Post by Leese on Sept 8, 2024 22:35:59 GMT
Monday 26th August, 2024
2PM
After spending the weekend in the UK visiting family, friends and attending a Liverpool game, which he did roughly every other week now, Mark walked through the Atlanta airport with Paisley and his son. It was an arrangement they had that worked. Paisley sourced the tickets for the games, Mark arranged and paid for their travels. He took turns taking his kids over. This time had been his youngest, Owen's, turn.
The flight home had been different this time. Instead of transferring in Amsterdam or Dublin and then on to Los Angeles, their route this time took them through Atlanta. Paisley hadn't questioned it, because sorting out the logistics was Mark's job. As they walked through the airport and in the direction of the gate for the flight headed out to LA, Mark stopped after telling his son to run on ahead.
"I need you to do me a favour," he said to Paisley as he swung his backpack from his shoulder. "Take this, take Owen… Kai and Revvy are gonna pick you up from the airport."
Paisley cocked an eyebrow as she looked at him. "What?"
"I'm not coming with you," he explained, dropping his bag at her feet. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and took out a handful of notes. "Buy him whatever he wants, but he'll be fine. He's a good kid."
She stared at him as she took the money. "What do you mean you're not coming?"
"I've got some business I need to handle," he said. "I'm gonna go try and sort out this whole… Ryan thing, and I know he's here."
"I thought you said Ryan was Kam's problem."
"He is, but when Kam goes missing that becomes my problem," Mark reasoned.
Paisley's voice rose as she held out her arms in exasperation. "Then call the police like a normal person!"
"Shh!" Mark urged, looking around them and then shook his head. "No, and there's a good reason for not doing so which I can't explain right now," he said. "Just take him home, and I'll be back tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest. If I'm not back by then, THEN you can call the police to look for both of us."
Paisley stared at him, dumbfounded. "What the fuck is going on?"
"It's better that you don't know," he told her, and offered a small smile.
Before she could ask any more questions, Mark called out to his son. The young boy came running over from the candy display he'd been looking at and Mark crouched in front of him. "Paisley is gonna take you home, OK? I've gotta go see a friend about the show on Friday. I totally forgot."
Owen looked up at Paisley, who seemed just as confused as he was, and then back at his dad. "Why can't I come with you?"
"It's just gonna be boring stuff, you don't want to." Mark shrugged and gave him a soft smile. "I'll be home tomorrow. Paisley will teach you all the Liverpool songs you don't know on the flight."
Owen narrowed his eyes as he looked into his dad's. "Does Mom know?"
"No, but I'll deal with that when I get home," Mark said with a laugh. "Then we're gonna go to Lake Powell after the show is done, I promise."
Owen's eyes lit up at the thought of his favourite vacation spot. "Can I jump out of the helicopter again?"
Mark smiled and nodded. "You can do whatever you want, as long as you're good for Paisley, OK?"
Owen nodded his head vigorously. "Deal."
"Good," Mark said as he stood back up and ruffled the young boys hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest."
Paisley sighed and shook her head as she watched Mark walk away. She picked up his bag, hauled it over her shoulder and then looked down at Owen. "Come on then, little lad. Let's get you home."
Owen nodded as he waved at Mark, then followed Paisley down towards their gate.
Monday 26th August, 2024
3:45PM
Mark felt like he'd been transported back to 2018 as the Uber pulled up outside the apartment building that Chelsea lived in. There was an awful sense of déjà vu as he crossed the lobby over to the elevators and hit the button to take him up to the penthouse suite, almost running on autopilot.
Security wasn't posted outside her door this time, and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. On one hand, it could mean that she'd gotten a little more relaxed and wasn't protecting herself like a mob boss these days or, alternatively, it could mean that she wasn't there… for one reason or another.
Tentatively, he walked up to the door and knocked. He heard movement inside almost instantly. A good sign, he thought. At least she wasn't dead in there. A few short seconds later the door was pulled open and Mark found himself with a Glock pointed at his head. He didn't panic. He'd been here before. He looked past the wannabe secret service agent to Chelsea, who was standing behind him. She simply nodded in Mark's direction and a second man stepped over the threshold and grabbed the visitor, forcefully shoving him front-first against the wall.
Mark raised his hands to show they were empty by placing his palms against the wall. He turned his head to look into the room. "Is this really necessary?"
Chelsea shrugged. "Can't be too careful."
"I came straight from the airport," he told her, and the guy currently frisking him. "I have my phone and my wallet; that's literally it."
The man holding him fished into the front pocket of Mark's jeans and pulled out his phone, then silently held it out to Chelsea. "Thank you," she said as she held the power button and shut it off. "You can let him go." The man did so and Mark moved himself away from the wall.
"You can put that away, too," Chelsea said to the other man who was still holding the gun in a steady hand as she turned and motioned for Mark to follow her. He lowered his arm but kept his eyes on Mark as he stepped into the room.
"Are you alone?" she asked.
"Of course I am," Mark told her, closing the door behind him. "I'm not stupid."
"Good," she said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I actually came to make sure you were still alive," Mark said, honestly.
"That's cute," Chelsea said and then smirked. "Why wouldn't I be? Did something happen?"
"Don't play dumb," he said. "You know exactly what happened."
After hearing voices, Ryan - who was sitting on the couch playing video games - took off his headset and turned. "Why is he here?" he asked, sounding equal parts shocked and worried.
Mark answered him without so much as a glance. "I'm not here for you, don't worry."
Chelsea smiled and then looked at her nephew. "Can you leave us alone to talk?" she asked and he nodded, got up from the couch and headed to his room, which was separated from the living area by a door at the far end.
Mark waited until the door closed and then looked at each of the silent henchmen she had on her payroll. "What about them?"
"They're staying," she said simply. "You wouldn't show up here unannounced without some kind of motive."
"Motive?" Mark laughed. "I'm just trying to find out where the fuck Kam is, and since Ryan is here I figured it was worth making sure that he hadn't done something stupid like take you both out."
She grinned. "You of all people know that he wouldn't be able to do that, Mark," she said. "I haven't seen or heard from him, and I don't expect to. We know he isn't one to face up to his problems. You and he are a lot alike."
Mark rolled his eyes. "No, we're not."
She didn't answer him and instead crossed the room to the antique cabinet that stood against the back wall. After getting something out of the drawer, she headed back over to Mark, grabbed his hand, and forced what she'd retrieved into his palm. "How strong's your willpower these days, Mark?" she said in almost a whisper.
Mark looked down, opened his fist and stared at the little bag of white powder she'd put in there… and then laughed. "No, thank you," he said and then offered it back to her. She didn't take it.
"I miss the old you," Chelsea said, with a slight tilt of her head. "You were much more fun back in the day."
"You mean easily manipulated? Again, no thanks." He forced the baggie back into her hand. "It was you who got me off the shit in the first place, remember?"
She shrugged. "We all have regrets, don't we, Mark?" She moved closer to him, tucking the cocaine into the front pocket of his jeans. "Keep it for a special occasion, like I did," she said and looked up at him with a grin. "I knew you wouldn't be able to keep away forever…"
Mark's hand flew up; the back of it hitting Chelsea's mouth so hard that it knocked her to the floor. Before he could even think about feeling bad about what he'd done, the man who had lowered the gun - but never let go of it - lunged forward and brought the grip of the weapon crashing into the back of Mark's head, crumpling him to the ground. A foot pressed firmly into his back kept him there. He heard the click of the gun being cocked and closed his eyes.
Chelsea heard it too.
"STOP!" she screamed as she scrambled to her feet, pushing the other man who'd gone to help her up out of the way. "DON'T!"
The commotion brought Ryan back out of the bedroom and he froze, eyes wide at the sight of Mark on the floor with a gun aimed at the back of his head. The beige rug beneath him was dotted with specks of red that had ran from his head and dripped from his neck.
"Let him go," Chelsea said, but the man didn't move. "Put the fucking gun down and let him go!" She ordered and this time, the man flicked the safety back on the gun and took his foot off of Mark's back.
He didn't open his eyes until he could sense Chelsea in front of him. She crouched down and looked at him. "You're lucky I like you, Mark," she said as she dabbed at the blood on her lip. "Or we'd have a huge mess on our hands here and six kids in California would be without their father."
Ryan, who had been watching on in stunned silence, finally spoke up as he inched further into the room. "What's going on?"
Mark chose to ignore him as he pushed himself up to his knees. He brought a hand up to the back of his head and winced as he felt the cut. The bastard had got him good. "Could you get me a towel or something?" he asked and Chelsea nodded at the gunman who turned and headed into the kitchen.
"Will someone answer me?!" Ryan spoke a little louder this time as the man came back and tossed a handtowel in Mark's direction. "What's going on?!"
"What's going on, Ryan," Mark said as he held the towel to his head, "is that your dad has apparently gone missing."
"What do you mean?"
"Nobody has seen or heard from him since you fucking kicked him in the head and broke his heart." He finally looked at the youngster as he stood up. "You happy now?"
Ryan's face dropped. "What about Tristan and the girls?"
"I don't fucking know, Ryan. I don't know where any of them are. I came here to make sure he hadn't killed both of you and/or himself."
Ryan frowned and then shook his head. "He can't have just disappeared," he said. "He's probably just taken them on vacation or something."
"No, Ryan. He wouldn't be ignoring everyone if that was the case," Mark reasoned. "At this point my gut feeling is that he's dead in a gutter somewhere and nobody has come across him yet."
A few seconds of silence passed before Ryan shrugged. "Good."
Mark flew for him, grabbing him and slamming him against the wall, holding him there with a forearm across his throat. "Do you know how lucky you are to still have a dad that cares about you?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "He didn't have that, I didn't have that and you fucking threw yours away."
Under normal circumstances Ryan would have been panicking, but he knew he was protected where he was, as evidenced when Chelsea silently motioned her guys to move in. They were almost synchronised in their movements; each grabbing one of Mark's arms and yanking him back.
"He threw me away years ago," Ryan snarled as he moved away from the wall and stared at his former mentor, "and then you did the same thing."
"Ryan… Come on, this isn't you," Mark pleaded as one of the guys holding him grabbed a fistful of blood-matted hair, forcing him to look at Ryan. "It's not too late. Just come home, we'll find your dad and we'll fix it."
"I am home," Ryan responded, then swiftly booted Mark between the legs and followed up with a punch to his jaw. The men let go of him, allowing him to fall back onto the floor. Chelsea had stepped off to the side, in view of one of her henchmen and she tapped her left hip, then pointed at Mark. The man bent down, dipped his hand into the front pocket of Mark's jeans and withdrew the baggie that she'd put in there earlier.
Ryan's face twisted into a rage upon seeing the drugs and he lunged towards Mark. "I fucking knew it!"
"That's not mine, Ry-"
But before Mark could get all of his words out, Ryan kicked him in the side and winded him. Mark knew that if he wanted to, he could flatten the youngster in a heartbeat, but, one, he didn't actually want to and two, he was outnumbered and it wouldn't end well if he did. So he just lay there and took it as Ryan continued to put boots in, curling onto his side and holding an arm across his ribs to protect them; tensing his body to absorb each blow as it came. It wasn't until Ryan went to kick him in the head that Chelsea jumped in and urged the young McGrath away. "OK, that's enough," she said. Ryan stepped back, keeping his eyes on Mark as his aunt pushed on his chest, then pointed back to the bedroom he'd emerged from. "Go."
He did as he was told and Chelsea turned her attention back to Mark, crouching down beside him. "Things could have been so different for you, Mark," she said. "I really wish it didn't have to be this way."
Mark groaned as he straighted up on the floor, trying to get his breath back. "What the fuck have you done to him?"
"Me? I haven't done anything," she answered with a smile as she rose back up to her feet. "This is all on you and my darling brother, wherever he may be. All he wanted was a little love and attention." She moved to grab the bloody towel that Mark had dropped and then tossed it to him. "You're getting blood all over my carpet. You should probably get that seen to."
"I'm fine," he said, moving onto his knees, but took the towel from her and pressed it again to the back of his head.
Chelsea shrugged. "If you say so."
"Just give me back my phone and I'll go," he offered. "Pretend I was never here."
She grinned and shook her head. "Hmm, no. I don't think so."
Before he knew it the guys were on him again, pushing him back down onto the floor and wrenching his arms behind his back. One pinned him down with his boot while the other snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
"What the fuck?!"
"We saw you coming on the cameras, Mark," Chelsea told him. "We were never gonna just let you leave. We have to be sure nobody is following you, after all."
"Nobody knows I'm here," he told her again. "I was with Paisley and Owen. I left them at the airport."
"See, I just don't trust you anymore," she said and then nodded to one of her men, who kneeled and applied all of his weight onto Mark's back. With one hand, he grabbed the helpless man's hair and with the other, held a rag over his nose and mouth. "Maybe now you and Kameron can both be 'missing.'" Chelsea laughed.
Mark did his best to turn his head away from the fumes but the man's grip was too firm. Chelsea watched him struggle and frowned. It didn't take this long in the movies. She made a mental note to come up with a more efficient method next time as she watched for what felt like an eternity until Mark went limp.
2PM
After spending the weekend in the UK visiting family, friends and attending a Liverpool game, which he did roughly every other week now, Mark walked through the Atlanta airport with Paisley and his son. It was an arrangement they had that worked. Paisley sourced the tickets for the games, Mark arranged and paid for their travels. He took turns taking his kids over. This time had been his youngest, Owen's, turn.
The flight home had been different this time. Instead of transferring in Amsterdam or Dublin and then on to Los Angeles, their route this time took them through Atlanta. Paisley hadn't questioned it, because sorting out the logistics was Mark's job. As they walked through the airport and in the direction of the gate for the flight headed out to LA, Mark stopped after telling his son to run on ahead.
"I need you to do me a favour," he said to Paisley as he swung his backpack from his shoulder. "Take this, take Owen… Kai and Revvy are gonna pick you up from the airport."
Paisley cocked an eyebrow as she looked at him. "What?"
"I'm not coming with you," he explained, dropping his bag at her feet. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and took out a handful of notes. "Buy him whatever he wants, but he'll be fine. He's a good kid."
She stared at him as she took the money. "What do you mean you're not coming?"
"I've got some business I need to handle," he said. "I'm gonna go try and sort out this whole… Ryan thing, and I know he's here."
"I thought you said Ryan was Kam's problem."
"He is, but when Kam goes missing that becomes my problem," Mark reasoned.
Paisley's voice rose as she held out her arms in exasperation. "Then call the police like a normal person!"
"Shh!" Mark urged, looking around them and then shook his head. "No, and there's a good reason for not doing so which I can't explain right now," he said. "Just take him home, and I'll be back tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest. If I'm not back by then, THEN you can call the police to look for both of us."
Paisley stared at him, dumbfounded. "What the fuck is going on?"
"It's better that you don't know," he told her, and offered a small smile.
Before she could ask any more questions, Mark called out to his son. The young boy came running over from the candy display he'd been looking at and Mark crouched in front of him. "Paisley is gonna take you home, OK? I've gotta go see a friend about the show on Friday. I totally forgot."
Owen looked up at Paisley, who seemed just as confused as he was, and then back at his dad. "Why can't I come with you?"
"It's just gonna be boring stuff, you don't want to." Mark shrugged and gave him a soft smile. "I'll be home tomorrow. Paisley will teach you all the Liverpool songs you don't know on the flight."
Owen narrowed his eyes as he looked into his dad's. "Does Mom know?"
"No, but I'll deal with that when I get home," Mark said with a laugh. "Then we're gonna go to Lake Powell after the show is done, I promise."
Owen's eyes lit up at the thought of his favourite vacation spot. "Can I jump out of the helicopter again?"
Mark smiled and nodded. "You can do whatever you want, as long as you're good for Paisley, OK?"
Owen nodded his head vigorously. "Deal."
"Good," Mark said as he stood back up and ruffled the young boys hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest."
Paisley sighed and shook her head as she watched Mark walk away. She picked up his bag, hauled it over her shoulder and then looked down at Owen. "Come on then, little lad. Let's get you home."
Owen nodded as he waved at Mark, then followed Paisley down towards their gate.
Monday 26th August, 2024
3:45PM
Mark felt like he'd been transported back to 2018 as the Uber pulled up outside the apartment building that Chelsea lived in. There was an awful sense of déjà vu as he crossed the lobby over to the elevators and hit the button to take him up to the penthouse suite, almost running on autopilot.
Security wasn't posted outside her door this time, and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. On one hand, it could mean that she'd gotten a little more relaxed and wasn't protecting herself like a mob boss these days or, alternatively, it could mean that she wasn't there… for one reason or another.
Tentatively, he walked up to the door and knocked. He heard movement inside almost instantly. A good sign, he thought. At least she wasn't dead in there. A few short seconds later the door was pulled open and Mark found himself with a Glock pointed at his head. He didn't panic. He'd been here before. He looked past the wannabe secret service agent to Chelsea, who was standing behind him. She simply nodded in Mark's direction and a second man stepped over the threshold and grabbed the visitor, forcefully shoving him front-first against the wall.
Mark raised his hands to show they were empty by placing his palms against the wall. He turned his head to look into the room. "Is this really necessary?"
Chelsea shrugged. "Can't be too careful."
"I came straight from the airport," he told her, and the guy currently frisking him. "I have my phone and my wallet; that's literally it."
The man holding him fished into the front pocket of Mark's jeans and pulled out his phone, then silently held it out to Chelsea. "Thank you," she said as she held the power button and shut it off. "You can let him go." The man did so and Mark moved himself away from the wall.
"You can put that away, too," Chelsea said to the other man who was still holding the gun in a steady hand as she turned and motioned for Mark to follow her. He lowered his arm but kept his eyes on Mark as he stepped into the room.
"Are you alone?" she asked.
"Of course I am," Mark told her, closing the door behind him. "I'm not stupid."
"Good," she said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I actually came to make sure you were still alive," Mark said, honestly.
"That's cute," Chelsea said and then smirked. "Why wouldn't I be? Did something happen?"
"Don't play dumb," he said. "You know exactly what happened."
After hearing voices, Ryan - who was sitting on the couch playing video games - took off his headset and turned. "Why is he here?" he asked, sounding equal parts shocked and worried.
Mark answered him without so much as a glance. "I'm not here for you, don't worry."
Chelsea smiled and then looked at her nephew. "Can you leave us alone to talk?" she asked and he nodded, got up from the couch and headed to his room, which was separated from the living area by a door at the far end.
Mark waited until the door closed and then looked at each of the silent henchmen she had on her payroll. "What about them?"
"They're staying," she said simply. "You wouldn't show up here unannounced without some kind of motive."
"Motive?" Mark laughed. "I'm just trying to find out where the fuck Kam is, and since Ryan is here I figured it was worth making sure that he hadn't done something stupid like take you both out."
She grinned. "You of all people know that he wouldn't be able to do that, Mark," she said. "I haven't seen or heard from him, and I don't expect to. We know he isn't one to face up to his problems. You and he are a lot alike."
Mark rolled his eyes. "No, we're not."
She didn't answer him and instead crossed the room to the antique cabinet that stood against the back wall. After getting something out of the drawer, she headed back over to Mark, grabbed his hand, and forced what she'd retrieved into his palm. "How strong's your willpower these days, Mark?" she said in almost a whisper.
Mark looked down, opened his fist and stared at the little bag of white powder she'd put in there… and then laughed. "No, thank you," he said and then offered it back to her. She didn't take it.
"I miss the old you," Chelsea said, with a slight tilt of her head. "You were much more fun back in the day."
"You mean easily manipulated? Again, no thanks." He forced the baggie back into her hand. "It was you who got me off the shit in the first place, remember?"
She shrugged. "We all have regrets, don't we, Mark?" She moved closer to him, tucking the cocaine into the front pocket of his jeans. "Keep it for a special occasion, like I did," she said and looked up at him with a grin. "I knew you wouldn't be able to keep away forever…"
Mark's hand flew up; the back of it hitting Chelsea's mouth so hard that it knocked her to the floor. Before he could even think about feeling bad about what he'd done, the man who had lowered the gun - but never let go of it - lunged forward and brought the grip of the weapon crashing into the back of Mark's head, crumpling him to the ground. A foot pressed firmly into his back kept him there. He heard the click of the gun being cocked and closed his eyes.
Chelsea heard it too.
"STOP!" she screamed as she scrambled to her feet, pushing the other man who'd gone to help her up out of the way. "DON'T!"
The commotion brought Ryan back out of the bedroom and he froze, eyes wide at the sight of Mark on the floor with a gun aimed at the back of his head. The beige rug beneath him was dotted with specks of red that had ran from his head and dripped from his neck.
"Let him go," Chelsea said, but the man didn't move. "Put the fucking gun down and let him go!" She ordered and this time, the man flicked the safety back on the gun and took his foot off of Mark's back.
He didn't open his eyes until he could sense Chelsea in front of him. She crouched down and looked at him. "You're lucky I like you, Mark," she said as she dabbed at the blood on her lip. "Or we'd have a huge mess on our hands here and six kids in California would be without their father."
Ryan, who had been watching on in stunned silence, finally spoke up as he inched further into the room. "What's going on?"
Mark chose to ignore him as he pushed himself up to his knees. He brought a hand up to the back of his head and winced as he felt the cut. The bastard had got him good. "Could you get me a towel or something?" he asked and Chelsea nodded at the gunman who turned and headed into the kitchen.
"Will someone answer me?!" Ryan spoke a little louder this time as the man came back and tossed a handtowel in Mark's direction. "What's going on?!"
"What's going on, Ryan," Mark said as he held the towel to his head, "is that your dad has apparently gone missing."
"What do you mean?"
"Nobody has seen or heard from him since you fucking kicked him in the head and broke his heart." He finally looked at the youngster as he stood up. "You happy now?"
Ryan's face dropped. "What about Tristan and the girls?"
"I don't fucking know, Ryan. I don't know where any of them are. I came here to make sure he hadn't killed both of you and/or himself."
Ryan frowned and then shook his head. "He can't have just disappeared," he said. "He's probably just taken them on vacation or something."
"No, Ryan. He wouldn't be ignoring everyone if that was the case," Mark reasoned. "At this point my gut feeling is that he's dead in a gutter somewhere and nobody has come across him yet."
A few seconds of silence passed before Ryan shrugged. "Good."
Mark flew for him, grabbing him and slamming him against the wall, holding him there with a forearm across his throat. "Do you know how lucky you are to still have a dad that cares about you?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "He didn't have that, I didn't have that and you fucking threw yours away."
Under normal circumstances Ryan would have been panicking, but he knew he was protected where he was, as evidenced when Chelsea silently motioned her guys to move in. They were almost synchronised in their movements; each grabbing one of Mark's arms and yanking him back.
"He threw me away years ago," Ryan snarled as he moved away from the wall and stared at his former mentor, "and then you did the same thing."
"Ryan… Come on, this isn't you," Mark pleaded as one of the guys holding him grabbed a fistful of blood-matted hair, forcing him to look at Ryan. "It's not too late. Just come home, we'll find your dad and we'll fix it."
"I am home," Ryan responded, then swiftly booted Mark between the legs and followed up with a punch to his jaw. The men let go of him, allowing him to fall back onto the floor. Chelsea had stepped off to the side, in view of one of her henchmen and she tapped her left hip, then pointed at Mark. The man bent down, dipped his hand into the front pocket of Mark's jeans and withdrew the baggie that she'd put in there earlier.
Ryan's face twisted into a rage upon seeing the drugs and he lunged towards Mark. "I fucking knew it!"
"That's not mine, Ry-"
But before Mark could get all of his words out, Ryan kicked him in the side and winded him. Mark knew that if he wanted to, he could flatten the youngster in a heartbeat, but, one, he didn't actually want to and two, he was outnumbered and it wouldn't end well if he did. So he just lay there and took it as Ryan continued to put boots in, curling onto his side and holding an arm across his ribs to protect them; tensing his body to absorb each blow as it came. It wasn't until Ryan went to kick him in the head that Chelsea jumped in and urged the young McGrath away. "OK, that's enough," she said. Ryan stepped back, keeping his eyes on Mark as his aunt pushed on his chest, then pointed back to the bedroom he'd emerged from. "Go."
He did as he was told and Chelsea turned her attention back to Mark, crouching down beside him. "Things could have been so different for you, Mark," she said. "I really wish it didn't have to be this way."
Mark groaned as he straighted up on the floor, trying to get his breath back. "What the fuck have you done to him?"
"Me? I haven't done anything," she answered with a smile as she rose back up to her feet. "This is all on you and my darling brother, wherever he may be. All he wanted was a little love and attention." She moved to grab the bloody towel that Mark had dropped and then tossed it to him. "You're getting blood all over my carpet. You should probably get that seen to."
"I'm fine," he said, moving onto his knees, but took the towel from her and pressed it again to the back of his head.
Chelsea shrugged. "If you say so."
"Just give me back my phone and I'll go," he offered. "Pretend I was never here."
She grinned and shook her head. "Hmm, no. I don't think so."
Before he knew it the guys were on him again, pushing him back down onto the floor and wrenching his arms behind his back. One pinned him down with his boot while the other snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
"What the fuck?!"
"We saw you coming on the cameras, Mark," Chelsea told him. "We were never gonna just let you leave. We have to be sure nobody is following you, after all."
"Nobody knows I'm here," he told her again. "I was with Paisley and Owen. I left them at the airport."
"See, I just don't trust you anymore," she said and then nodded to one of her men, who kneeled and applied all of his weight onto Mark's back. With one hand, he grabbed the helpless man's hair and with the other, held a rag over his nose and mouth. "Maybe now you and Kameron can both be 'missing.'" Chelsea laughed.
Mark did his best to turn his head away from the fumes but the man's grip was too firm. Chelsea watched him struggle and frowned. It didn't take this long in the movies. She made a mental note to come up with a more efficient method next time as she watched for what felt like an eternity until Mark went limp.