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Chapter Eleven


It was almost nine o’clock at night when Marty rolled over and found a sheet of blonde hair in his face. He blinked awake and his eyes traveled down the shower of hair to the slim waist, the curve of tailbone disappearing under a swath of sheet fabric, wrapped around her hips. He yawned, and stretched, every muscle of his body tight, exhausted from the exertion of the night before. It came back to him slowly, in flashes of memories, making something stir in the depths of his stomach as he thought about the experience. This girl had been everything he’d hoped she would be when he watched her at the cafe, everything he’d dreamed. She was reckless, broken enough to see past the danger that a guy like him posed, eager enough to be excellent, and not at all jaded, like the way he feared Avery would be when she’d finished babysitting the moneymaker up north.

He stretched his arms, yawning, and rolled out of bed. He caught a glimpse of his ruffled hair in the mirror over the dresser and ran his hand through it. That morning, the room service people had left a copy of the morning paper, which he’d left on the floor by the door on his way out to the cafe. Now, he picked it up as he walked by into the bathroom, closing the door. He sat down on the toilet and unfolded the paper, shaking it out to read it.

Will Backstreet Boy Nick Carter ever be back again? read the headline. Beneath it was an incredibly outdated photo of Nick Carter from like the mid-90s. Marty smirked. The article detailed the fact that Nick’s PR agent, a guy named Jack, had released information that the Backstreet Boy had gone missing after witnessing the 7-Eleven shooting in Cincinnati and was now suspected to have been kidnapped. Local police were working on tracking the Bonnie-and-Clyde duo seen in the video feed - followed by a small shot of Avery’s grainy image from the security camera. Marty smirked. They were investigating other local robberies in hopes of discovering more about them - about him and Avery - like they were stupid enough to knock off anything close to the 7-Eleven in the wake of kidnapping Nick Carter. He folded the paper again and finished his bathroom business.

In the room, the girl had rolled over and was staring at him as he came around the corner. He tossed the paper onto the bed as he grabbed for his underwear and jeans from the floor and pulled them on. The girl, whose name he wasn’t positive he’d bothered to remember or even ask for, leaned over and grabbed the paper as Marty was zipping his fly.

“Too bad about Nick Carter, huh? You think he’s still alive wherever he is?” she asked, staring down at the page.

Marty shrugged.

“My mum’s a fan of them,” she commented. “New Kids on the Block, too.” She rolled her eyes.

Marty reached down to tie his boots.

“Why are you getting dressed?”

“I got some shit I gotta go take care of,” Marty replied.

“Shit like what?” she asked, “It’s night time.”

“Just shit,” he replied. He stood up and grabbed the paper out of her hands. “You gonna be here when I come back?” he asked.

She shrugged.

His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and looked down for the ID. Avery. He sent it to voicemail and looked back up at the girl. “Well. I hope you are.” With that, he turned and quickly left the room.

As he walked down the hallway to the elevator, he wondered if he should’ve told her to come with him to start her off on the job. Probably not, he decided. Showing her before he’d fully gained her allegiance wasn’t the best idea. He had to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere first. The same as he’d done with Avery and with Linda before her and Irene before Linda and so forth. He palmed the down button and stood there staring up at the elevator numbers lighting up the floor the car was on.

He’d had a lot of Bonnies to his Clyde.

Finally, the elevator arrived and he hopped on.

When the doors parted one floor below, he had to catch himself from reacting, freezing his face into a thoughtful concentrative stare. Stepping into the space in front of him, so deep in conversation they didn’t seem to even notice he was there, were two members of Nick Carter’s entourage and a police officer. Marty’s palms sweat just a little bit as they got in and turned, back-to him.

There’s no way they know who I am, he told himself quietly. No way. There’s only footage showing Avery, not me. Not me. I’m a mystery. He tried to breathe calmly through his nose. This is a good thing, he thought, Now I know their faces.

“The fact that no fans have seen him is what’s worrying me,” one of the guys was saying, “They always see him. They always find him. He can be in the most random place on the planet and the pictures still show up on Instagram.”

“They could have him confined,” the police officer grunted.

“That’s what worries me,” answered the guy.

“If I’d just… gone inside with him… if I’d just done my job…” the third guy muttered.

“You didn’t know, Mike,” the first guy said. “None of us did.”

“But it’s my fuckin’ job… and… I mean… If they’d kidnapped him, wouldn’t there be a ransom note?” the second guy, who was apparently named Mike, asked, “What if they --” he stopped mid-sentence, unable to finish it.

The first guy looked down at his feet.

“Until there’s evidence of that, we’re ruling it a kidnapping,” the officer answered.

“Wish they’d just say what they want. I’d do anything to get him back,” Mike said.

The doors dinged two floors down and Marty quickly ran off the elevator, dashing around the woman trying to step on, leaving them behind as he bolted down the third floor hallway.

Officer Flynn looked at Mike and Eddie, then back at the door. “That was odd,” he commented. He held his hand out, blocking the door from closing for the woman, and then leaned out to look down the hallway, but their mystery elevator rider was already gone.

Marty had ducked into the vending and ice machine alcove.

Officer Flynn stepped back in and the doors closed.





That night, from a Denny’s several blocks away from the hotel, Marty sent the ransom note. He sent it from a cell phone that belonged to a waitress that had stupidly left her phone charging behind the counter in plain sight. He even put the phone back so effectively distract the police when they tried to track down the ransom note. He only felt a little bad about the hassle he was creating for the waitress as he watched her move around the diner. When he was finished with his eggs, he strolled out the door, casually sweeping up tip money left behind on the tables he passed.

As he walked down the street, he called Avery back. She didn’t answer. When her voicemail picked up, he left a brief message. “Well, we got us a ransom note, Princess. Thought you’d like to know.” And he hung up.





Dearest Friends, Fans, and Family of Nick Carter:

By now, surely you’ve noticed your boy is missing. Judging from experience, you may be relieved by his absence. However, should you wish for me to return him to you, alive and well, as he is now, I may be persuaded...

So let’s talk.

How much is he worth to you?




“Avery… Ayyy-verrrr-reeeeey.”

She groaned and pressed her face into the pillow.

Nick leaned over the bed as far as he dared to, poking her shoulder with his index finger. Poke, poke, poke. “Avery. Wake up.”

She groaned again.

“C’mon Avery. I wanna go for a jog.”

“Fuck off,” she groaned into the pillow.

“You said I can’t go without you,” he reminded her. Nick reached and pressed his palms against the edge of the bed and shook, wobbling the mattress under her. “C’mon. I need to go for a jog,” he whined, “I need to stay in shape.” He shook harder.

Avery’s eyes opened and she struggled to look up at him, “Stop that,” she snapped, swatting at his hands as he shook the mattress, “Stop it.” He did. She stared up at him with a horrible case of behead, her dyed-brown hair a tangled knot of crazy. She glowered at him, “The sun isn’t even up yet,” she snapped.

“It’s coming up,” he replied. “Best time to jog. The lake’s beautiful. I saw it at this time yesterday.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Avery, I gotta stay in shape. It’s important. C’mon. Please.”

She dropped back into the pillow, raising one hand with her middle finger raised.

“Fine, I’ll go by myself,” he said.

“Fine, I hope you get shot,” she muttered.

“Aayyyy-verrr-reyyyyyy,” he whined.

She closed her eyes.

He stood there, staring at her as her breaths fell deep once more. He sat on the side of the bed, bouncing so the mattress jostled under him. “I can do this all day,” he sing-songed. “I literally have nothing else to do but annoy you.”

She flipped the bedding off her, “I should just shoot you my goddamn self,” she snapped as she rolled out of bed.

Nick grinned, not realizing how much of a threat this actually was, and laughed.

Avery yanked open one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. “Don’t you fuckin’ smile at me,” she said. It was one of those great smiles, the ones that she had to admit were pretty damn sexy… the ones that almost made her understand why people loved him… She shoved her way out of the room, headed for the bathroom. Nick grinned and dropped backwards onto the bed, deciding to close his eyes until she was ready to go.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Nick opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep waiting for her to come back. He grinned sheepishly up at her and sat up.

“After all that goading for me to move you fall asleep.”

He stood up, “The difference is I woke up easy. You ready?” She’d braided her hair. She looked kinda cute with it braided. He smiled at her - a genuine smile, one that wasn’t quite as fabulous as the famous Carter Grin, but was more real, something only people who knew him well really knew the difference between.

“Let’s go,” Avery said.

Nick led the way down the hall to the front door and out into the driveway. Avery plodded along after him as he started jogging twice as fast as she was. She sighed, watching his back and the muscles in his calves move as he pushed himself forward. She hated jogging with a passion and rarely did it. People in the suburbs with two and a half kids, a station wagon, and a Jack Russell terrier named Spot did things like jog. Her mother did things like jog. So Avery had always avoided it. Yet she’d always assumed she was in shape, she wasn’t pudgy or anything, but she quickly learned that was not the case.

Nick was easily keeping up the pace he’d set in the driveway well after they got out to the road and she was already feeling her legs complain. She slowed, trying to catch her breath. Nick was a ways ahead of her before he realized he couldn’t hear her behind him and he looped back, jogging all the way, his arms pumping, face getting flush but not overheated, cheeks easily puffing out in breaths. “You okay?” he asked, barely winded as he jogged literal, actual circles around her.

Avery glowered at him. “I’m fine,” she said. “How much longer are we doing this?”

Nick laughed, “You’re joking right? We aren’t even out of eyeshot of the driveway.”

“How far did you go yesterday?”

“I went up here to New Road then over to Main Street and back down ‘til it turned into West Shore Road again and back to the house from there. It makes a loop. I think it was like three or four miles maybe?” he was still running actual circles around her. “If we keep doing like this though, you’ll have done three or four miles and I’ll have done about nine.” He smirked.

She was literally panting.

“You ain’t in very good shape for a cop,” he commented.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped.

“Touchy subject? You not pass your last health test or something? You been a desk donkey for a couple months before they saddled you with me?”

Avery took a deep breath. She was certain she was gonna kill him before Marty got them the money. He just kept taunting her. Every time she’d decided he wasn’t all completely horrible he went and blew it by opening his stupid mouth. She watched as he passed by her, flashes of him to loathe. They reached the corner by New Road and Avery doubled over, holding her knees. She felt like she might throw up.

“We’re going back,” she said firmly. She refused to A, run any further and B, pass any actual downtown areas in the state she was in, with Nick running around her. She turned around. “You’ve gotten more than enough exercise doing that,” she added, waving at him as he passed around her yet again.

“A’ight, whatever,” Nick replied. He started running backwards in front of her, facing her, running a few feet ahead, then jogging almost right up to her before backing up again, a pattern that was even more obnoxious than running circles. Avery stared at him with loathing hatred. Nick grinned.





Eddie was holding the print out of the ransom note, sent to every major news network, the Cincinnati Police Department, and, smartly, to Ground(Ctrl). He shook his head. Officer Flynn was holding a second copy, but looking at Eddie. Eddie looked up. “What do we do?” he asked.

“You make an offer, we find out how this prick wants the money delivered, and we bug the hell out of it and find out who he is. Then we get Nick back and incarcerate the sonuvabitch,” Officer Flynn answered.

Eddie looked back down at the note. “He seems smarter than that,” he commented, “Like he’ll be expecting us to go after him immediately.”

“We’ll take care of it. This is standard procedure. We know what we’re doing.”

Eddie wasn’t so sure.

“How much do we offer?”

Officer Flynn rubbed his chin. “Well, this guy’s used to knocking off gas stations. Hundred thousand should do it.” He nodded.

Eddie chewed his lower lip nervously.

“The good thing,” Mike piped up from across the room, where he’d been sitting in the dark, “Is that if this letter’s truthful at all, then at least he’s still alive.”

“Sounds like he’s getting annoying though,” Eddie commented.

“When isn’t Nick annoying?” Mike pointed out.

Eddie sighed. “Right now, I’d do anything to have him here annoying me.”

“Me, too,” Mike agreed, “Man, me too.”