Taken

Squee! I looked fabulous! I couldn't help but admire myself in the mirror.
Strike a pose! Hell, strike several. Ooh, ah, that looks so good. Here, let me
share what I'm seeing with ya.
I was five-seven and weighed around one-hundred and thirty pounds. I
was either a size four or five, depending on the article of clothing. I was fit,
martial arts for the past thirty-three years, with a narrow waist, nicely curved
hips, and pleasantly plump 'C'-cup breasts. Yeah, I know, a girl isn't supposed
to give out her true age, weight, and dress size. But, then, I rarely do what I'm
supposed to. Besides, I looked too good not to brag. I didn't have any
complaints about my body; which is odd for a girl, but I wouldn't change
anything. Anyway, back to the phenomenal outfit I just put together.
My perfectly red hair was braided in two pigtails just above each ear. I
even put small plastic rods in the bases so they stuck out a little. At the end of
each braid, I tied black ribbons with these cute little bells. My face I painted
white with little black stars and crescent moons around my left eye and a black
diamond around my right eye. My lips I put on some seriously red lipstick. I
chose a fantastic red silk bra with lace trimming. Over that, I had this black mesh
shirt. The shirt was loose, long-sleeved, and mid-rift; there was an elastic band
hemmed into the bottom of the shirt that clung just under my bra. It was all meant
to be revealing; on the account of me wanting to get laid tonight.
My bottoms were these black spandex pants with red diamonds. I loved
the skin-tight feeling. Under them I wore red thongs that matched my bra. Brad,
the guy I was hoping to get laid by tonight, was very visual. He's pointed out
more than once that he could see my panty-lines, which turned him on a little. I
have found, however, that thongs tend to turn men on more. On my feet, I went
with some red water shoes. The girl at the store called them water socks, but
whatever. They were basically red spandex shoes with thin black rubber soles. I
normally would have worn high heels, but you can't play a good harlequin in high
heels. You had to be really damn good to do acrobatics in high heels. I was
good, but not that good.

So, feeling absolutely fantastic, I snapped my little red and black fannypack around my waist and skipped out the door. What? You couldn't hold a
purse or have a satchel strapped over your shoulder when you were doing handstands and cartwheels. Twenty minutes later, surprisingly good in New York
traffic, I pulled up to the Masquerade Club. A party of epic proportions was
already underway, and it was only shortly after eight. The valet gave me my
ticket as soon as I stepped out of the car and drove off with my baby. I had to
remember to try and stay in character, so I skipped up to the bouncers and
handed over my invitation with a bow; the invitation that cost a four digit
donation. The big guy with the smoothly shaved chin punched my invitation and
unhooked the velvet rope so I could enter.
Enter I did, with a smile and jingling pigtails. Let's see, security was kind
of loose and I counted six exits on the ground level alone. Damnit, this was
supposed to be a party; fun. So, stop with the engrained protocols. Bar, dance
floor, DJ next to stage with instruments, low lighting, thumping rave music.
Apparently, I did as expected; missed the organization's social dinner and ball
and arrived just in time for the after-party. Digging out my cell phone, I thumbed
in a text and sent it off to Stacey. Just getting a drink from the bar, she text
back saying she was on the second level and across from the bar. So, off I went.
Man, the stairs were kind of crowded; fire hazard, people. Okay, there was my
best friend forever and wannabe sister. Stacey stood and we both squealed as
we hugged.
Damn did she look good. Her blonde hair was twisted up into a bun that
had a short tail sticking out the top of it. Her mask was 'phantom of the opera'
type that only covered half of her face, but was silver and gold. Her elegant
white dress was mid-calf with a slanted hem and hip-high slit. The top of it was a
single shoulder and sleeve, which just happened to be the opposite side of her
mask; giving her a slanted kind of look. The sheer white jacket she wore gave it
that right touch of fancy. And, of course, around her neck was the gold chain
and cross of her mother's. Stacey never went anywhere without it.
"I love it," I told her, holding her at arm's length and looking her over. "How
was the dinner?"

"Boring and uneventful," she waved off. "You would've hated it. Where's
Brad? I thought he was coming with you."
"He's meeting us here, said he'd be a little later."
"Well, we'll save him a seat."
As I sat down next to her at the table she was holding, I couldn't help but
notice a few things. Dad pounded it into me that the little things could get you
killed, or save your life. So, attention to detail was just something I did without
thinking. Which, I wasn't always grateful for, by the way. Now, however, I saw
four chairs when the table next to us had three. The extra chair could be
explained, but it stuck with me as Stacey crossed her arms and leaned on the
table. She didn't like to cross her arms, saying it was an invitation for guys to
look at your boobs pressed together.
"Okay, Stace," I started, leaning closer to her. "Spill it, what's up with
this nervousness?"
"Nervous? Who's nervous? I'm not..." She stopped trying to fill me full of
crap when I raised an eyebrow. We knew each other better than anyone, so it
was pointless to argue the point. "Fine, alright, I'm meeting a client."
"Here? Not, like, at an auction house or, say, the actual gallery?" Stacey
was an art lover. She owned an art gallery here in New York and spent most of
her time showing off others' works rather than her own.
"I know, I know, but, he heard I would be attending the fund raiser and said
he would be coming, too. He said he couldn't wait to talk with me. It's an eight
piece Michel Morcus collection, Sam. That's a two-point-four million dollar
collection." I laughed at her as she bounced when she said 'million'. "With that
collection in my gallery, it's a half-mil investment; five hundred thousand dollar
investment. That's insane! He'd be my biggest investor yet."
"Want my knee-pads?" She answered that with a hard slap across my
arm. "I'm just saying, you know, sweeten the deal."
"You're horrid," she smiled. "And shameless. How can you walk around in
public like that? I know you're not modest, but just revealing your bra to the
world? You realize it shines when the lights hit it, right?"
"Added bonus," I shrugged. "I'm looking to score and figured, why not?"

"Because you're not a slut, and that's what your shirt is telling people.
Or, rather, lack of a shirt is telling people."
"Like I care."
"I've been telling you since high school, one day, it's going to matter what
people think of you. And what does it say about me when I'm seen with you?"
"That you do, in fact, have a wild side," I laughed with a run of my finger
on her chin. "You want me to be more conservative and I want you to lighten up.
So, what are we going to do about that?"
"I really hate you, you know that?" That would have stung, if she wasn't
smiling at me while she said it.
"I love you, too, Stace. And, deep down, you know you love the look."
"The face is a nice touch. What's with the bells?" She flicked one of my
pigtails and the bells on the end jingled.
"I'm a harlequin, I have to stand out."
"Oh!" she jumped. Her hand dove into the miniature purse hanging on her
shoulder and she pulled out her cell phone. With a swipe, she held it up to her
ear and covered the other. "Stacey Pierce...Yes! Hello, Mister Wells...Sure,
we could meet you there...Of course, we'll be right down."
She hung up and was putting her phone away as she stood up.
"You're coming with me."
"I am? I don't know anything about art, Stace. Besides, what about the
whole shirtless thing you were just riding me about?"
"It's my biggest score, Sam, I want you there. You might just distract him
enough to close the deal blind."
"Oh, so you want me to play eye candy."
"But, you're so good at it," she pouted. I rolled my eyes and left my drink.
"I knew you couldn't say 'no' to that."
"I can't say 'no' to you, bitch."
"Ah, with the language; I get it now. You need peanut butter."
"And chocolate. And semen."
"Whoa, ease off on the information there, Harley. What you do to Brad
on your 'alone' time is not for these ears to know."

"Just because you haven't had your cherry popped doesn't mean I can't
talk about mine getting popped repeatedly."
"I know we're sisters, and all, but, ew. I'll wait until I'm married, thank you
very much."
"Hugh Jackman is taken, Stace; it's not going to happen."
"Thanks for being honest, Sam," she chuckled.
"That's what I'm here for. And to show off my breasts, that too."
"Yep, so, push 'em up. Here we go. It's show time."
We walked down to the dance floor during our conversation and made our
way passed the stage. There was a hallway on either side of it, of which we took
the right. It kind of looked like a backstage area to me, with a short hall and many
doors. Stacey took us to a door marked with a '3' and knocked. The door
opened and a rather rough looking guy in a suit opened it. He was big, so he
was the muscle. That was confirmed when Stacey waved and the guy moved to
the side. We walked in and the opposite of the guy who answered was greeting
Stacey. Small guy, clean-shaven, slicked back black hair, nice suit; Mister
Wells looked pretty well off.
That's when Stacey snapped 'ow' and reached for her shoulder. Mister
Wells had went to pat her shoulder, or so I thought. As she started falling into
him, I saw the needle in his hand. Calling her name, I went after her; but was
stuck with my own needle. I tried spinning as soon as I felt the prick, but I was
grabbed from behind and held down until the light faded away.
****************************
When I woke up, I was hand-cuffed behind my back and lying on a
carpeted floor. Stacey was also hand-cuffed and still unconscious. The room
was a plain white room with no windows and no furniture. Two halogen lights in a
drop-down ceiling. Fancy door handle with no lock. Two outlets on each wall.
This looked like an office after renovation. I got to my knees and shuffled over
to Stacey. Calling her name quietly and nudging her with my shoulder a few
times got her to come around. She didn't have her mask on and her purse was

taken; as was my fanny-pack, come to think of it. They better not have done
anything with my car.
"What's going on? What is this place?" she started stammering as soon as
her eyes opened.
"It looks like an office of some sort," I gave back. What else could I say?
"What did they do to us?"
"Sedated us for easy transport; we couldn't fight back that way and we
wouldn't know where we were taken."
"Well, you're trained for this, right? You can get us out of here."
"I probably could, yes. But, without knowing what's outside, it wouldn't be
a good idea to just barge out."
"So, what do we do?"
"Stay calm, that's what you need to do. I know it sounds hard, but just
relax. Trust me."
"Yeah, okay." She nodded quickly, sitting up; but I could tell she was still
freaked out. Her breathing was faster, her heart was probably pounding, and
she was starting to sweat.
I got to my feet and moved toward the door. Directing my Kelonian
energy was something I learned before I was a teen. We don't show signs of it
until we hit our twelfth birthday, and my dad was on my ass from the moment my
Talent popped. I needed to be prepared. Well, turns out it was a good idea.
So, barely thinking about it, my hand-cuffs unlatched on one hand and my
hands were free.
Slowly turning the handle and opening the door enough I could see out, I
didn't make any noise. There was a large and open room outside. I was right, it
was an office building. The wall I could see was lined with doors and had cubicle
walls stacked up against it, waiting to be put up. Opening the door a little
further, the wall opposite us was executive offices. Those walls were made of
glass. Judging from what I saw through the windows, we were quite a ways up.
That's when I heard talking and tried shutting the door quickly without slamming
it. Trotting back over to Stacey, I reached behind my back and cuffed myself
again. She gave me a questioning look as I sat on my knees across from her.

"I said, trust me," I reminded her. "Until I know what's going on, it's not
safe for you if I try busting us out of here."
The door opened and a couple brutes came through. They were obvious
muscle in jeans and leather jackets; but they had pistols aimed at us. I could take
them, if their guns were holstered. Damnit, had to wait for an opening.
"What's going on here?" Stacey started blurting before they crossed the
twelve foot distance. "I'm the director of an art gallery, why'd you kidnap us?"
"Shut up," the goon who grabbed her arm snapped. The two of them
man-handled us out into the larger room.
Standing pretty much in the middle, they held our arms with one hand
while pressing their guns against our back with the other. A quick glance over to
Stacey told me she had the same threat to her back. She didn't exactly look
calm. She was afraid; can't say I blame her. I was afraid she would get hurt, too;
but I wasn't about to show it to these asshats.
"Just so you know," a familiar voice broke the silence. My head snapped
to the other side and I saw Brad standing with a wide grin. "I like your costume
very much. I'll enjoy taking you out of it, also."
"Fuck off, poster boy; that ship has sailed," I glared. "Is this how you
really pick up chics? Have to say, it's not working for me."
"You're not dumb enough to believe that. Though, I didn't think you
would be this calm. Stacey's eyes are about to bug out of her head, but you
don't seemed phased at all."
"I'm just not afraid of piss ants in business suits."
"What the fuck is this?!" a new guy shouted as he rounded the corner
behind Brad. He was older, probably fifties, but dressed in a very nice black
suit. "She...she was your in?" In? So, he was using me; obviously to get to
Stacey. Interesting.
"Yeah," Brad smiled again. "Thinking about keeping her."
"The hell you are," the new guy snapped. "Oh, this is bad. You really
fucked up on this one. Do you even know who she is?"
"She said her name was Samantha Castel."

"Of the House of Castel!" the new guy shouted, kind of surprising me.
So, he knew who I was. He must be a higher up, and Brad was an underling.
"You're too fucking young to know about them, but they're bad fucking news."
"She doesn't seem so bad," Brad shrugged while looking me over. That
old urge I had to ride him when he looked at me like that was totally gone now.
Amazing on how fast feelings can change.
"I have to call your father about this," the new guy was saying as he pulled
out his cell phone.
"No, you can't," Brad blurted, almost leaping over to the new guy. "I have
to pull off a job without his help. If you call him and tell him I fucked up, which I
don't know how I did, he'll never trust me."
"This isn't about trust," the new guy countered with a smack against the
side of Brad's head. I snickered. "They're goddamn assassins."
"Which is why," I interrupted. "You're first call should be to my father."
"So you can tell him where you are?" Brad spat first. "I don't think so."
"You're no longer cute when you're stupid," I shook. "He already knows
where I'm at. He's good at that. Calling him and having me tell him to stand down
is the only way you make it out of this alive."
"This is bullshit," Brad burst. "The next fucking call will be to Pierce. We
tell him we have his daughter, get paid, and get this fucking done." I laughed. He
looked at me funny.
"You picked the worst time to ask for a ransom," I informed them. "Her
dad just bought a new estate; since it's just him, and all. Paid in full, and hasn't
sold the old one yet. He has, at most, half-a-mil liquid. He can't pull from his
resources because you idiots decided to do this on a weekend. Really, did you
do any research on this at all?"
"Sam?" Stacey spoke softly with wide eyes.
"What?" I shrugged. "It's the way I think, remember?"
"Bullshit," Brad called.
"Whatever, newbie," I shrugged again. "Look, new guy, you know what's
going on. You call my dad, and I promise he won't kill you. You make any other
call, and deal's off."

"You're really going to listen to a damn hostage?" Brad tried with mouth
hanging open. "Give me that phone."
To his credit, the new guy smacked Brad's hand away and shoved him
pretty far with one hand. He wasn't a weak old guy. So, I gave him the courtesy
of not glaring at him as he came closer.
"What's the number?" he asked. I gave it to him and he dialed. Putting it on
speaker, he held it between us.

'I don't know this number,' my dad answered with. 'So I assume you have
something to do with my daughter's disappearance.'
"We were supposed to do breakfast," I told the new guy. "Hey, dad,
Stace and I were kidnapped by amateurs. I told the older guy you wouldn't kill
him if he called you first."

'So, who am I dealing with?'

"That's for you," I told the new guy.
"Call me Martin," the new guy greeted.

'What do you have to say, Martin? I'd make it good, or this goes bad for
you and your goons.' Ooh, he was close. I knew that, but they obviously didn't;
nobody moved. You were in a kill box, idiots. Well, we were in a very tall building;
they probably felt safe. People were always underestimating my dad. He had to
be right around the corner.
"Mister Castel, I was unaware that your daughter was the inside source
to this negotiation attempt. If I was, we would have chosen a different target. I
propose a deal to walk away with a little dignity, if you would. We let these two
go, with our apologies, never bother them again, and you do not pursue us."
"Fuck that," Brad snapped. "I'm getting fucking paid you old-"
Brad's head snapped back with a puff from a silenced pistol. Dad was
right behind us, and two more silenced shots went off as I acted. My energy uncuffed my hands and I grabbed Martin's arm. Pulling and twisting, I got him to his
knees with his arm pinned behind him. The whole two seconds it took, Stacey
was screaming. I waited for her to finish as dad came strolling over.
"You-you said he wouldn't-" Martin tried. I grabbed his chin with my free
hand and bent his head back slightly while leaning forward.

"That's right," I smiled. "He won't; but I will."

With a quick yank, his neck snapped and he collapsed. Stacey cried out
again, looking away as she shook.
"Your angle was off," my dad criticized.
"Got the job done."
Dad was unscrewing the silencer and putting his gun away. There must
not be anyone else. I noticed then that he was wearing one of his black business
suits, black shirt, and red tie; those were his work clothes.
"Seriously, dad?" I shot as I went over to Stacey. "You were going to
wear that to breakfast? Stace, hey, look at me. Calm down, you're fine;
everything's good now. Here, let me get those cuffs."
I turned her around so I could grab the cuffs. Using my energy again, the
cuffs came undone and I tossed them away. Stacey spun and hugged me tightly,
burying her head in my shoulder as she cried. I could feel her legs shake before
giving out entirely. Holding onto her so she didn't fall, I guided us to the floor so
she could sit and let it out. Dad pointed at the dead bodies and winked. He
would take care of them while I cared for Stacey. Her hair was still too fancy to
pet. So, I rubbed her shoulders and held her close.

Colombina
Three days later, I got a call. I was getting a milkshake, and Stacey some
latte that I could barely remember, on my way to meet her at the gallery. I no
more than stepped out of the cafe when my phone rang. Juggling my milkshake
into my other arm, I freed my hand to answer the phone.
"Hey, Stace, I'm almost-"

'Samantha, I take it?' a deep Russian voice interrupted me. I stopped

dead just outside of my car.
"Who is this?"

'Ivan Kartof.' Kartof? That was Brad's name. Oh, shit. 'You took my
son from me, Samantha.'
"He made a mistake, Ivan. Instead of owning up to it, he tried-"

'You shot him in the face!' Ivan Kartof screamed over the phone. 'I have
seen the body. It was a quick death. I will share that consideration. An eye for
an eye, Samantha. You took something I loved, so I take something you love.'
"No, Ivan, don't! I'll do anything! Take me instead! Ivan!"

'Sam, help me!' Stacey's voice echoed in the background. 'Sam! No!'
Stacey screamed right before the very loud gun shot. I jumped. Coffee
and milk splattered across the ground and I nearly dropped the phone. My
heart stopped and my chest tried collapsing. Tears instantly stung my eyes.
"No," I could only whisper into the phone.

'You should learn to mind your own business, or else people get hurt.'
The line went dead, and I wished that I joined it. I just stood, shaking. Did
that just happen? Was she... I had to find out, I had to see for myself. I never had
so much trouble getting my keys and unlocking the door, but I couldn't stop
shaking. Telling myself it couldn't happen over and over, I drove very
dangerously to the gallery.
I ditched the car, leaving it running, as I ran inside the gallery. First
responders were just pulling up, also. I didn't care about them shouting for me to
stop. I ran as fast as I could through the front doors. It took me a moment, but I
found Stacey among the several dead bodies. You couldn't tell it was her

unless you already knew her. She was wearing her favorite white jacket, now
mostly covered in blood.
I dropped to my knees next to her, tears blurring my vision. I was glad, in a
way, because her face was completely gone. They must have used a shotgun.
That's all I could think of, all I could pull from the scene as I grabbed her and
pulled her dead body close. I squeezed, wanting her to come back. She couldn't
be gone, she just couldn't.
I shrugged off the cops who tried pulling her away. Shrugged and
screamed. She was mine, damnit! She couldn't be gone. I shrugged and twisted
and screamed. I screamed with all I had; pure, guttural, rage. I screamed and
screamed, until I couldn't scream anymore.
******************************************
"Amen," the pastor finished. The cold wind threatened to blow away the
roses on her coffin. They held, however, as the coffin was lowered into the
ground. Traditionally, Stacey's dad was given the shovel to throw down the
first dirt. People started leaving at that point.
Mom and dad were standing at my sides. Mom was the one holding my
hand and rubbing my shoulders as I cried. Dad, as always, was watching for
threats. Eventually, it came down to us and Stacey's dad. He wandered over
when everyone else had gone. I broke away from mom so I could give him a hug.
He was such a sweet man, even if a little on the chubby side.
"I wanted to get you alone," he said as we parted. "I know it's as hard on
you as it is me. She saw you as a sister since high-school."
"I'm so sorry, Mister Pierce," was all I could say.
"She would have wanted you to have this." He slipped out a small box
from his pocket and handed it to me. I lifted the lid and saw her golden cross.
"Mister Pierce, I couldn't. It was your wife's."
"Who gave it to Stacey, who she loved most. My daughter didn't love
anyone more than you, Sam. She would want you to have it."

I nodded, feeling the cross with a finger. So many memories came back to
me just by looking at it. Memories I would cherish, because I would never get the
chance to make more with her. She was truly gone, which made me cry more.
"I wanted to thank you," he went on after a moment. "When she stopped
the other night, I could tell she was rattled. I pushed her until she told me what
happened. She made me swear not to talk about it, but I have to, at least, thank
you for what you did. You saved her. I'm grateful for that."
"I wished I could have saved her from this," I more mumbled with a glance at
her grave. What good was saving her if she died three days later?
"So this was revenge, then," he nodded, summing it up. "She told me
about you, you know. She said you were different, that you had gifts. She also
told me how your family had a reputation. How much?"
"What?"
"How much would it cost, to get the bastards that did this?"
"Mister Pierce," I started while pocketing the box and taking his hand in
mine. He just gave me what I needed, and I didn't even know I needed it. "You're
practically family, and I saw Stace as a sister, also. The guys that did this will
get what they deserve, I promise you that. All I want from you is distance. You
should take time to mourn. Go on a vacation, somewhere far away from here;
because my work can't start until you're gone and safe."
"Mourning, huh? What about your mourning?"
"Mine will be more hands-on. You don't want to know anymore. Stace
wouldn't want you involved."
"Alright," he nodded and tried to smile. "But, she wouldn't want you put
in the ground next to her trying to avenge her. I'll leave, on one condition; I see
you when I come back. Not a tombstone, not a phone call, not in the hospital."
"Don't worry about me, Mister Pierce. You take care of yourself."
He nodded and we hugged again. After a pat on my back, he took a
deep breath and said goodbye. I watched him walk away before turning back to
Stacey's grave. I pulled her necklace back out and put it on. Feeling it between
my fingers, I turned to mom and dad. Mom never really liked what dad did, but

tolerated it because she loved him. But, the look she gave me now actually made
me smile. She approved of my choice.
"Personal jobs are always the worst," dad was first to speak. "They cloud
judgment and force rash decisions. So, you want help with this?"
"Yes," I nodded. Then, narrowed my eyes as I thought. "I don't want to
take chances. But, I don't just want to take out Ivan Kartof; I want him to suffer.
I need your resources, your contacts; things I don't have. The rest I want to do
myself. This is personal, and I want to be the one who takes everything from him.
Can you stand back and let me?"
"I'm your father, Sam; I'll give you whatever you need."
"We both will, honey," mom added with a hand on dad's sleeve. "Even if
that's us getting out of your way."
"When I push him, he may come after you guys."
"Oh, please," mom waved.
"It wouldn't be the first time we've been threatened, Sam, and it won't be
the last. That's the life we lead."
"Yeah," I mumbled as I turned back to Stacey's grave. "I tried staying
away from this life, Stace; you knew that. You helped more than you know.
But, now... I'm not going to let that bastard get away with it."