Jason tracked the signal for half an hour, finally spotting the fire-red Ferrari parked in a desolate mountain pullout. Avril sat on the guardrail, staring up at the starry sky, her feet dangling over a sheer drop into a hundreds-of-meters-deep abyss. A case of Corona beer rested in her lap, most of the bottles already empty.
Jason eased off the gas, pulling the Mercedes to a quiet stop by the roadside.
Avril, her face flushed from booze, turned and saw Jason and Harley approaching. Shock flickered across her features before morphing into rage. "You fucking stalker fans, quit tailing me!" She screamed.
Fans? Sorry, sweetheart—one’s a fake fan, and the other’s just a passerby.
Jason drew a silenced pistol, aiming it at her head. "No dice, princess. We’re kidnappers."
The black muzzle of the gun sobered her up fast. "Oh, shit!" Avril yelped, leaping off the guardrail. She grabbed an empty beer bottle and chucked it at Jason before bolting for her car door.
The bottle spun through the air, only to land neatly in Jason’s hand. He raised an eyebrow. ’That’s it?’
Avril yanked at the car door, but Harley slammed her foot against it, pinning it shut. "Look, idol, I really don’t wanna hurt you," Harley said, her voice sweet but firm. "Just come with us nice and easy, yeah?"
"Fuck you, bitch!" Avril snarled, swinging a fist at Harley.
Harley, not wanting to harm her idol, dodged and blocked, retreating defensively. Avril, misreading their age and assuming they were weak, thought she saw an opening. If she could snatch Jason’s gun, maybe she could turn the tables and fuck them up.
But as hope sparked in her eyes, a pair of strong hands clamped onto her shoulders. "Harley, it’s getting late—quit screwing around!" Jason growled. He swung the empty beer bottle, smashing it against the back of Avril’s head with a dull thunk.
Her eyes rolled back, and she crumpled, out cold.
’Damn, a bottle works better than chloroform,’ Jason thought, tossing it aside. He hoisted Avril’s limp body and dumped her into the Mercedes’ trunk, securing her with handcuffs and rope before gagging her with a rag.
With that done, he and Harley hopped into the car and sped toward an abandoned factory in the suburbs.
---
At the factory, Christine was perched on the hood of a car, her stunning face frosted with irritation. She was clearly still pissed about Jason’s earlier brush-off, her icy demeanor practically radiating fuck-you vibes. Too bad Jason was a stone-cold asshole who didn’t give a shit about her mood swings.
All he cared about was bleeding Avril’s bank account dry.
"You’re quick," Jason said, popping the trunk.
Avril was still out, either from his heavy hand or her own drunken stupor. "Was nearby," Christine replied, her voice clipped. She’d changed clothes and slipped on a human skin mask—her real face couldn’t be exposed unless Jason was planning to kill Avril.
Jason hauled Avril out, tossing her onto a rusty iron chair in a derelict room. He untied the ropes and gag, cuffing her to the chair instead. The factory was in the middle of nowhere—five kilometers of desolation. She could scream her lungs out, and no one would hear shit.
He took a swig of bottled water, swished it around, and spat it in Avril’s face. "Rise and shine, princess."
Avril stirred, groaning, her eyes fluttering open to see three strangers. Two she recognized from the club—those fucking kidnappers. "You pieces of shit!" She spat. "How dare you kidnap me? Let me go, or—"
Slap. Jason’s hand cracked across her face, leaving a red handprint on her pale cheek, blood trickling from her lip. "Open your fucking eyes and look around. Where do you think you are?"
Harley tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft. "Babe, you promised you wouldn’t hurt her."
"I know what I’m doing," Jason snapped. "She needs a lesson, or she’ll think she’s still on her fucking concert stage."
The slap shut Avril up, though her eyes burned with venomous rage.
Jason leaned in close. "Listen up. We don’t want your life—just your money. Pure and simple."
Avril’s shoulders relaxed slightly, her voice small. "How much?"
"One hundred million dollars," Jason said. "Get your family to wire it to my account, and you walk away untouched."
America’s hottest pop star had to be loaded, right? A hundred mil was the bare minimum.
Avril gave a bitter laugh. "You think singers are that rich? I don’t have a hundred million. My label takes most of the cash. After taxes and expenses, I’ve got maybe ten million in liquid cash. If you give me time, I could sell my houses and cars—might scrape together thirty million tops."
Wait? So the cops could show up? Fuck that.
Jason smirked. "No money? Fine. I’ll make you earn it. You’re America’s darling, right? Plenty of rich bastards—especially those real estate tycoons and rich old men—would pay a million to fuck a pop star like you. Ten clients a day, and in a year, you’re free and clear."
Avril’s face paled, her voice trembling. "You said you’d let me go unharmed."
Jason grabbed her hair, yanking hard. "I said that if you pay up. Skimp on one fucking dollar, and I’ll make your life a living hell."
Avril whimpered, her body shaking as the reality sank in. These weren’t her pushover bodyguards or adoring fans—they were ruthless fucking criminals.
Harley opened her mouth to protest, but Christine shot her a look that said, ’Shut the fuck up.’ Having grown up with Jason, Christine knew him inside and out. He was a brutal, heartless bastard who’d do anything to get what he wanted, even if it meant selling Avril into a nightmare to scrape together that hundred million.
This man was a fucking beast, with no shred of mercy for anyone.
You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17