Lance was scared. Truly scared. He knew that no matter what happened, he was more than likely going to die. The one thing that gave him comfort, was that he was able to tell Justin that he loved him one last time.
Right after he had told Justin that he love him, the man that had grabbed him out of the car, now joined by another, had moved to place him in the car. That's when the shot had been fired. Ronnie had somehow gotten a clean shot and taken out one of the men, but the other had managed to get him into the car, despite his fighting.
Now here he was, handcuffed to the steering wheel of this damned expensive car with all the perks: bullet proof glass, laser key and keypad locks, and a gunman in the backseat with a gun pointed at Lance's head. What a nice car.
Despite his knowledge that it was probably useless, Lance worked his hands in the cuffs, trying to find some way to get his hands out of them. If he could only get his hands free, even with his feet tied to the handle, he could do something, anything to help his situation. He heard the sirens right outside, he'd seen Justin see the man in the backseat, and he knew that if threatened in anyway, the man was going to shoot him. No matter how this went down, the man was going to end up shooting him.
Frustrated, Lance gave one final, hard tug on the cuffs, sending pain through his wrists, but he didn't pay it any attention. Just then, a cell phone went off in the backseat.
"What?" the man growled into the phone, obviously not happy with the way things had gone. He and his partner had allowed Lance the phone call to Justin, to tease the poor boy before they killed him. They hadn't planned on one of them getting shot and the other having to fight the blond alone. That had killed time and allowed time for the boy's friends and security to get outside before he could get away. Now the cops were here, and everything was turning to shit.
"How the hell could you have screwed this up?" A voice yelled through the phone.
"Some unexpected things happened! It's not my damn fault Walt didn't kill the son of a bitch. How were we supposed to know the bastard was still alive? We kind of had out damn hands full!" the man spat into the phone.
"That kid has got more luck on his side than a damn leprachaun. Martinez said you were the best. He said you would get the job done. He made me a fucking guarantee!" the other man shouted. The talking was so loud that Lance could here it over the line, in the front seat.
"Well, he should never make guarantees. Martinez has never done a damn job and doesn't know what's involved in one or what can go wrong. Don't blame me for his fucking guarantees!"
"Well, you're on your own. I'm not helping you out of this!" the other man said, his tone calmer.
"I don't need you sorry excuse for help to get out this, MR. Rodriquez. I'm thinking about giving the damn kid up and telling the cops what you're up to. How do you think they would take to one of their own hiring hitmen to kill a pop star, and giving them the information to do it with? I don't think they would look to kindly on that." The gunman snapped into the phone.
'Rodriquez? The lead detective on this case? No wonder they were able to find me and get to me every time they tried.' Lance thought to himself. That answered some of his questions, but the one of the most important had yet to be determined.
"You're a dead man if you do, Roberts." Rodriquez growled into the phone.
"I'm dead either way." Roberts said calmly, then ended the call. "Damn prick." He mumbled under his breath.
Lance's heart was pounding in his chest, but he knew he was probably dead if he did it or not, so he decided to ask. "Roberts?" he asked, his voice shakier than he would have liked.
"Yeah?" Roberts answered on a sigh, running his hands through his dark brown hair.
"Why does Rodriquez want me dead?" Lance asked timidly. He didn't want to piss Roberts off.
"I guess I might as well tell ya. There's a good chance both of us are going to die, and if I were you I'd want a damn reason why." Roberts answered shifting in his seat. "About a year ago, his son auditioned for your production company. You didn't sign him. Rodriquez had dreams of his son being filthy rich, in turn making him filthy rich. Rodriquez is the type of man that gets what he wants. He knows people. Very bad people." Roberts said, with a chuckle, surveying the flashing red and blue lights playing across the night sky right outside the car.
"Why would he want to kill me because of that? There are other production companies. He could have gone with anyone of those. I didn't sign anymore people last year, not because of talent, but because of time constraints on me." Lance explained, still trying to comprehend.
"Rodriquez figured that with your name, and reputation, people would buy his son's first album pretty quickly, and he'd have more promotion because of who you are. So he was guaranteed a pretty decent amount of money off the bat. But you're one lucky pop star. He's had the best hit men in the country on you, and you've dodged the proverbial bullet every time." Roberts laughed.
Lance couldn't help but laugh slightly at that, surprising even himself given his situation. He was still scared shitless, but he was relaxing a little, his mind going over ways he might be able to get out of this situation. "Well, I may have dodge the proverbial one, but I was hit with a real one, not too long ago."
"Hey, that wasn't me. That was my on crack partner. I wasn't even here for that one. This is the first time I've been on you. I've never actually shot anyone. I've always been the getaway man. This is new territory for me." Roberts admitted, his voice betraying his unease with the situation.
"I take it you don't want to be here any more than I do?" Lance dared to ask.
"No, I would never be here if I didn't have to." Roberts told him, shifting so he was closer to the front seat, and could see Lance and Lance could see him, but still out of site of the police officers.
"Why are you here then?" Lance asked, truly curious about what would drive a man to this type of lifestyle.
"My family mostly. My mom got really bad off sick, and I had five little brothers and sisters. My aunt will take care of them, as long as I pay her bills. She has a lot of bills. I kinda fell into the gig, but it paid her bills and got my brothers and sisters taken care of, so I stayed.
"What if I said, I could get your family taken care of and maybe get this whole situation taken care of? I could get us both out of here alive, I think, but you'd have to trust me." Lance said, sincere in his offer.
"But I probably killed your security guys. Why would you want to help me?" Roberts asked, skeptical of the sincerity of the man he was "holding hostage".
"Because you're helping me. You've told me enough to end ALL of this for good. If you help me, I'll help you all I can. I can definitely get us both out of here alive, and if not get you off completely, at least I can make it so that you see your brothers and sisters very soon, and get a better place for them to stay, so that you can be with them. Besides, you didn't hurt anyone, your partner did." Lance said, with a smile.
"You would do that for me? Even after all I've done to you tonight?" Roberts still wasn't sure about the situation, but he didn't see where he had much choice but to trust Lance, and his offer to help his family was a very appealing one.
"You help me, I help you. Everyone deserves a break and a second chance." Lance said.
"What do you need me to do to get us out of here?" Roberts asked, peeking his head in between the front seats.
~*~
Justin jumped when his cell phone rang. Quickly, trying to get who ever it was on the phone to go away, he answered it. "It better be damned important." He growled, the stress of the night wearing on him as he worried about his lover.
"Justin, I need your help." Justin was fully alert at the sound of Lance's voice.