarding?” my deranged captor called from the bathroom.

“Like behind a boat?” I asked, incredulously. What the hell was he getting at? I guess he wanted to pull a Charlie and take me to Mexico to live out the rest of my days with him. Not gonna happen, shithead. I felt his presence again, and held my breath when he leaned over me. The blindfold was removed, and as my eyes adjusted to the lighting in the room, I saw that the man was wearing a ski mask. Well, shit. I really needed to see his face. He was of a large build, but that’s all I could tell. He wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt, black denim jeans, black boots, and black gloves. This man could be anybody. He walked to the door, opening it, and telling whoever was on the other side to put their masks on. Two men entered, one tall and lanky, and the other shorter, with a stockier build. They were both dressed in identical black attire to the first man.

“No, Dallas. Waterboarding is not to be mistaken for wakeboarding. Waterboarding is a form of torture. A towel is placed over the face, covering all airways,” he said, walking back to the bathroom, as the two men flanked me. “Then, water is poured over the breathing passages, and it gives the captive the sensation of drowning.” My breath quickened, along with my heart, as he talked. He emerged from the bathroom with the room’s ice bucket, which I was sure was filled with water. He sat the bucket on the cheap dresser, and went back to the bathroom, returning with two more buckets.