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RESCUED BY CHANCE
BOOK 1: RESCUED BY THE RANGERS
KAYE KENNEDY
Copyright © 2022 by Black Cat Books

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electric or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval
systems, without prior permission from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real places or persons, living
or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

www.kayekennedy.com
 CONTENTS

Also by Kaye Kennedy

Note from the Author

1. Griffin
2. Holly
3. Griffin
4. Holly
5. Griffin
6. Holly
7. Griffin
8. Holly
9. Griffin
10. Holly
11. Griffin
12. Holly
13. Griffin
14. Holly
15. Griffin
16. Holly
17. Griffin
18. Holly
19. Griffin
20. Holly
21. Griffin
22. Holly
23. Griffin
24. Holly
25. Griffin
26. Holly
27. Griffin
28. Holly
29. Griffin
30. Holly
31. Griffin
32. Holly
33. Griffin
Epilogue – Nick

Acknowledgments
Also by Kaye Kennedy
About the Author
 ALSO BY KAYE KENNEDY

Flirting with the Finest Series

Follow the men and women of the Special Investigations Task Force in New York City as they fight crime and fall in love.

Flirting with Forever – Hunter & Lauren

Flirting with Fame - Tai & Bellamy
Flirting with Faith - Erik & Aubrey
Flirting with Freedom - Cooper & Leila
June 2023

Burning for the Bravest Series

If you like alpha males with soft centers who love hard and make love harder, then this series featuring New York City firefighters is for
you!

Burning for More – Dylan & Autumn

Burning for This – Jesse & Lana
Burning for Her – Ryan & Zoe
Burning for Fate – Jace & Britt
Burning for You – Kyle & Allie
Burning for You: The Wedding – Kyle & Allie
Burning for Love – Declan & Gwen
Burning for Trouble – Mack & Tori
Burning for Secrets - Brix & Georgia
Burning for Christmas - Keith & Brielle
Standalone set in the same world

Rescued by the Rangers Series

Follow a team of former Army Rangers turned independent contractors who’ve taken on the most challenging missions, but have
struggled to find love. Until now.

Rescuing Griffin - Prequel to Book 1

Rescued by Chance – Griffin & Holly
Rescued by Loyalty — Nick & Mia
Summer 2023
 DEDICATION

To our active duty military and veterans for their courage and selfless service to our country, and
to their families for their sacrifice and service on the homefront.
 NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I can’t thank you enough for choosing to read Griffin and Holly’s love story. There are so many
wonderful books out there, so it truly means the world to me that you’ve decided to invest your time
and money into reading mine.
If this is the first of my books that you’ve picked up, welcome to my first responder world! If
you’re continuing on from one of my previous series, Burning for the Bravest or Flirting with the
Finest, then welcome back!
All of my books are standalone couples, but they are interconnected, even across all three series.
That means you’ll see your favorite characters returning. In this series, you’ll recognize two of the
characters as brothers of heroines in my firefighter series! And, yes, they’ll be getting their own
books, too.
This is a second chance romance, and if you’d like to read the short story about Griffin and
Holly’s first attempt at love, you can download Rescuing Griffin now for free!
This novel surprised me. I’d had every chapter plotted, but then the characters took over as I was
writing and they steered me in a completely different and unintended direction. This story addresses
domestic violence, which wasn’t a part of my original plan. Once you read it, you’ll understand how
drastic a turn this has taken from my outline, but, I went with it because it made a lot of sense, even
though it wasn’t a topic I’d thought I’d been prepared to dive into yet.
If you’ve been following me for a while, then you know I’m open about the fact that I’ve been in
several abusive relationships. Writing this pushed me to confront some of those demons from my past,
but I did it because this is a topic that needs to be talked about more.
Many women—and men—don’t speak about their abuse for numerous reasons. It’s hard to relive
the trauma, they have PTSD, they harbor some shame, they fear retaliation and judgment, etc… But an
average of twenty-four people per minute are victims of intimate partner violence in the United States
alone. Per minute! And that doesn’t include those who don’t report or those who are victims of
psychological and emotional abuse.
Truthfully, in my opinion psychological abuse is worse than physical. To this day I wish that my
exes had shown signs of physical violence sooner, and not waited until they’d broken me into a shell
of who I’d once been. I think I would’ve found the strength to leave earlier had that been the case;
however, this is a debate for a different day.
I think this story is important to tell because it will help those who are victims feel seen. Abusers
are skilled at diminishing their partners’ self-worth. If you’re in an abusive situation, know that you
are not alone in this world. There are people in this world who can help, if you know where to find it
(check the resources listed in the back of this book). Most importantly, remember you are much
stronger than you give yourself credit for. You can handle this. You will thrive again.
In this series, I stick as close to reality as possible in terms of military operations, but I have used
some creative freedom for the sake of the stories.
TRIGGER WARNING: Depictions of physical and emotional violence, torture, and kidnapping.
I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Hugs & Happily Ever Afters,

ONE
 GRIFFIN

The shot of whiskey went down like water, and I slammed my empty glass onto the bar. I’m getting to
be too old for this shit. I held up a finger. “One more.” At thirty, I probably should be doing better
things with my time than going shot for shot with my teammates at our local dive every time we
returned from a mission, but it was easier to ignore that nagging than it was to do something about it.
Rocco lined up six shot glasses and filled them with Jack Daniels. He’d owned the joint since
he’d left the Rangers a couple of decades ago. Rocco’s Place was built around the Ranger Regiment
lifestyle: how much alcohol can you drink, how many women can you fuck, and how many enemies
can you kill. At Rocco’s, the alcohol flowed freely, the women were loose, and the war stories were
plentiful.
Each guy on my team took a shot glass and we held them up as Nash, the youngest guy in our unit,
said, “To guns that shoot straight, parachutes that inflate…”
“And girls who fuck on the first date,” we all added before tapping our shots on the bar then
tilting them back.
Just like water.
Nick elbowed me in the arm. “Is that Ruby Red?”
I followed his gaze to a booth along the back wall. Sure enough, there she was, sitting on top of
the table surrounded by a bunch of young Regiment guys. Ruby Red was forty-something, but she had
a thing for the young ones. Hell, I used to be one of them back when I was a baby-faced private. The
hem of her purple dress was cut high on her thigh and showed off her long legs, which were crossed
and hanging over the edge of the table. There was something about Ruby. She was attractive, but not a
showstopper, yet her sex appeal made her magnetic. Red had gotten added to her name because of her
ginger hair, which cascaded in waves halfway down her back (and the carpet did indeed match the
drapes).
“Yeah, that’s her.” I reached for my beer.
“Damn. It’s been a minute since she’s been around here,” Nick commented.
“I guess.” I tilted the bottle and let the cool amber liquid slide down my throat.
She laughed dramatically at something one of her captives said.
 “Ruby Red. I wonder where she’s been hiding.” Tyler held up his empty beer bottle indicating to
Rocco that he wanted another.
I raised my bottle as well, then downed what was left in it. My relationship with Ruby was
complicated. That is, if you can call it a relationship. She’d gotten me through my first few years in
Regiment. Without having her as a soft place to land a few nights a week, I never would’ve gotten
over Holly. Although, I can’t say I’ve ever truly gotten over Holly. Does one ever get over their first
and only love?
Ruby helped me pass the time. It wasn’t all sex. She listened to my stories about Holly and how
I’d royally fucked that up while imploding my entire life in the process. In a big way, Ruby had
allowed me to grieve from all of the loss, and Regiment helped me turn off my emotions so I stopped
having to feel. Putting it that way sounds pathetic, but it’s what I’d needed. Otherwise…
No, I won’t go there.
Rocco slid a bottle over to me and I picked it up. “I’ll be back.” My feet carried me to her booth.
When she noticed me approaching, she grinned and slid off the table. “Well, I’ll be.” Her hips
swayed as she sashayed toward me, leaving behind four disappointed privates.
“Ruby Red.”
“Griffy. It’s been a long time,” she drawled in her southern accent.
“A few years. Thought you’d moved on from this place.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Only for a little while.”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. When I stepped back, she ran her long French manicured nails
over my beard and said, “This is new. Have you gotten out?”
“Sort of. I work for Sua Sponte now.”
Her lips curled up in one corner. “I see. So now you actually get paid a living wage to be in
danger.”
I smirked. “Something like that.”
Sua Sponte Tactical Corporation was comprised of former Army Rangers and had been named
after the 75 th Ranger Regiment’s motto, ‘of their own accord.’ In the Army, that referred to our
voluntary commitment to being Rangers. In SSTC, it referred to our choice to operate on our own
without governmental oversight.
After eight years with the Army, I’d been recruited by SSTC to work in the private sector and had
been with them for two years. While some of the Sua Sponte teams exclusively took contracts for the
US Department of Defense, my team focused more on civilian contracts, all under the direction of
SSTC’s founder, Orion. Basically, we operated in legal gray areas to rescue people and take down
some real piece of shit bad guys. We also collaborated with police departments around the country to
help solve particularly challenging cases. Even though we collaborated with others, we very much
did things our own way.
I made a lot more money than I ever did in the Army, and I still got to do cool shit. Actually, I got
to do cooler shit because we didn’t have to follow all the same rules as we had when we’d worked
for Uncle Sam. I still got to spin up and go inside the wire sometimes, and I was able to make even
more of a difference than I ever had as a Ranger.
Ruby’s hazel eyes dragged over me. “Buy me a drink.”
I offered her my elbow and she hooked her hand around it so I could lead her. The boys in the
booth groaned and hollered to get her to stay, but she ignored them. When we got to the bar, I caught
Rocco’s attention. “Tanqueray and tonic. Two limes.”
Ruby squeezed my arm. “You remembered.”
I winked.
A hand slapped me on the back. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your friend?” Nash asked as he
invaded our bubble.
Shep came around the other side, forming a circle. He held out his hand and Ruby took it. “Jordan
Shepherd, but everyone calls me Shep.”
“Well, aren’t you cute,” Ruby replied before pulling her hand away to grab her drink.
Shep and Nash had served together and had gotten scooped up by Orion for the SSTC earlier that
year. At twenty-five and twenty-four respectively, they were prime targets for Ruby, but we had an
unspoken rule: never go after a brother’s girl, whether it’s serious or a hook up. There was no better
way to drive a wedge between teammates than pursuing the same woman. That could cause
unnecessary tension and ultimately lead to someone getting hurt or killed on a mission.
That being said, none of us were above screwing with each other, which was precisely what Nash
and Shep were attempting to do. The joke was about to be on them though because while Ruby Red
was a flirt who loved attention from younger guys, she was actually highly selective. And once she
chose you…well, let’s just say she was possessive of her boys. While it had been a few years, I most
certainly was still one of her boys.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Shep replied as he brushed aside the tawny curls that had fallen onto his
forehead. “That’s a real compliment coming from a stunner like you.”
Ruby swirled her straw in her glass.
“I’m Nash.” He flexed his biceps beneath his t-shirt, and I took a sip of my beer to stifle a laugh.
His real name was Daniel, but he’d been dubbed Nash on account of him being from Nashville,
Tennessee.
“Pleasure.” Ruby brought the straw to her painted red lips. Shep and Nash fixed their gazes on her
mouth. She turned to me. “These your grunts?”
Shep pressed his shoulders back. “We’re former Regiment.”
She scanned over him. “I see.”
“We didn’t get your name,” Nash said.
She grinned but said nothing.
“This is Ruby Red,” I supplied.
 Judging by the height of Shep’s brow, he’d heard the stories.
Nash smirked. “The pleasure is all ours, Ruby Red.” Yeah, he’d heard about her, too, all right.
Her fingers wrapped around my elbow once more. “While I’d love to stay and chat, my boy
promised me a dance.”
Shep’s eyes narrowed. “But there’s no music.” If there was, it couldn’t be heard over the ruckus
coming from the soldiers.
Without releasing my arm, she leaned toward him. “Not that kind of dance.”
Nash chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’ll dance with you any day.”
She let go of me and stepped forward. As she pinched his cheek, she said, “You couldn’t handle
me.”
Shep whistled and Ruby took my arm once more. “Let’s go, darlin’.”
All eyes were on us as I led her to the back door, which opened up onto a patio with a few
wooden picnic tables that had seen better days. It was an unseasonably cool night for early July, so it
was empty out there. Ruby sat on top of one of the tables and patted the space beside her.
“Keep me warm.”
I perched on the table and put an arm around her back. She leaned against me and let out a soft
moan before taking a sip of her cocktail.
“How’ve you been?” I asked. The last time I’d seen her she hadn’t mentioned a thing about
wanting to leave Savannah. I went on deployment, came back four months later, and heard she’d gone
out west.
“The short version is I followed a boy to California, we got married, then divorced. The Golden
State wasn’t for me any more than he was, so here I am.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I rubbed her arm to warm her chilled skin.
“Don’t be. Sometimes, you’ve gotta look in the mirror and shake hands with who you are, right?
I’m not wife material. I can’t even commit to a goldfish, let alone one man for the rest of my life.”
I chuckled. “Heaven forbid.”
She nudged my ribs. “How about you, Griffy?” Ruby was the only person I’d ever let call me that.
“Any special lady in your life?”
My college girlfriend’s face flashed behind my eyes, and I tensed.
Ruby sighed. “Still Holly, huh?”
I huffed. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
She lifted her head and faced me. “Loving someone that much is never pathetic. Many people go a
lifetime without feeling that.”
I took a swig of my beer. “I guess.”
“You know, a lot of time has passed. You’re not the fuck up you used to be.”
“Gee thanks.”
She grinned as she placed a hand on my thigh. “You know what I mean. All I’m saying is perhaps
she’d be open to talking to you now.”
I shook my head. “Doubt it.” I’d tried my hardest not to keep tabs on Holly over the eleven years
since I’d broken up with her. Like a coward, I’d ended things via a letter when I’d been forced to
enlist in the Army by my Lieutenant General father and the Virginia District Attorney. As painful as it
had been to leave Holly, I hadn’t had a choice. It was either enlist or go to prison for dealing drugs.
She was always better off without me. From what I’d heard, she’d found success as a CEO. Last I’d
seen, she’d made Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list.
Ruby rested her head on my shoulder once more. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”
I tapped my fingers on my beer bottle. “Sometimes, we’ve gotta shake hands with who we are.”
“Touché.”
We sat in silence as we finished our drinks. When Ruby shivered, I said, “Wanna go in?”
She let out a long breath, then stood and eyed me seductively. “Let’s get out of here. We could go
dancing. For old time’s sake.”
I ran a hand over my thick beard. Fuck it. It’d been a few months since I’d been with a woman. I
stood. “My place or yours?”
TWO
 HOLLY

Heat crept up my chest because my phone would not stop buzzing in the pocket of my white Alexander
McQueen blazer. I was mid-way through a presentation to my board of directors, which was far more
important than dealing with Christopher’s shit. I didn’t need to check my phone to know it was my
husband calling me incessantly. I slipped my hand into my pocket for the umpteenth time and hit the
volume down button to silence it—yet again.
Gesturing to the television screen behind me, I said, “As you’ll notice in this graphic, Magic Wash
has exceeded our second quarter projection by seventeen percent.” I clicked the button to go to the
next slide. “Therefore, we will be increasing—”
My cell buzzed again.
“We will be increasing our annual projection.” I reached into my pocket and retrieved my phone,
silencing it as I said, “My apologies. Jay, could you handle this?” I extended the device out to my
assistant.
He scrambled to his feet and took the cell from me, then disappeared into the hall.
“As I was saying, we’ll be increasing our annual projection, seeing as we anticipate sales to
steadily increase thanks to our new partnership…”
The door swung open, drawing my eye. Jay entered and skirted the wall until he was beside me.
He leaned close and whispered, “You need to handle this.”
My muscles tensed. Jay would never dream of pulling me out of a board meeting for anything less
than my house being on fire. Even then, I think he’d probably wait. It’s not like I could douse the
flames myself.
Keeping my spine straight, I forced my expression to stay neutral as I addressed the board
members. “It seems there is an urgent matter I must tend to.” I gestured toward Dale, our CMO. “Mr.
Levin will explain how our partnership with several Major League Baseball teams impacted our
revenue this quarter.”
Dale’s smile brightened as he stood. Without missing a beat, he began to improvise a presentation,
while my heels clicked against the tile toward the exit. With Jay on my right, we strode down the hall
of our headquarters in Charlotte, North Carolina, careful not to give off any vibes that something was
going on.
As soon as we were closed into my office, Jay said, “Mr. Rutledge is on his way here.”
That can’t be right. I tilted my head. “Excuse me?”
He handed me my cell phone, which was open to a text message.

Christopher: Since you don’t deem my calls important enough to answer, I’m coming to your office.

I swallowed. Dealing with him was the very last thing I needed, particularly given that the entire
board was in my conference room. My husband and I hadn’t had a civilized encounter for weeks, and
I surely wasn’t about to put on a show for everyone.
“What do you need me to do?” Jay asked. He’d been my assistant for five years, and he had an
uncanny ability to read my mind. He was also my best friend, and as of last year, my brother-in-law.
I’d be lost without him.
Outside of Jay, no one at Magic Wash knew what was happening between Christopher and me, nor
was I about to air out our dirty laundry. I’d asked Christopher for a divorce earlier that month, but
he’d refused to comply. After meeting with a lawyer, I’d come to realize that my options were
limited. In order to get legally divorced in North Carolina, spouses must be living apart for a year.
The problem was that Christopher simply refused to leave, and if I were to move out, he could make
an argument for abandonment and take the house. My husband was an attorney, so that’s precisely
what he would do, and given that I had paid for the majority of our home, I wasn’t eager to hand it
over to him.
So, I’d been acting cold and distant toward him ever since with the hope that he would give up. It
was a long shot, but it was the only plan I’d managed to devise. In response, he’d become an even
bigger asshole. We were in a battle to see who would crack first, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to
win this one.
I glanced at my screen. Christopher’s text had been sent seven minutes ago. If he’d left his office
right away, that meant I had about five minutes before he walked through my door. I opened the bottom
drawer of my desk and grabbed my Louis Vuitton Neverfull tote.
“Tell him I had a meeting off site.” I stuffed my laptop into my bag.
“He knows that today is your quarterly meeting with the board though, doesn’t he?”
I sucked in my cheeks and nodded.
Jay waved his hand in the area. “Worry not, I’ll handle him.”
“You’re the best.” I slung my bag over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I am.”
I laughed.
“Now get before it’s too late.” He smacked me on the behind, which I suppose some people might
think is weird, but seeing as he was happily married to my brother, there was nothing sexual about it.
Besides, my butt wasn’t the kind that Jay was interested in.
I made my way to the elevator and prayed the entire ride down that I wouldn’t run into
Christopher when the doors opened. The bell dinged when it stopped on my garage level and as
gracefully as possible in case anyone was watching, I made a beeline for my Mercedes Cabriolet
convertible. Once in the driver’s seat, I turned it on and checked the time. Christopher would be
arriving any second. Since I had an assigned parking spot, he’d know where to find my car, so I
decided to drive down a level instead of heading up toward the garage exit in case he was entering. I
didn’t want to pass him and get cornered.
I backed out and followed the lane down until I found an empty spot. Once parked, I texted Jay.

Me: Let me know when he gets there.

He responded with a thumbs up emoji.

While I waited, I scrolled through the emails on my phone. A couple of minutes later, my phone
buzzed.

Jay: The vulture is in the nest

I shook my head and laughed. A vulture was an apt comparison for my husband. I was grateful that
I’d had the foresight to switch spots instead of trying to leave the garage. I tried not to ponder over the
scene that was likely being made in my office and sighed. Our relationship hadn’t always been bad.
Christopher had been quite charming in the beginning—always sending me flowers and never letting
me wake up without a good morning text from him waiting.
Although, in hindsight I suppose there’d been red flags that I’d chosen to ignore. He was always a
gentleman in public. He pulled out my chair at dinner, and made sure I always had a drink, but at
home, he expected me to wait on him. Heaven-forbid we disagreed on something. My husband was
never wrong, and he liked control. After nine years together—six of which were as a married couple
—I was tired of being his figurative punching bag.
I pushed the button to start my car and shifted into reverse. The backup camera showed a large
SUV blocking me in, so I glanced over my shoulder. The SUV’s windows were tinted dark, and I
couldn’t see the driver. I tapped my fingers on my steering wheel as I waited for them to move. I
needed to get out of there before Christopher returned. After shifting into park and turning off my car, I
got out and approached the passenger window of the SUV.
“Excuse me.” As I lifted my hand to knock, the rear door swung open, and I was grabbed from
behind, snatching the air from my lungs. A scratchy palm was clasped firmly over my mouth. I
thrashed in my attacker’s arms as he lifted me off the concrete, but he was too strong. The heel of my
Valentino pump connected with his shin.
 “Puta,” he spat.
My Spanish was rusty, but I recalled that puta meant bitch. I took aim for his shin once more. He
wrangled me into the backseat as I kicked at the air, and the driver took off before the door had fully
closed. There was a second man whose lap I was strewn across. The contact made my shirt stick to
the sweat on my back. The guy who’d grabbed me removed his hand from my mouth and held me
down by my arms. I inhaled and my lips parted to scream, but the second man slapped duct tape over
my mouth before any sound came out.
This can’t be happening. My eyelids squeezed shut, but they sprung open when the men attempted
to force my wrists together. I managed to get a knee up and jammed it into the chest of the man who’d
grabbed me. For the first time, I got a good look at his face. He appeared to be around my age and had
tan skin, dark eyes, and oily slicked back hair.
What seemed like a lifetime ago, I’d had a bodyguard who’d prepared me for situations like this
after a drug dealer associated with my college boyfriend had threatened to hurt me. Despite the odds
being stacked against me, I had to fight.
The tires screeched as the driver rounded a turn and I took advantage of the centripetal force. I
lurched upward, knocking my attacker against the window, and slammed my forehead against his
nose. He cursed in Spanish and blood gushed all over my white suit as he released my hands.
I spun around to my left, leading with my elbow, and connected with the throat of the second guy.
He wheezed. I reared back again with the intention of jamming the heel of my hand into his nose, but
the other man hugged me from behind, constricting my arms. I tried to scream, but the tape made that
nearly impossible. I was tossed onto the floor, and immediately brought my legs up to kick. Both men
pointed guns at my head.
I froze.
“Don’t move,” my initial attacker ordered in heavily accented English.
My face and hands grew cold as defeat washed over me. While one man held me at gunpoint, I
reluctantly allowed the other one to zip tie my wrists and my ankles.
You fight until you can’t, my bodyguard’s voice echoed in my head. If you must submit, stay
alert. Pay attention to every detail. You never know what you’ll be able to use to your advantage.
Never lose situational awareness.
The SUV drove over a bump and light filled the vehicle, telling me that we’d left the garage. The
driver turned left, and I did my best to count the seconds until the next turn. The three men shouted in
Spanish, but the words rolled off their tongues too quickly for me to translate. I picked up on a few
phrases, though hardly enough to make any sense of it.
Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three. The driver made a right. I started counting from one again. It
didn’t seem like we were moving too quickly, and if I had to guess I’d say we were on N. Tryon
Street. Oh, God, they’re bringing me toward the freeway.
The second man, who appeared to be slightly older than the first and had a thick mustache, kept
his gun pointed at my head. I tried to ignore my pulse throbbing in my temple and stay focused on
counting. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. The driver’s cell phone rang, and he answered it. Although, I
could only hear his side of the conversation, I chose to abandon counting in favor of translating.
“Tres hors y media.”
Three and a half hours. Depending on the direction we went, in that amount of time, we could
end up at the Carolina coast or we could be in another state. Tennessee, South Carolina, Georgia,
Virginia, and West Virginia were all within that time frame. I can easily disappear for good. My
body grew cold, and I shivered as blood drained from my limbs. I had no clue who these men were or
what they wanted with me. Sweat beaded my brow and my breathing shallowed. The younger of the
two men reached over the seat into the back and I heard a zipper.
When he turned around, he said, “Buenas noches, chica.” Then, he placed a rag over my nose.
Ignoring the gun that was still fixed on my forehead, I attempted to thrash free, but the chemicals stung
my nostrils and my attempt to avoid inhaling was futile. My vision blurred and the driver’s voice
distorted, then everything went numb. It was as though I was detached from my body. My eyelids
grew heavy, and I tried to fight against the pull, but it was impossible. The last thing I remembered
was the shine of a gold tooth as my attacker grinned from above.
THREE
 GRIFFIN

While unscrewing the cap on my water, I plopped into the chair around the conference table at the
SSTC headquarters in Richmond Hill, Georgia. Nick snagged the seat on my right.
“We missed you at Rocco’s last night. You go out with Ruby Red again?”
I smirked. “Maybe.” It’d been a few days since the night she’d reappeared.
“I think you’ve set a new record: the oldest guy to bag Ruby Red.” He patted me on the shoulder.
Nick was thirty-eight, which made him too old by Ruby’s standards.
“I don’t know about that. I was twenty when I met her.”
Tyler dropped into the seat on my other side. “Ten years. Congrats. That makes you her longest
relationship. At least that I’ve heard of.” Tyler was a year older than Nick, so he’d been around long
enough to know all about Ruby’s antics as well.
“I wouldn’t call it a relationship.” More like a comfort zone. We actually spent most of our time
together talking, but I’d never tell the guys that—brothers or not. Ruby had a reputation to uphold, and
I’d already been labeled as her fuck boy, so I rolled with that. The fascinating part was how many
people thought they knew Ruby. In reality, she enjoyed letting people think what they wanted about
her. I admired that quality. She truly didn’t give a shit about the whispers.
I could count on my fingers the number of guys Ruby had actually hooked up with in the decade
that I’d known her. When she flirted, she was like a cat playing with mice. Very few made it into her
bed, although many bragged that they had, but I knew the truth. Ruby never lied to her boys about…
well, her boys. While I’d always been aware that I wasn’t the only one sleeping with her, I was cool
with it. I might not have had her full attention, but in her own way she cared about me, and I cared
about her. Well, as much as I was capable of anyway.
“Speaking of relationships.” Nash leaned across the table. “Jade called me last night.”
“So that’s why you bailed on us early,” Nick said.
Shep groaned. “Nash, tell me you aren’t that stupid.”
Jade and Nash had dated on and off for three years since she had started school at the Savannah
College of Art and Design. She was a talented artist and we all thought she was cool, but Nash was a
hopeless romantic so every time they entered an off again phase, he turned into a moody bitch for
weeks.
Nash shrugged. “She had a few too many drinks. I gave her a ride home.”
“And you promptly left her at her front door, right?” Shep asked.
Nash’s gaze dropped to the table.
Shep tossed his head back. “Bro, what the fuck?”
He held his hands out in front of him. “I couldn’t leave her alone. She was drunk, and her
roommate wasn’t home.”
“She ain’t your responsibility anymore,” Shep replied.
Nash waved him off. “Look, I got her into bed, and I slept on the couch. She was still asleep when
I left to come here. Nothing happened.”
I pointed my chin at him. “She text you yet this morning?”
He scratched at the sandy stubble on his chin. “To say thanks.”
“And…?” Shep urged.
Nash reclined in his chair. “And she misses me.”
We all groaned and shook our heads. Before we could lay into him further, our team leader, Foster
Jones, walked to the end of the table and tossed files our way.
Tyler nudged me. “This is gonna be a good one.” After Foster, he was second in command on our
team, so he typically got briefed before the rest of us.
“Oh yeah?” I asked as I flipped open my file. “Why’s that?”
“The target is a CEO, who also happens to have a very wealthy daddy.”
Most of our contracts were from wealthy people, so that didn’t surprise me. “Okay, what about
it?”
“Apparently, the kidnappers are tied to the Molina Cartel out of Colombia.”
That name made my insides churn. It’d been a long time since I’d thought about my days as a
dealer. Cases involving a cartel rarely turned out well, and typically involved us getting into some
messy shit. Fucking fantastic.
I glanced at the stack of papers on the table and when I turned to the picture of the missing woman,
soulful brown eyes stared up at me. Air was expelled from my lungs as though I’d been kicked in the
stomach. This can’t be right. I tugged on the collar of my t-shirt while I flipped through the pages,
hoping—praying—I was wrong. That somehow the eyes that had haunted my dreams for over a
decade, couldn’t possibly be hers. I read through the case overview.
Target: Holly Claire Bates
Age: 30
Location: Charlotte, NC
“Are you shitting me?” Sweat pooled at the small of my back.
“Everything cool?” Foster asked.
“I know her. Knew her.”
 Tyler raised his brows. “The vic?”
“Yeah. We dated in college.”
Foster crossed his arms. “You gonna be good working this?”
I stared him straight in his eyes and said, “There isn’t a thing on this planet I wouldn’t do for her.”
I ran my fingers over the DMV photo of her smiling. “Is the Molina Cartel really behind this?”
“Yeah,” Foster replied. “They’ve made contact.” He clicked a button on the remote that lit up the
projector. Paused on the screen was a video of Holly tied to a chair. Her hair was matted, and her
face was bruised. Blood congealed in the corner of her mouth and was also splattered on her white
jacket.
My hands clenched into fists. I once said I’d kill for Holly, and it seemed I was about to make
good on that promise. “Play it,” I barked.
“In a minute.” Foster put his hands on his hips. “This is Holly Bates. She is the CEO of a multi-
million-dollar company called Magic Wash, which provides mobile car washing services throughout
the country.”
Hearing that name made my skin tingle. Holly and I had started Magic Wash together as a project
in college. When I’d left for the Army, I’d signed my portion of the company over to her.
“It’s believed that she was abducted yesterday from the parking garage beneath her office building
in Charlotte.”
Yesterday. My jaw clenched. Whoever had taken her had an entire day on us.
“This one is complicated.” Foster grabbed a photo out of the file in front of him and held it up.
“This is the victim with her father, Jonah Bates, who, like his daughter, is also a CEO, but of an
acquisitions company.”
I stared at the image. Holly was radiant in a metallic rose gold gown at what appeared to be a
charity event.
Shep pointed his pen at the photo. “Between the two of them, that’s a lot of cash. Sounds like a
simple play for ransom.”
“Not necessarily,” I interjected. “I gathered from Holly that her father had pissed off some people
in his line of work.”
“There’s another angle here, too.” Foster put down the photo and crossed his arms over his chest.
“But while on the topic of Jonah, you should all know that he’s a personal friend of Orion.”
My eyes widened. Jonah Bates would have nothing positive to say about me, not that I could
blame him. Him having a personal relationship with my boss was problematic. Thanks to the deal my
father had brokered for me, my criminal history had never made it onto my record. If it had, I never
would’ve been allowed into RASP to become a Ranger, which means I never would’ve gotten a job
with SSTC. If Jonah Bates said anything about me to Orion, I could be sent packing.
I glanced at the screen behind Foster. The frozen image of Holly bound and covered in blood
made me forget all about Jonah Bates. All I gave a fuck about was finding her, and if that cost me my
job, then so be it.
Foster held up another photograph. This one was a shot of Holly in a wedding dress standing next
to a pretty boy in a suit. My heart sank. I hadn’t heard she’d gotten married. She hadn’t changed her
last name. I flipped through my file and located the same photo so I could get a better look. Her
blonde hair hung in loose curls and dusted her bare shoulders. The sight of her in a white gown with a
sweetheart neckline and full skirt had my heart racing. She was a stunning bride. Regret churned in my
gut.
“Here’s where this case gets particularly dicey. The vic’s husband, Christopher Rutledge is a
criminal defense attorney who has represented several members of the Molina Cartel in various
cases.”
I already hated the fucker. His teeth were too white, his hair was too angular, and he had his hands
on my woman.
“Unbeknownst to him,” Foster continued, “Rutledge has been under investigation by the Charlotte-
Mecklenburg Police Department for several months. They believe he is somehow involved in helping
the cartel get drugs into North Carolina.”
My knuckles turned white, and my nails dug into my palms. In college, after I’d started dating
Holly, I’d quit dealing because I hadn’t wanted to involve her in that shit. The sole reason I’d gotten
dragged back into it was because my supplier had threatened to hurt Holly unless I agreed to do a buy
for him. So, I did what I had to do, and I’d gotten busted as a result. Even though I’d been facing some
serious prison time, all I’d cared about was making sure Holly was safe. Part of that involved never
seeing her again, so I’d ripped out my own heart to protect her. A lot of good that had done. My
nostrils flared. She went and married a jerkoff with cartel connections, putting her right back in the
crosshairs.
Tyler laced his fingers together on top of the table. “So Rutledge did something to piss off the
cartel and they abducted his wife in retaliation.”
“That’s one theory.” Foster picked up the remote for the projector. “Except the ransom video was
sent to Jonah Bates this morning, not Rutledge.” He glanced at me and I gave him a reassuring nod that
I was prepared for whatever was on that tape, so he pressed play.
Holly’s wide eyes were darker than normal, and she stared directly into the camera. She must’ve
been terrified, but she hid it well. When she spoke, her voice was steady, like she was commanding a
boardroom. “My name is Holly Bates.”
That sweet sound wrapped around my heart like a hand and squeezed.
“I’m being held against my will and these men will kill me if they don’t get one-million-dollars
wired into this account by Thursday at midnight.” It was Tuesday, so that gave us some time.
A man’s hand appeared from the side of the screen, and he held a piece of paper in front of Holly.
She read off the account number.
“Pause it,” Nick said as he stood and walked over to the screen. He pointed to three dots that
were tattooed in a triangular formation between the man’s thumb and forefinger.
“That’s a common prison tat,” Nash said. “Mi vida loca. My crazy life.”
“Right,” Nick said. “It doesn’t have a particular affiliation, but it represents his allegiance to a
gang.” He gestured to more ink on the man’s wrist. “And that wolf is the gang. Manada de Lobos—the
wolf pack.”
I’d heard of the MDL, but I hadn’t interacted with them. While they were fairly new, having
emerged within the last six or seven years, they were known affiliates of the Molina Cartel.
Nick adjusted the 9mm pistol tucked into his waistband. “A friend of my sister crossed paths with
the MDL in New York three years ago.”
“What do you mean by crossed paths?” Nash asked.
“They fucking kidnapped his wife.”
“Shit.” Tyler shook his head. “I remember that. They were both at my sister’s wedding a few
months before it happened.”
Nick and Tyler had been in Regiment together for several years when their personal lives had
coincidentally intersected. Nick’s sister was a lieutenant in the New York City Fire Department, and
she worked with another lieutenant who was married to Tyler’s sister. Small world.
“Why’d they abduct her?” Shep asked.
Tyler replied, “Her father’s a billionaire. They were after money. Didn’t get it though. Luckily,
she was rescued.”
Foster hummed. “Maybe kidnapping for ransom is their MO.”
Nick pulled his phone from his pocket. “If I remember correctly that branch of the MDL was
dismantled after that incident. I’ll reach out to the SITF. They worked the case.” The Special
Investigations Task Force was an elite team in the NYPD that Sua Sponte had collaborated with a few
times over the years.
“Good.” Foster nudged Nick to the side and pressed play once more.
Once Holly finished relaying the information for the transfer of funds, the bastard backhanded her
across the face. I grabbed onto the table to keep from leaping out of my chair. Holly’s eyes squeezed
shut and she winced from what I was sure was pain. But then she opened her eyes and turned her head
to face her kidnapper who was still off camera. Without saying a word, she spit blood in his
direction, and he cursed in Spanish.
Languages were not my strong suit. I’d learned enough Arabic to get by in Afghanistan, but that
was about it. “What’d he say?” Several of my teammates spoke Spanish.
Foster pressed pause and Shep glanced up from the notes he was writing. “He said, ‘Bitch, you’re
more trouble than you’re worth.’ Then the guy behind the camera yelled at him to shut up.”
“More trouble than you’re worth,” I echoed. “They’re asking for a million dollars, for Christ’s
sake.” I couldn’t imagine Holly being that much of a problem that a million wasn’t worth it. Then
again, I didn’t really know her anymore.
 “Maybe they aren’t getting the full million.” Tyler drummed his fingers on the table. “If they were
hired to do the job…”
“Then they’d only be getting a cut,” Nick finished as he returned to his seat.
“But who would’ve hired them?” Nash asked.
“The husband.” I sneered.
“You don’t think you’re a little biased in that assumption?” Tyler replied.
I suppose my judgment could be a bit clouded. (Although, I doubted it.) “Play the rest.”
Holly’s eyes burned with determination. Good girl. She would fight for her life if it came down to
that, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. The tape cut off and I stood.
“When do we leave for Charlotte?”
“Wheels up in thirty.” Foster closed his folder. “Griff, since you have an existing relationship
with the victim, I want you to take Nash and Tyler to her house. Rutledge and Jonah Bates are waiting
there. Nick and Shep, you’ll go with me to meet with the detectives at CMPD.”

TWO HOURS LATER, I stood on the front step of Holly’s million-dollar brick mansion on a private
cul-de-sac in Weddington, roughly twenty minutes south of Charlotte.
Nash whistled. “Damn, Daddy’s got money, huh?”
My head snapped toward him. “She worked hard for this. Built her company from nothing when
she was a sophomore in college.”
Nick held up his hands. “My bad.”
Seeing the life that Holly had made for herself made me even more proud of her. It also confirmed
that I’d made the right decision to walk away from her. When I’d told her I’d enlisted, she’d offered
to leave school and go with me wherever I’d ended up stationed. Had she done that, who knows what
her life would’ve been like. Yeah, I did the right thing.
I adjusted my tactical vest, then rang the doorbell. Typically, I’d leave my vest in the car for this
type of meeting, but I felt the need to wear it as a flex. No shame. Jonah Bates opened the door. He
and I had never met, but I had no doubt that he’d remember my name. If he did recognize me, he
certainly didn’t show it. Granted, my shoulders and chest were broader, and my arms were more than
double the size they’d been when I was in college. My thick, dark beard changed my appearance, too.
“Thank you for coming.” He stepped aside and we entered into a round foyer. Overhead was a
lavish crystal chandelier, the floor was a shiny marble, and there was a grand staircase that led up to
the second floor.
“Mr. Bates.” Tyler stepped forward. “I’m Dupree. This here is Nash. And that’s Griff.”
In the car, I’d told my teammates to keep my relationship with Holly between us. They hadn’t
asked questions, and I hadn’t offered answers.
“Follow me.” He led us down a hall beneath the staircase, which opened up into an enviable
chef’s kitchen. Hell, I couldn’t cook, but even I appreciated the high-end stainless-steel appliances,
custom cabinetry, and white marble countertops. “Elijah. Christopher,” he shouted, and it echoed.
“Do you have news?” A man in a wrinkled day-old suit, sans jacket and tie, came around the
corner. Rutledge. The top few buttons of his white collared shirt were unbuttoned, his coiffed wheat
brown hair was disheveled, and he was sporting stubble that I had a feeling he typically never let
grow given how patchy it was. This was the opposite of the perfectly put together man in his wedding
photo.
“What is it?” A younger man wearing gym shorts and a UNC tee nearly knocked Holly’s husband
over. He had at least four inches on Rutledge and had the same honey-colored blond hair as Holly, as
well as her deep brown eyes, although his were obscured behind tortoise shell framed glasses.
Jonah Bates said, “These are the special operatives I told you about.” He turned toward us. “What
were your names again?”
Tyler re-introduced us.
“This is my son, Elijah, and my son-in-law, Christopher Rutledge.”
Rutledge shook our hands. He held on a bit too tightly and for far too long in a poor attempt to
establish dominance. “Please tell me you will find my wife.”
“We will,” I replied, looking him dead in the eyes. “I promise.”
Tyler made a disapproving sound in his throat. We never made promises. That was one of the
most important rules in our line of work, but I didn’t care because I was gonna move mountains to
find Holly. Failing at this mission was not an option.
“Is Mrs. Bates here?” I asked.
Jonah pulled his shoulders back. “My wife passed away last fall.”
I dipped my head. “I’m very sorry.” I wished I could’ve been there to help Holly through that. I’d
lost my mom to cancer as a teen, and it hadn’t been easy.
Elijah changed the subject. “Have you seen the tape?”
I nodded. “We have. It gave us some good information. Our analysts are currently going through it
to see what else we can get.”
Jonah gripped the edge of the kitchen island. “I’m working on getting the money together. It’s tied
up in various accounts that must be liquidated.”
“That process can take up to three days,” Rutledge added.
A tingling in my gut told me to remember that. On the flight in, I’d watched the ransom video
several times, and I found it odd that the kidnappers were allowing so much time for the transfer. But
if they knew Jonah Bates would need to liquidate assets…
“How can we help?” Elijah asked.
“Walk us through what happened,” I replied.
Rutledge propped his elbows up on the island and dropped his head into his hands. “This is all
my fault.”
 A confession couldn’t possibly be that easy.
“Christopher.” Jonah’s voice was firm. “Tell them.”
Rutledge let out a lamenting sigh. “We’d gotten into an argument that morning. It had bothered me
all day, so I decided to go to her office and talk to her, but when I arrived, Jay informed me that she’d
left for a meeting.”
“Whose Jay?” Tyler asked.
“Her assistant.”
Elijah gave his brother-in-law a side-eyed glare.
Rutledge cleared his throat. “I left and came here. All night I waited for her, but she never came
home. I fell asleep shortly after midnight. When I got up this morning and saw that she’d stayed out all
night, I called my father-in-law thinking perhaps she’d slept at his house.”
“She hadn’t,” Jonah cut in. “I called Elijah, but she hadn’t stayed with him either.”
Elijah added, “So I called my husband, Jay—her assistant. It was after eight and Holly hadn’t
shown up for work. My sister is never late.”
I remembered that about her. It used to drive me crazy, but there was something endearing about
her punctuality.
Elijah continued, “So, I called my father.”
“And I called the police, then Orion.”
Rutledge folded his arms over his chest. “They found her Mercedes in the parking garage at her
office, but it wasn’t in her reserved spot. It was parked one level down. Her keys, cell phone, and
purse were inside.”
Mine, Tyler’s, and Nash’s phones all buzzed. “Excuse us a sec,” Tyler said, and we showed
ourselves out the front door.
We’d received a message from Foster with details he’d obtained from the detectives in Charlotte,
so we took a moment to read it. There was also a video. I pressed play and we watched it together. It
was security footage of Holly exiting the elevator and getting into her white convertible. She then
drove down a level and parked again. A large SUV had stopped behind her and she’d gone up to their
window, then she’d been grabbed from behind and forced into the back. The camera was too far away
to get a clear shot of her abductors, but according to Foster’s message, they’d gotten the plate off the
SUV as it was exiting the garage.
The message also said that there was security footage of Rutledge driving into the garage a minute
after Holly had backed out of her spot. He’d parked and gone inside the building, then he’d left less
than ten minutes later.
“So it couldn’t have been the husband,” Nash said.
“Not directly, no,” I replied.
Tyler’s phone buzzed. “Foster wants us to talk to the family about who they think could be
responsible.”
 Nash’s eyes narrowed. “But we know it’s the MDL.”
“We do.” I thumbed toward the house. “They don’t.” At least, they didn’t know that we knew.
We let ourselves inside and found the three men still gathered in the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“Any news?” Elijah’s brows raised.
“There’s security footage of her being abducted,” I supplied.
Jonah’s jaw tensed. Elijah covered his mouth with his hand. Rutledge gasped dramatically. Too
dramatically.
I relayed what we’d seen.
“This occurred while I was there?” Rutledge tugged on his hair. “I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve
protected her.”
“But you didn’t,” Elijah quipped, then addressed me. “Did you see who took her?”
“No.”
“My daughter is tough.” Jonah took a few steps back and leaned against the counter by the sink.
“She’s been prepared for this.”
“How do you mean?” Tyler asked.
“When she was in college, there was a drug dealer after her.”
My heart sank.
“I hired a bodyguard for her, and he taught her what to do if she was ever attacked.”
The thought of Holly having to go through all that because of me made me nauseous.
Tyler put his hands on his hips. “Why was a drug dealer after her?” He was questioning whether
Holly was actually an innocent victim or not.
“Because she made a bad decision to date someone beneath her who was involved in nefarious
activities.” He sneered, and I let out a small breath of relief that he hadn’t recognized me.
Tyler glanced my way, but I averted my gaze.
“Thankfully, her taste in men evolved after that.” Rutledge puffed out his chest.
Elijah began to roll his eyes but caught himself and stopped.
I took a few steps toward her husband. “As a lawyer, you’ve worked with some rather unsavory
criminals, haven’t you?” On the flight, I’d read the brief provided to us by the CMPD. Rutledge had
managed to get every single one of the cartel associates acquitted of their charges.
“I’ve represented a lot of criminals in my career. Gruff, was it?”
“It’s Griff. Your wife must’ve been thrilled to learn that you’ve gotten buddy-buddy with Cisco
Molina.”
To his credit, he held his ground even as I got uncomfortably close. “He’s a client. Not a friend.”
I nodded. “Right. Well, we have reason to believe Holly’s kidnappers are associated with him.”
His pupils dilated.
“Cisco Molina? As in the Molina Cartel?” Elijah came around the island and stopped beside us.
 “Yup,” I replied without breaking eye contact with Rutledge.
“You took on clients associated with a fucking cartel?” Elijah nudged his brother-in-law in the
arm, causing him to turn his attention away from me.
“It’s my job.”
Elijah huffed. “No. You can choose who you want to work with and refuse business from those
you don’t. You aren’t a public defender.”
“Just because you were pre-law, doesn’t mean you know what it’s like to be a real lawyer.”
Elijah poked a finger into the center of Rutledge’s chest. “You weren’t forced to work with Cisco
Molina. That was your choice. You opened that door and now my sister is paying for it.”
“Enough,” Jonah bellowed. “Is this true? The men who took my daughter are associated with a
cartel?”
Tyler responded before I could. “It’s a possibility we are considering, yes.”
The older man nodded. “I’m going to call my financial advisor and see where we are at on the
funds.”
“We need to meet with the detectives in Charlotte, but we’ll stay in touch.” Tyler shook Jonah’s
hand, then we left.
“What the hell was that, Slater?” Tyler chided as soon as we were in the rental car.
“Rutledge knows something. I saw it in his eyes.” I worked my vest over my head and laid it on
my lap.
“Yeah, all right, I agree.” Tyler turned on the car and put it in reverse to back out of the driveway.
“But that wasn’t the way to go about it. This Bates guy is a personal friend of Orion, remember?
We’re meant to be playing nice.”
I really didn’t give a shit. “Did either of them seem like they’re fans of Rutledge to you?”
From the backseat, Nash snorted. “Fuck no. The guy’s a tool.”
“Not the point.” Tyler turned onto the road and headed toward Charlotte. “What do you know
about the incident with Holly’s ex-boyfriend and that drug dealer?”
I adjusted the vent so the AC blew directly on me. “He wasn’t good enough for her.”
“So you knew her ex?”
I turned toward Tyler. “I was him.”
“Oh, shit,” Nash muttered.
Tyler pursed his lips. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”
“It already is.”
FOUR
 HOLLY

One thing I’ve learned from having been kidnapped: I never want to live on a boat. I’d been cooped
up in a cabin down in the hull of this thing, rocking back and forth, for three days. I was nauseous,
bruised, and in desperate need of a shower. Claustrophobia had been coming in waves. There were
no windows, my hands were bound, and the floor was cold and hard. At least they’d taken the tape off
my mouth. No one would hear me scream in the middle of the ocean. A small wall sconce kept me
conscious of my reality by illuminating the nothingness.
I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to dull the pain in my wrists from the bindings, and my
stomach grumbled. On account of my nausea, I hadn’t been able to eat more than a couple of bites of
breakfast that morning. Three times a day, a woman would bring me food. She was younger than me
and only spoke Spanish—at least, she led me to believe that she couldn’t understand me. In my best
attempt at Español, I’d begged her to help me. Although, even if she agreed, the two of us likely
wouldn’t stand a chance against the men with guns on board. Still, I had to try.
She was the only consistency in my days. The meals were how I’d been able to keep track of how
long I’d been down there. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consisted of cold beans and rice, which the
woman would feed to me. She also helped me use the bucket in the corner that served as a makeshift
toilet. As a grown adult, having someone wipe me after going to the bathroom was certainly a low
point. Not that being held hostage was a highlight.
This time tomorrow, I could be dead. As much as I tried not to let it, that thought continued to
creep its way into my consciousness. While it would suck to die, it sucked even more that I had
nothing to show for my thirty years on this planet. Sure, I had my company, and I was proud of what
I’d done with that, but at the end of the day, I owned car washes—I wasn’t saving the world, I was
cleaning windshields.
My shoulder was going numb, so I adjusted my body on the gym mat I was lying on. I huffed. I’d
spent seven months searching for the perfect mattress, which cost me a small fortune and was worth
every penny, yet I was going to die on a dirty metal floor, curled up on quarter-inch thick pad that
smelled like feet and rotten bait.
My life was sad. I suppose it was fitting that my death would be, too. Sure, I had a beautiful house
and enough money to make me comfortable for life, but I was miserable. I’d wasted my best fertile
years in a loveless marriage that, even if I managed to get free from my current predicament, I’d still
be stuck in because I had married an asshole.
That brought me to my life’s biggest regret…
Griffin Slater.
I leaned against the wall and used it to help me into a sitting position. There I was, facing death,
and I’d spent the majority of my time on that boat thinking about the one man I never allowed myself
to think about. My memories of Griffin usually brought me nothing but pain and regret. For some
reason though, while confined to my prison, thoughts of him brought me comfort.
Back in college, we’d been a unit. He hated his dad; I had a complicated relationship with my
parents. He was the misunderstood bad boy; I was the intimidating smart girl. Neither of us fit into a
particular clique, so we’d created our own. Griffin had been my safe place, and I’d been his. Laying
there alone on that cold mat had me wishing I was in his arms. I craved to feel that sense of peace
again.
If I could go back to when I was nineteen and have a re-do, I’d jump at the opportunity. Instead of
simply accepting that things were over, I would’ve fought for him. I would’ve followed him wherever
the Army sent him, given up school, abandoned Magic Wash, and gotten a job waiting tables at a
greasy diner if I’d had to. Without question, I would give up everything to be with Griffin. Because
with him, I would’ve been happy. With him, I would’ve been loved. There was no price tag on that.
Footsteps clamored down the metal steps. My pulse quickened. Not wanting to be in a
compromised position when the door swung open, I scrambled to stand. The lock jiggled and I
planted my bare feet in preparation. Frollo entered carrying a chair. That wasn’t his real name—or
maybe it was, but I doubted it. I’d nicknamed my captors after Disney villains. In a weird way, it
made my situation slightly less terrifying. Emphasis on the slightly.
Frollo was the man who’d grabbed me in the parking garage. He slammed the chair down in the
middle of the small room. “Siéntate.”
I wasn’t keen on getting tied to a chair again.
When I didn’t move, he shouted, “Sit!”
With reluctant steps, I stared him down as I took my time positioning myself in front of the metal
chair and did as he’d ordered. The door swung open again, and Jafar appeared carrying a set of
ratchet straps. He was the second man who’d been in the backseat of the SUV.
“I won’t run,” I pleaded as a strap was fastened tight across my chest and upper arms. Even if I
were to get free, I’d still be stuck on a boat with nowhere to go. There were at least two other men
and a woman on board who I’d seen throughout my captivity. If I somehow managed to get away from
Jafar and Frollo, I’d have the others to deal with, too, and I wasn’t confident I could handle that.
Perhaps if it was the first day I could try, but I was tired, malnourished, dehydrated, and weak.
“Please,” I lamented.
 Jafar shushed me as he wrapped another strap around my abdomen. The ratchet clicked, pulling it
tighter and tighter.
“That hurts.” I did my best to puff out my stomach, so that I’d be left with some breathing room.
Frollo said something in Spanish. The only word I recognized was ‘video.’ When they’d begun
tying me up, I’d assumed it was because they were planning on filming another ransom message. If I’d
calculated time correctly, the ransom deadline was midnight, and I’d already been given breakfast for
the day, so my family probably had about fourteen hours left to pay up. My captors duct taped my
ankles to the chair legs, and my stomach rolled. Being rigidly constricted to the chair made me more
seasick since I couldn’t move with the waves.
Jafar stood a couple of feet in front of me and held up a phone. In accented English, Frollo gave
me instructions, but I could barely pay attention because bile was rising up my esophagus, and I was
trying to think of a way to get a message through that could help the police find me.
A bright light shone in my face, and I winced. After taking a second to swallow down my nausea,
I said, “My name…is Holly Bates.”
FIVE
 GRIFFIN

Clearly, I was a glutton for punishment because I couldn’t pull myself away from the fireplace in
Holly’s formal living room. On the mantle sat several framed photos of her and Rutledge. There were
shots from their wedding, which I’d found out had taken place on the beach in Hilton Head, not even
an hour from where I lived. Holly was born to wear a wedding dress. She simply glowed.
I couldn’t help but notice that in the more recent photos, something had changed. Her smile no
longer brightened her face the way I’d known it to, and her body language suggested that she wasn’t a
wife in love. In many of the photos, she was angled away from Rutledge and there was an odd gap
between them. Having officially met the guy, I couldn’t blame her. I might not have been the one for
her, but this jerkoff sure as hell wasn’t either. Judging by the conversation I’d had with Holly’s
brother earlier that morning, it seemed that Holly had come to realize that as well. Elijah had never
liked Christopher, but he’d made an effort for his sister’s sake. According to him, he’d ‘reached his
limit.’ Holly was unhappy and he was done pretending.
“Circle up,” Foster called out from the formal dining room, which held a table large enough to
serve fourteen.
We were no closer to finding Holly than we’d been the moment we’d been handed the case. The
only lead we had was the SUV, but we’d tracked that to another parking garage—one that
conveniently did not have cameras inside. The forensic investigators in Charlotte were currently
searching it for evidence. We suspected that they’d changed vehicles, but we’d dead-ended on
figuring that out. Basically, we were stuck waiting for the kidnappers to make contact again, and I
fucking hated feeling helpless.
In the dining room, Foster waved for us all to gather around his computer screen. “They’ve sent a
new video.”
Holly’s family had been sent out of the room. They didn’t need to see this. I straightened my spine
and crossed my arms over my chest as Foster hit play.
Like the last one, this recording began the same way with Holly introducing herself. The only
difference was that she looked far worse for wear. She had a bruise on her cheek, her hair was dull
and matted, and her eyes were sunken. In the first video, Holly had spunk, but in this one she seemed
to be exerting entirely too much effort simply to be conscious.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
She quickly rambled, “This is a reminder that the deadline is tonight. One-million-dollars for my
life.” Her jaw clenched and she swallowed several times.
The cameraman yelled at her to keep going.
“Sorry, I get motion sickness.”
Excitement forced a grunt from my throat. Of course, I wasn’t happy that she was sick, but she’d
given us a clue, and the dumbasses filming hadn’t edited it out.
Like last time, a hand appeared holding a piece of paper. Holly read the bank account number
aloud, but she paused midway through. Her skin turned pale and clammy. She emitted a gulp,
followed closely by another.
Shit.
She turned her head to the left and dry-heaved.
The men cursed.
She retched a second time, but still nothing came out, which meant she was dehydrated and
starving.
“Puta.” The tattooed hand balled into a fist and connected with the side of Holly’s head, sending
her tumbling over in the chair.
From off-screen, one of the men recited the number in heavily accented English and followed it up
with, “At midnight, if there is no money, she dies.”
The fucker holding the camera zoomed in on Holly’s face. Because of the way she was strapped
to the chair, her head dangled, and her blond strands pooled on the textured metal floor. Her eyes
were closed, and I couldn’t tell if she’d been knocked out, but then tears dripped from the side of her
eye and dropped like rain onto the floor.
I roared. It was a carnal sound that I’d never made before. My rage spilled out like a wild animal.
Someone put a hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off.
Foster got in my face like a goddamn drill sergeant and shouted, “Enough!” His spit dotted my
skin.
Heavy breaths flared my nostrils and my shoulders heaved.
“If you wanna be able to hang their testicles up as Christmas ornaments, you need to stay focused
on the mission.”
As if I could focus on anything else.
“Did you guys catch this?” Tyler had started the recording over and he was pointing at her hands,
which were bound at the wrist and sitting on her lap.
Everyone encircled the screen. As I went to step forward, Foster pressed his palm on my chest
and stared me down. After a deep breath, I gave him a nod. He moved aside and we both turned our
attention to the screen. Holly’s fingers were moving subtly, but there was a pattern.
 Three. Three. Zero. Pause. Three. Three. Zero. Pause.
“That mean anything to anyone?” Tyler asked.
No response.
“Sit,” Foster ordered. “What do we know?”
Nash spoke first. “She’s in something that’s moving.”
“Back of a truck maybe,” Shep suggested.
“I don’t know.” Tyler played the video for a few seconds, then stopped it. “If the truck was
moving the camera would be shaking erratically. The picture is moving, but it’s not very noticeable.”
“They could be in the air,” Nick said. “The cartel would have access to a private plane.”
Nash added, “It does look like she could be in cargo.”
Tyler hummed. “There isn’t enough background noise. We’d hear the engines.”
“True.” Foster tapped his finger on the table. “Same goes if she were in the back of a moving
truck.”
“She’s on a boat,” I blurted out. “No noise. And the movement is a rhythmic sway consistent with
waves.”
Tyler nodded. “That’s plausible.”
“The cartel definitely has access to boats,” Nash said.
Son of a bitch. “With empty cargo hulls.” I shook my head. We’d just left the coast to come
inland.
Foster rapped his knuckles on the table. “Okay, let’s run with that. How does three, three, zero,
factor in?”
While my teammates spit-balled ideas, I turned off the noise and went into my head. What would
stand out to Holly? She wouldn’t bother telling us something we could figure out on our own, like the
license plate of the SUV or the time she was taken. Nor could it be the number of people on the boat
because three-hundred and thirty would be too many people for her to count accurately.
“Is there a 330 highway around here?” Nik asked.
I pulled out my cell and opened up a map. My search yielded nothing, so I shook my head.
“Could it have to do with the marina they brought her to?” Shep suggested.
Wait a sec…Elijah’s comment from the day before played in my head, ‘My sister is never late.’ I
grinned. “Time. Holly is conscious of time. It’s three hours and thirty minutes.” I pointed to the
computer. “We need to figure out which marinas are three hours and thirty minutes from her office.”
Tyler pushed the laptop over to Nash. “On it,” he said as he clicked the mousepad.
I stood and headed toward the hall.
“Where you goin’?” Foster asked.
“To get fast answers.”
He was up and on my heels. “What are you thinking?”
Keeping my voice low, I faced him. “The whole point of Jonah Bates hiring us is because he
knows we can do shit that cops can’t, right?”
Foster nodded.
“And if he’s friends with Orion, then he’s gotta know that we don’t always follow rules.”
Foster’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue.
“He wants his daughter back. And I want to get her back for him. So, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Foster cupped the back of his neck and rubbed. “Yeah. All right. But remember, the husband is a
lawyer.”
I held up my hands. “I’m just doing what I must to bring his wife home.”
Foster smirked and we marched down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the family room
where Jonah, Elijah, Jay, and Rutledge were sitting.
I stopped in front of Holly’s husband and snapped my fingers. “Up.”
“Excuse me?” He’d showered and shaved, so he was looking far more polished than he had the
day before.
“Get. Up.” I grabbed his shoulder with one hand and lifted him off the couch.
“Get your hands off me!”
“Listen to me and I won’t have to touch you.”
Jonah stood. “What’s this about?”
“We have an idea as to where Holly is, and Christopher is going to help us pinpoint it.” I stared
into Rutledge’s scared eyes.
“How am I going to do that?”
“Kitchen.” I pointed. If things got bloody, I didn’t want to mess up Holly’s carpet. Using my size
to my advantage, I backed him up against the island. If Holly truly was three and a half hours away, I
couldn’t afford to waste time, so I went with a direct approach. “Where does Cisco Molina dock his
boats?”
The fucker’s jaw dropped, but he tried to cover it up by feigning offense. “H—how would I
know?” His eyes darted around me.
In one movement, I lurched forward and fisted the front of his dress shirt.
He grabbed at my hand, but I wasn’t letting go.
“Hold on.” Jonah’s voice echoed from behind me.
Without taking my eyes off Rutledge, I addressed Holly’s dad, “You hired us to get your daughter
back, and he’s our ticket to doing that.” I tightened my hold and asked again, “Where does Cisco
Molina dock his boats?”
His face reddened. “I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.” I bent my free arm and elbowed him in the jaw.
Fuck that felt good.
He howled. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Where does Cisco Molina dock his boats?”
 “Screw you.”
I tugged my switchblade off my waistband and put the metal against his throat.
The fight left him and he froze.
“We don’t have time for this. Your wife does not have time for this. She’s in rough shape.”
“What do you mean?” His surprise felt genuine.
Interesting. I ran with that. “She’s unconscious from a blow to the head. If she’s got a brain bleed,
then she might not wake up.”
Concerned gasps sounded behind me, then Jonah was at my side. “If you know something,
Christopher, you had better tell them.”
Rutledge glanced at his father-in-law, but only for a second before his attention returned to me.
His Adam’s apple bobbed against my blade. “I don’t know about boats.”
“Griff. We’ve got a list.” Nick held up a piece of paper in my periphery.
I lowered my knife, folded it, and clipped it onto my belt. “Don’t fucking move.” After releasing
his shirt, I grabbed the sheet from Nick. It was a rudimentary hand-drawn map with several areas
circled. I laid it flat on the kitchen island, gripped Rutledge’s shoulder and spun him around so he
could see it, taking care to make sure I had a view of his face. His eyes immediately drew to the
bottom right—an area slightly south of Wilmington.
“I told you, I don’t know about any boats.”
I picked up the map and turned toward Jonah. “Sir, are you familiar with the marinas in this
area?” I pointed at the section of barrier islands that Rutledge had unknowingly indicated. Holly had
mentioned her father having a boat, so I hoped he still did.
He nodded. “I keep my boat at my home in Hilton Head, but I’ve used those marinas on
occasion.”
“Which would you say is the largest or the easiest to stay in undetected?”
His nose scrunched as he took a moment to think it over. “There’s one where the Cape Fear River
meets the ocean. Sunrise Shores.”
I glanced at Rutledge. Unmistakable recognition dilated his pupils. I nodded at Jonah. “Thank you,
sir.” When I turned to leave, I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed Rutledge by the throat and got close
enough to his face that he would’ve been able to smell the type of beans used in my morning coffee.
“You’d better pray that Holly’s okay. Because if she isn’t, I’ll make you so miserable you’ll wish you
were dead.” I released him with enough force to send him stumbling.
His brows angled inward, and he cocked his head.
My eyes bore into his. Yeah, you bastard. This is personal.
SIX
 HOLLY

Wiggling out of his grasp, I giggled. “Griffin, stop. We have to finish our assignment first.”
He grabbed my waist and tugged me onto his bed once more. I landed on top of him, and he
held me firmly in place. “No we don’t. We’re already getting an A.” He kissed me and his stubble
scratched the sensitive skin around my lips. “Our business has already sold three franchises and
we’re going to be millionaires. Professor Dip Shit literally can’t fail us. Magic Wash is the most
successful company ever started by students for his class project.”
“Don’t call him that.” I rolled my eyes. His large hands squeezed my sides and I yelped. “And
don’t tickle me.”
“Fine. I’ll do something else to you instead.” His hands slid into the back of my pants, and he
squeezed.
“Griffinnn,” I warned. “Your roommates are in the living room just on the other side of that
door.”
His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned. My boyfriend was totally possessive, but in a sexy kind
of way. He wouldn’t be cool with anyone hearing me moan besides him. “Can’t we be quiet?”
I kissed the tip of his nose. “Later, okay? Let’s finish this assignment, then maybe they’ll be in
bed.”
His eyelids flicked open. “Does that mean you’re sleeping over?”
I gave him my best coquettish grin. “Perhaps.”
He jolted up and rolled me off him. “Okay. Let’s get some work done.”
I laughed. Sex was always an effective motivator to get Griffin to do something for school.
“But first.” He grabbed my face. “Kiss me.”
His mouth was warm and inviting and he wasted no time slipping his tongue between my lips,
bumping his piercing against my teeth. I moaned softly and his fingers tightened against the back
of my skull as he deepened the kiss.
Forget schoolwork. I wanted him. Since Griffin had taken my virginity, I had nothing to
compare to, but I was convinced that our sex was seriously amazing. There was no way I could
fathom it feeling any better. I reached for the bulge in his shorts, and he let out a satisfied grunt.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Die Stadt am Inn
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Die Stadt am Inn

Roman

Author: Rudolf Greinz

Release date: October 29, 2023 [eBook #71980]

Language: German

Original publication: Leipzig: Verlag von L. Staackmann, 1917

Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at

https://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIE STADT

AM INN ***
 Anmerkungen zur Transkription
Der vorliegende Text wurde anhand der Buchausgabe von 1917 so weit wie möglich
originalgetreu wiedergegeben. Typographische Fehler wurden stillschweigend korrigiert.
Ungewöhnliche und heute nicht mehr verwendete Schreibweisen bleiben gegenüber dem
Original unverändert; fremdsprachliche Ausdrücke und Dialoge in Tiroler Mundart wurden
nicht korrigiert.
Abhängig von der im jeweiligen Lesegerät installierten Schriftart können die im Original
g e s p e r r t gedruckten Passagen gesperrt, in serifenloser Schrift, oder aber sowohl
serifenlos als auch gesperrt erscheinen.
Das Umschlagbild wurde vom Bearbeiter geschaffen. Ein Urheberrecht wird nicht geltend
gemacht. Das Bild darf von jedermann unbeschränkt genutzt werden.
 Die Stadt am Inn
Roman
von

Rudolf Greinz

Zweiundzwanzigstes bis sechsundzwanzigstes

Tausend

Leipzig
Ve r l a g v o n L . S t a a c k m a n n
Alle Rechte, besonders das der Übersetzung, vorbehalten.

Für Amerika: Copyright 1917 by L. Staackmann, Leipzig.

Altenburg
Pierersche Hofbuchdruckerei
Stephan Geibel & Co.
 Erstes Kapitel.

S chwere weißgraue Nebelwolken lagerten über dem Tal, hüllten

die Berge ein in ihre dichten Schleier und drückten lastend auf
das kleine romantische alte Städtchen im Unterinntal. Zu Füßen
eines steilen Berges, eingeengt zwischen diesem und dem Flusse,
liegt der alte Rest einer stolzen Vergangenheit. Düster selbst an
sonnenhellen Tagen. Doppelt öde und bedrückend schwer an endlos
langen Regentagen wie in letzter Zeit.
Nichts rührte sich da in der alten Stadt. Kaum ein vereinzelter
Fußgänger war zu sehen in den engen Gassen oder auf der
breiteren Landstraße, die als Hauptstraße das Städtchen von West
nach Ost durchzieht. Nicht ganz fünf Minuten erstreckt sie sich
zwischen den altersgrauen Häusern, dann mündet sie in den
Hauptplatz ein und führt durch ein altes Tor wieder zur Stadt hinaus,
hinunter ins Unterland.
Unaufhörlich fällt der Regen in schweren Tropfen vom grauen
Spätherbsthimmel. Das eintönige Geräusch der Regentropfen wirkt
traurig und melancholisch. Unlustig und kalt ist’s in den Gassen,
trotz des lauen Windes, der vom Oberland kommend jäh in die
dichten Wolken fährt, sie zerreißend und in zerstreuten Fetzen durch
das Tal hetzend.
Wie eine wilde Jagd sieht sich’s an. Kleine weiße Schleiergebilde
und wieder dunkle schwere Wolkenballen, die sich abermals bleiern
auf das Tal herniederwälzen. Und neuerdings umzieht sich der
Himmel mit noch schwärzeren Wolken. Langsam und schwer
senken sich die Nebelmassen tiefer und immer tiefer ins Tal und
lösen sich dann in dünnen grauen Regenschleiern.
 So ist es nun schon seit Tagen. Endlos traurige Tage sind es. Wie
ausgestorben liegt die kleine Stadt da. Nur ab und zu wagen sich ein
paar lose Buben ins Freie und versuchen ihr Spiel im Schmutz und
in den Pfützen, die sich überall angesammelt haben. Öfters steuert
auch ein einsamer Bürger im gemächlichen Schritt, wohl beschirmt
und vermummt gegen Wind und Wetter der Innbrücke zu und sieht
mißtrauisch auf das unruhige Wasser.
Ein dumpfer Geruch von mitgeführten Erdmassen steigt aus den
braunen Fluten des Flusses. Lange wird’s nicht mehr dauern, und
Rattenberg kann in ein Klein-Venedig verwandelt werden, wie das
bei Überschwemmungen des Inn schon häufig der Fall war.
Völlig eingezwängt zwischen dem steil ansteigenden Schloßberg
mit seiner verfallenen Ruine und dem breiten Flußbett des Inns ist
das altertümliche Rattenberg. Zu dem breiten Hauptplatz streben die
engen Gassen mit ihren hohen Häusern, die an der Bergseite
vielfach ganz knapp an dem Felsen des Schloßberges liegen, auf
der Wasserseite nur durch einen Weg vom Inn getrennt sind.
Alte gewölbte Hausflure und enge krachende Stiegen finden sich
in diesen Häusern, die auf Jahrhunderte zurückschauen und noch
lebhafte Zeiten gesehen haben, da Rattenberg eine mittelalterliche
Handelsstadt war, wo die Warenfrachten nach dem Süden
durchgingen und vom Süden herauf. Auf diese Zeit schreiben sich
auch noch die vielen Wirtshäuser des alten Städtchens zurück, die
heute ein beschauliches Dasein zwischen den Bürgerhäusern
führen.
Die Sonne scheint spärlich in die kühlen Gassen von Rattenberg,
das im Schatten des felsigen Schloßberges liegt. Im Winter
verschluckt der Berg für geraume Zeit ganz und gar das Sonnenlicht
und verwehrt ihm den Zutritt in die alte Stadt.
Dumpf und feucht riecht es in den Häusern. Das Grundwasser
des Inns steigt in die Keller und von dort in die Mauern. Auf der
Bergseite nehmen sich die engen Höfe der Häuser, die sich
zwischen die Rückenmauern und den Felsen des Schloßberges
drängen, manchmal fast aus wie düstere Felsenschlünde.
 Alte, längst vergangene Zeit träumt in diesen Mauern, Gewölben
und Stuben. Sie liegt auf den Dächern und Zinnen, spinnt ihre
Erinnerungen um die ausladenden Erker der Häuser, hockt unter
den Toren und schleicht über Stiegen und Gänge.
Lang erstreckt sich am Inn das stattliche Kloster der Serviten,
und die Kuppeltürme der Klosterkirche bilden ein weithin sichtbares
Wahrzeichen von Rattenberg. Auf einem Felsen erhöht thront die
Pfarrkirche mit uralten Gräbern in ihrem Schutz.
Drüben aber am andern Ufer des Inn breitet sich das Tal aus,
freundlich und sonnenhell. Weit verstreut erstrecken sich die Häuser
von Kramsach durch Wiesen und Obstanger. Stattliche Höfe und
wiederum kleine Bauernhäuser mit ihrem traulichen Holzbau auf
dem weißen Mauergrund des Erdgeschosses.
Über Hügel sacht ansteigender Wald führt zu den drei
Reinthalerseen ... träumerischen Augen der Bergwelt im Schweigen
der Waldeinsamkeit.
Felsige Anstiege recken sich zum mächtigen Sonnwendjoch. Zu
seinen Füßen breitet sich dichter Nadelwald mit dem Einschnitt des
Brandenberger Tales. Wo sich dieses Bergtal öffnet und das
schmale steinige Bauernstraßel in die Höhe führt, da liegt wie ein
stiller Gruß romantischer Weltabgeschiedenheit das alte
Frauenklösterlein Mariathal mit seiner stattlichen Kirche und den
paar Häusern der kleinen Gemeinde.
Wald und Berg, Wiesengrund und fruchtbares Ackerland. Ein
liebes lachendes Land das Unterinntal, in dessen Mitte als ein altes,
unberührtes Juwel das schattige Nest Rattenberg gebettet ist. Ein
verblichenes Schmuckstück in längst verschollener Fassung ... auf
dem grünen Samtgrund des breiten Tales ... selbst grau, dämmernd,
verwittert ...
Und drunten, weiter drunten im Unterland, da schließt das
herrliche Panorama des Kaisergebirges die Talsicht ...
Vom Turm der Rattenberger Pfarrkirche tönt jede Viertelstunde
der dumpfe Schlag der Glocke. Und manchmal hört man gedämpft
das Rollen der Eisenbahn, die außerhalb der Stadt, knapp an der
erhöht stehenden Kirche vorbei in einem Tunnel den Schloßberg
durchquert.
Die Zeit der Maschinen und des Weltverkehrs stampft, saust und
rattert durch den Leib des Berges, auf dem die alte Schloßruine
träumt. Von vergangenen Jahrhunderten träumt, als da droben
Wilhelm Biener, der Kanzler von Tirol, ein Opfer welscher Tücke und
welscher Ränke, sein blutiges Ende fand. Ein edles Haupt fiel durch
das Beil des Henkers, wo heute karge, rissige, von Wind und Wetter
zerklüftete Mauertrümmer in den Himmel ragen.
Nach den endlos grauen Regentagen war heute zur
Mittagsstunde Leben in die stille Stadt gekommen. Ein Wagen
fahrender Leute, von einem Pferd gezogen und geführt von einem
großen, finster dreinschauenden Mann, war langsam durch die
Hauptstraße gefahren und zum Stadttor hinaus gewandert. Mit
Peitschenknallen und Hüh und Hott hatte der Mann sich bemerkbar
gemacht. Neugierig schauten die Leute zu Türen und Fenstern
heraus, und die Gassenbuben liefen ihm nach und begleiteten ihn
mit Gejohl trotz des Regengusses bis vor das Stadttor hinaus.
Dort lagerten nun die fahrenden Leute. Die Straßenjugend von
Rattenberg wich nicht von ihnen. Eine solche Begebenheit war
selten und mußte ausgekostet werden. Da spürten die Buben keine
Nässe und auch keinen Hunger. Nur ab und zu lief so ein kleiner
Bengel als Berichterstatter hinein ins Städtchen und erzählte
atemlos von dem Tun und Treiben der Karrner.
Aber auch für die Erwachsenen, für die ehrsamen Bewohner und
Bürger der kleinen Stadt bildete das Eintreffen der fahrenden Leute
ein Ereignis, nur daß sie die naive Freude über die erwünschte
Abwechslung nicht so unverhohlen zum Ausdruck brachten, wie die
liebe Jugend dies tat. Man war jedoch froh, freute sich innig und
kindlich über die Sensation des Tages und hoffte nur sehnlich, daß
der Himmel ein Einsehen haben und daß der Regen bis zum Abend
aufhören möchte.
Der Himmel hatte kein Einsehen. Es regnete und regnete in
einem fort, und der Inn draußen vor der Stadt stieg zu einer immer
bedenklicheren Höhe an.
 Trotz der Unbill des Wetters durchzogen die fahrenden Leute in
später Nachmittagstunde mit lautem Trommelgewirbel die Stadt.
Voran der große, finstere Mann, ein Hüne von Gestalt, hellblond, mit
gelblich braunem Gesicht und harten, stahlblauen Augen. Tiefe
Furchen waren in dem wetterfesten, knochigen Antlitz eingegraben.
Ein dichter, rötlich blonder Schnurrbart fiel über die dicken
aufgeworfenen Lippen. Ein dunkler, abgetragener Filzhut saß ihm
tief in der Stirne, und sein langer Wettermantel verlieh ihm ein noch
unheimlicheres Aussehen.
Mit aller Kraft und mit einer Art verbissenen Ingrimms schlug der
Mann die Trommel. Hinter ihm führte ein schwarzes, schlankes
Mädel, als Knabe gekleidet, das mit bunten Bändern geschmückte
kleine Pferd, auf dem ein allerliebstes, blondes Büblein saß.
Weißblond waren die Haare und fein und zart die Glieder des
ungefähr fünfjährigen Kindes.
Der kleine Kerl war in blasse, rosafarbene Trikots gesteckt, mit
bloßen Füßen und ohne jeden Schutz gegen den Regen. So saß
das hellblonde Bübel auf dem braunen Bosniakenrößlein und
verteilte große, bunte Zettel unter die Straßenjugend, die von allen
Seiten herbeiströmte und mit bewundernden Blicken nach dem
kleinen Reitersmann schaute.
Das Bübel schien sich trotz der allgemeinen Bewunderung nicht
sehr wohl auf seinem erhöhten Sitz zu fühlen. Das von der Sonne
leicht gebräunte Gesichtel war blaurot vor Kälte, und der kleine
Mund verzog sich krampfhaft und unterdrückte nur mühsam das
Weinen. Die hellblauen Augen schauten verzagt und wie um Hilfe
flehend auf das braune Mädel, das das Pferd sorgsam am Zügel
führte.
Das Mädel nickte dem blonden Brüderchen aufmunternd zu, und
manchmal blieb es etwas zurück und streichelte ganz verstohlen die
nackten Beinchen des Buben.
„Sei nur stad, Tonl!“ flüsterte sie dann. „’s dauert nimmer lang,
nacher kommst hoam zur Muatter!“ Dann war das flinke Ding wieder
mit einem Sprung vorne beim Pferd und führte es am Zügel.
 Das junge Gassenvolk hatte seine helle Freude an den
fremdartigen Kollegen. Ein Mädel in Bubenkleidern war nichts
Alltägliches in Rattenberg.
Einige unter den Buben, die ganz frechen, versuchten eine
Annäherung und zogen das Mädel erst schüchtern und dann immer
dreister an einem der kurzen, dicken Zöpfe oder zwickten sie derb in
die Waden.
Da kamen sie aber schlecht an. Das Mädel verstand sich zu
wehren. Wie eine junge Wildkatze war sie, kratzte und zwickte und
stieß um sich mit einer Fertigkeit, wie es kaum die geübtesten
Raufer unter den Buben hätten besser machen können. Wär’ auch
kein echtes Karrnerkind gewesen, wenn es sich von den paar
Lausbuben hätte unterkriegen lassen.
Das mochte der finstere Mann, der vorausging und unbekümmert
seine Trommel schlug, wohl auch denken. Es entging ihm nicht, wie
die Buben immer dreister hinter dem Mädel drein waren, aber er
kümmerte sich nicht darum; tat, als bemerke er es nicht, und hieb
nur um so energischer auf seine Trommel ein.
Heida, war das ein lustig Völkel, wie es trotz des strömenden
Regens durch die alte Stadt zog. Das Mädel lachte schadenfroh und
fletschte dabei die Zähne gleich einem jungen Raubtier, und die
schwarzen Augen funkelten nur so in dem braunen Gesicht.
Am Stadtplatz, dort wo sich der schöne Blick in die Hauptstraße
bot mit ihren alten Häusern und Erkern und mit den alten,
kunstvollen Schildern aus Schmiedeisen, machte der muntere Zug
halt. Der Mann mit der Trommel schlug noch ein paar extra kräftige
Wirbel und fing dann mit lauter Stimme an, seine Einladung für die
heutige Abendschaustellung vorzubringen.
Hier am Hauptplatz sollte die Vorstellung stattfinden. Seilkünstler
und jugendliche Akrobaten würden ihre Künste sehen lassen. Der
kleine Reitersmann schlug schon jetzt einen Purzelbaum über den
andern auf dem Rücken des Pferdes, um eine Probe seiner
Kunstfertigkeit zum besten zu geben. Das wirkte derart aufreizend
auf einzelne der Buben, daß sie trotz Regen, Schmutz und Pfützen
den fremden Künstlern gleichfalls mehrere Purzelbäume vorführten.
Vor dem Stadttor lagerten die Karrner. Dort stand das fahrende
Heim, auf welches das braune Mädel sein frierendes Brüderlein
vertröstet hatte. Ein grüner, schon recht baufälliger Wagen. Kleine
Fenster mit roten Vorhängen waren an dem alten Rumpelkasten
angebracht. Ein rauchender Kamin von Eisenblech reckte sich aus
der Dachlucke. Zu der schlecht schließenden Tür des Wagens führte
eine kleine wacklige Leiter empor.
Dies war das Heim der fahrenden Künstler und bot ihnen Schutz
gegen Sturm und Regen. Gesundes Blut gedeiht überall, wächst auf
wie Unkraut und vermehrt sich gleich ihm. Kümmert sich nicht um
Lebensbehagen und um die einfachsten Satzungen der Hygiene.
Krankheit ist ein unbekanntes Ding unter den Karrnern.
Erstaunlich viele Menschen birgt so ein fahrendes Heim. Schier
stolpern sie einander über die Füße. Die Inneneinrichtung des
Wanderkastens war höchst einfach. Ein Tisch, ein altes
abgebrauchtes Ledersofa und mehrere Holzstühle und Rohrsessel,
die schon halb zerbrochen waren. Knapp neben einem Fenster
stand ein kleiner eiserner Herd. Der Rauch mußte nur schlechten
Abzug durch den Kamin finden, denn der enge Raum war eingehüllt
von beißenden Schwaden.
Anschließend an dieses Gemach befand sich durch eine Tür
getrennt noch ein Abteil. Da drinnen war es ganz dunkel. Es war
eigentlich die Theatergarderobe der fahrenden Leute. Der enge
Raum war zum größten Teil angefüllt mit Schachteln, Lumpen und
alten Kleidern. Ein breites, unordentlich gemachtes Bett stand an der
Längsseite der Wand. Zu dessen Füßen erstreckte sich auf dem
Boden ein Strohsack mit einem Polster und einer alten Pferdedecke.
Darauf balgten sich ein paar größere Kinder, zankten und schlugen
sich und verursachten einen Heidenlärm.
Draußen im Wohnraum beim Herd stand die Mutter der Kinder,
eine große, schwarze Frau, derb und üppig, in nachlässiger Haltung,
mit schlampig gekämmtem Haar und in schmutzigen,
herabhängenden Kleidern. Auf dem linken Arm hielt sie einen
Säugling, der sich an ihrer Brust festsog. Mit der freien rechten Hand
rührte sie in einer Pfanne Milch und Mehl zu einem Mus für das
Abendessen. An ihrem Rock hielten sich ein paar kleine Kinder fest
und zerrten an ihr, daß sie ihr den schmutzigen Kittel halb vom Leib
rissen.
Ein anderes kleines Kind, das noch nicht gehen konnte und mit
einem farbigen Hemdchen nur notdürftig bekleidet war, saß
gravitätisch auf dem Sofa und schlug mit einem Kochlöffel um sich,
unaufhörlich und nach allem, was ihm in die Nähe kam. Und es kam
immer etwas in die Nähe. Eines der kleinen oder der größeren
Kinder. Unbarmherzig hieb der kleine Wicht am Sofa auf die Köpfe
seiner Geschwister. Die brüllten dann jedesmal aus Leibeskräften,
liefen zur Mutter und wischten sich an deren Rockfalten die Tränen
ab oder die schmutzigen kleinen Nasen.
Die Frau am Herd ließ sich durch keinen Lärm aus ihrer Ruhe
bringen. Sie kochte unbeirrt weiter und preßte den Säugling mit dem
linken Arm fest an ihre Brust.
Ein struppiger, häßlicher Köter umsprang mit lautem Gebell die
kleinen, weißblonden Kinder, hüpfte an ihnen empor und drängte
sich wedelnd und mit der Zunge leckend zwischen sie. An einem der
rot verhangenen Fenster baumelte in einem winzigen Vogelkäfig ein
einsamer Kreuzschnabel und zirpte seinen sehnsüchtig
wehmutsvollen Sang.
Die Karrnerin stand mit einer Art stolzer und hoheitsvoller
Genugtuung vor dem Herd. Wie eine Königin in ihrem Reich, so kam
sie sich inmitten ihrer Kinderschar vor.
Es war aber auch eine ganz besondere Stellung, die sie unter
ihren Standesgenossen einnahm. Einen Wagen, einen richtigen,
echten Wagen als Wohnstätte und ein lebendes Pferd hatte sie. Zu
solchem Besitz brachten es nur wenige unter den Karrnern. Es war
auch gar nicht so lange her, seit sie zu diesem Wohlstand
gekommen waren. Früher zogen sie herum wie die andern
fahrenden Leute. Da besaßen sie nur einen Handkarren, der mit
einem großen Segeltuch überspannt war und drunter die wenigen
Habseligkeiten der Familie barg.
 Den Karren zogen sie gemeinsam, sie und ihr Gaudenz, den sie
ihren Gatten nannte, obwohl weder Kirche noch Staat diesen Bund
besiegelt hatten. Aber bei den Karrnern nimmt man das nicht so
genau. Das sind freie, ungebundene Menschen, sind Menschen
ohne den Zwang strenger Sitten.
Die führen ihr ungebundenes Leben von Jugend an. Und wenn
sich Männlein und Weiblein gefunden haben, so ziehen sie
zusammen ihren wilden Ehestandskarren, ohne Pfarrer und
Gemeinde erst lange um Erlaubnis zu fragen. Und trotzdem halten
sie fest aneinander. Ohne Schwur und Gelübde nehmen sie es mit
der Treue genauer, als viele in strenger Sitte und Zucht auferzogene
Kulturmenschen.
Gemeinsam getragene Not ist ein fester Kitt. Und es ist ein
hartes Leben, das diese Tiroler Zigeuner führen. Von Ort zu Ort
ziehen sie. Durch das ganze Land wandern sie und noch weit über
die Grenzen hinaus in fremde, unbekannte Gegenden.
Überall sind sie geächtet und überall gemieden. Aber sie
ertragen alles, Not und Hunger, Frost und Regen, Sonnenglut und
Straßenstaub, Schande und Verachtung. Ihr Freiheitstrieb ist so groß
und unbändig, daß sie lieber in Gottes freier Natur elend zugrunde
gehen, als daß sie sich den Gesetzen einer geordneten
Lebensweise unterwerfen würden.
In Gottes freier Natur, ohne Hausdach, ohne Hilfe und Beistand
bringt die Karrnerin ihre Kinder zur Welt. Es müssen kerngesunde,
lebenskräftige Kinder sein. Wer nicht ganz fest ist, geht zugrunde. In
Wind und Wetter, Schnee und Regen und im glühenden
Sonnenbrand, ohne Furcht, in Freiheit und Ungebundenheit, so
wächst das Karrnerkind auf.
Von der Hand in den Mund lebt die ganze Familie. Kann der
Vater keinen Verdienst finden, so ziehen die Kinder zum Betteln aus,
und wenn’s nicht anders geht, auch zum Stehlen. Sie lernen wenig
Gutes von den Menschen. Überall werden ihnen die Türen vor der
Nase zugeschlagen, oder man wirft ihnen Gaben hin wie jungen
Hunden. Und gierig wie junge Hunde schnappen sie darnach. Denn
immer sind sie hungrig, und die kleinen Mägen knurren ihnen oft
unbarmherzig.
Seit Gaudenz Keil, der Karrner aber den genialen Einfall hatte,
sich ein Pferd und einen Wagen zu erstehen und seine Kinder zu
Akrobaten heranzubilden, seit jener Zeit ging es ihm und seiner
Familie viel besser. Woher der Gaudenz das Geld auftrieb zum Kauf,
wußte niemand. Das Korbflechten und Pfannenflicken brachte ihm
jedenfalls keine Reichtümer ein. Aber der Gaudenz war von jeher ein
ganz gerissener Bursche gewesen, und einer seiner obersten
Grundsätze war, sich nicht erwischen zu lassen.
Erwischt hatte ihn niemand. Und Benedikta Zöttl, die Karrnerin,
die vielleicht über den plötzlichen Reichtum hätte Auskunft geben
können, war verschwiegen wie das Grab. Sie hielten zusammen,
diese beiden, trotz Zank und Streit und trotz mancher wüsten
Szenen, die es oft zwischen ihnen gab. Die gehörten jedoch mit zur
rechten Karrnerliebe. Streit und Prügel. Der Karrner muß fühlen, daß
er der Herr im Hause ist.
Gaudenz Keil war eine ausgesprochene Herrennatur. Das
Regiment, das er führte, war ein strenges. Wenn er seinen
schlechten Tag hatte, dann fürchteten sie sich alle vor ihm. Die
Benedikta und die Kinder, die großen wie die kleinen. Sogar der
kleine, struppige Köter zog den Schweif ein und verkroch sich. Der
Herr hatte einen festen Fuß, und so ein Stoß oder Tritt tat weh.
Am widerspenstigsten war von jeher die Sophie gewesen. Das
war das braune zwölfjährige Mädel, das als Bub verkleidet herumlief.
Die hatte wirklich den Satan im Leib.
Wenn Gaudenz Keil ganz besonders schief gewickelt war, dann
rannte sie ihm sicher im Weg herum, reizte ihn auf irgendeine Weise
oder spielte ihm sonst einen Possen. Über die Sophie entlud sich
dann gewöhnlich der ganze Groll des Karrners. Er schlug und
prügelte sie unbarmherzig, wohin er sie nur traf. Drosch auf sie ein in
blinder Wut, daß das Kind heulte vor Schmerz und es doch nicht
lassen konnte, ihn immer und immer wieder in rasenden Zorn zu
bringen.
 Sie haßten sich gegenseitig, der Gaudenz und die Sophie.
Gaudenz Keil haßte das Mädel, weil es der lebende Zeuge war, daß
Benedikta Zöttl ihre Gunst einmal einem andern Manne geschenkt
hatte.
Sie war schön gewesen, die Benedikta. Ein südländischer Typus,
wie er unter den Karrnern nicht oft anzutreffen ist. Meist sind diese
Zigeuner der Tiroler Berge hellblond, von einem unschönen,
schmutzigen Blond. Ihre Gesichter sind knochig und häßlich, die
Haut ist von der Sonne gelb gebrannt.
Benedikta Zöttl war ein wildes, unbändiges Mädel gewesen. Ihr
heißes Blut hatte sie schon in früher Jugend von einem Mann zum
andern getrieben, flüchtig und unstät, bis der Gaudenz kam und sie
mit sich führte.
Das kleine, braune Ding, die Sophie, mußte er allerdings mit in
den Kauf nehmen. Das Mädel war ihm ein Dorn im Auge. Es bildete
zwischen ihm und der Benedikta einen Zankapfel auf Weg und Steg.
Die Sophie haßte den finstern, harten Mann, der so roh und
grausam werden konnte. Das heiße, unbändige, wilde Blut der
Mutter hatte sich auf die Tochter vererbt. Der Gaudenz hatte die
Benedikta gezähmt. Es gibt ein sicheres Mittel, wildes Karrnerblut zu
bändigen. Kinder auf Kinder entsproßten dieser freien Ehe. Die
Mutterpflichten hatten das Weib milder und gefügiger gemacht.
Benedikta Zöttl war mit den Jahren ziemlich stumpfsinnig
geworden. Nur wenn es der Gaudenz in seiner brutalen Art zu weit
trieb, wenn er wie ein gereiztes Tier blindwütig Hiebe und Fußtritte
austeilte und die Kinder sich wimmernd und heulend verkrochen,
dann stellte sie sich dem Manne furchtlos gegenüber, schlug wohl
auch kräftig mit einem Stock oder einem Scheit Holz oder sonst
einem Gegenstand, der ihr gerade zur Hand war, auf ihn ein. Bis
dann doch schließlich seine Kraft die Übermacht gewann.
Der Tonl, das hellblonde Bübel, hatte am meisten Angst vor dem
Vater. Bei jedem rauhen Wort zitterte er und kämpfte mit den Tränen.
Und gerade der Tonl war es, den die Sophie am meisten ins Herz
geschlossen hatte. Seinetwegen hatte sie schon viele Prügel vom
Vater eingeheimst. Der Tonl, so putzig und zierlich er aussah, so
herzlich ungeschickt war er. Das Akrobatentum wollte ihm gar nicht
einleuchten. Und jedes neue Kunststück hatte er nur dadurch erlernt,
daß er des Vaters harte Faust zu spüren kriegte.
Auch heute wieder stellte sich der Tonl ganz besonders
ungeschickt an. Gleich nach dem Umzug in der Stadt hielt der
Karrner draußen vor dem Tor eine Generalprobe für den heutigen
Abend. Mitten in Wind und Regen. Das störte ihn nicht.
Mit harten Worten rief er seine Kinder zusammen. Der Tonl
machte ein weinerliches Gesicht. Er war ganz durchnäßt, und es fror
ihn jämmerlich. Der Tonl war überhaupt ein bissel aus der Art
geschlagen. Empfindlich wie ein Stadtkind. So gar kein richtiger
Karrnerbub. Das ärgerte den Gaudenz. Für das Zimperliche und
Überfeine besaß er nicht den geringsten Sinn. Der Tonl hatte sich
schon die ganze Zeit her auf die warme Stube und einen Bissen Brot
gefreut. Und nun hieß es wieder an die Arbeit gehen, ausharren im
Regen trotz Hunger und Kälte.
Die Sophie sah die Enttäuschung des kleinen Bruders. Wie ein
Wiesel rannte sie dem Vater davon, sprang mit ein paar Sätzen über
die Stufen der Leiter hinein zur Mutter und brachte dann
triumphierend ein großes Schwarzbrot für den Tonl.
Das hellblonde Bübel kaute und kaute und putzte sich die Nase.
Schips, der struppige Köter, erhielt auch ab und zu einen Bissen,
weil er gar so schön betteln konnte. Und die Sophie stand vor dem
Bruder, der mitsamt seinem schönen Staat auf dem aufgeweichten
Erdboden saß, und suchte den Tonl vor den Blicken des Vaters zu
verstecken. Denn der Vater duldete keine „Fresserei“ während der
Arbeit. Das wußten die beiden Kinder, und deshalb würgte der Tonl
auch das Brot hinunter, so rasch er nur konnte.
Trotzdem entdeckte der Karrner den kleinen Sünder. Der
Gaudenz stand abseits und probierte mit zweien seiner Söhne, die
auch nicht älter als sieben und acht Jahre sein mochten,
verschiedene Kunststücke. Nun rief er die Sophie herbei. Das Mädel
war der Kraftathlet der jungen Künstlerschar. Sie hatte die Aufgabe,
zwei ihrer Geschwister mit freien, weit vor sich hingestreckten