The Lost Days: The MisFit, #2

By AB Plum

WARNING: Darkness leaps from these pages because there's always someone out there wanting to right a wrong …

Ho-hum. Fresh from killing his older brother and orchestrating his mother's suicide, eleven-year-old Michael Romanov hungers for excitement. He and his foster brother, Dimitri, while away their summer evenings picking pockets in Copenhagen's famous Tivoli Gardens.

Not for the money. For fun. For the adrenaline hit.

They take pride in targeting marks—always searching for one who will present a challenge. On the night that changes everything, they go for an obvious American. Surprise. The American and another thug snatch the boys off the main Tivoli arcade and shove them into a waiting limo.

The kidnappers want justice.

Not for the murder. For the suicide of Michael's ice-princess mother.

When he protests his innocence, his captors retaliate brutally. For some reason Michael can't grasp, they have placed her on a pedestal. The woman—biologically his mother—neglected him from birth. Yet these men speak of her with near reverence. Michael quickly learns survival depends on saying nothing about his reasons for hating his entire family.

Abandoned in a godforsaken Finnish forest, definitely worse for wear from slaps and kicks and lack of food and sleep, the boys search for shelter under the Midnight Sun's unrelenting heat. When they stumble on a beautiful, well-stocked cabin, they celebrate prematurely.

There's no can opener for all the tinned meats, fruits, and vegetables. Nor is there a paddle for the canoe at the lake's edge. No maps mean no path back to civilization.

Then the scariest kidnapper shows up with a gun.

What kind of game are these predators playing?

Is there any hope Michael's millionaire father will pay a ransom?

What if … he's behind the abduction?

Fast-paced with twists and surprises, this story proves psychopaths think of revenge as justice.

***

Read all of the books in The MisFit series:

The Early Years
The Lost Days
The In-Between Years
The Reckless Year
The Dispensable Wife
The Broken-Hearted Many
The Whole Truth

• Language: English
• Publisher: AB Plum
• Release date: Aug 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386038344

Book preview

Chapter 1

Finding Fun in the Midnight Sun

Tivoli Gardens—Saturday, June 19, 1976, 9:35 P.M.

Whipped cream, chocolate meringue, and the traditional dollop of Danish raspberry jam topped four scoops of vanilla ice cream in my waffle cone.

Ahhh, a moment sinful enough to distract me and my best friend Dimitri. Despite our Einstein-IQs, we closed our eyes like normal eleven-year-old boys and savored the explosion of flavors on our tongues. When we opened our eyes, we surveyed the crowds eddying around us. We nudged each other at the same instant and grinned. Our next mark.

Picking pockets in Tivoli had become a sport we’d perfected all spring.

Not for the money.

For the excitement.

Thanks to my absent father, we never lacked for spending money. What we craved was the tingle on our scalps from choosing prey, watching him for five or ten minutes, then closing in.

Perfection evolved from daring. We often discussed when we would hit on one of the policemen mingling with the hordes of tourists and Copenhageners as the midsummer sun hovered above the horizon.

Tonight, though, we zeroed in on a tall, husky American. His booming voice announced his citizenship. The baseball cap he wore backward amounted to an orange neon sign. A wallet bulged in the rear pocket of his walking shorts, extending an invitation for us to transfer it to our possession.

The American’s challenge quotient was low, our boredom quotient was high.

Finished with our cones, I gave our secret signal. Dimitri and I fanned out in opposite directions. My heart beat faster. God, I loved—

A small, blond boy rammed into my thigh. Damn kid. I stifled the impulse to kick the brat and managed to keep my balance. He ran around me without apologizing. Rude little bastard.

Our mark was strolling toward the puppet show.

No sign of Dimitri.

Trusting he’d follow our proven routine, I took one step forward.

Something hard punched me in the kidney.

Chapter 2

Shock Tactics

This isn’t a finger, Michael. Look straight ahead and keep walking. Don’t even think about running.

The warning vibrated with malice. My heart raced, and I kept my gaze in front of me. Bodies pressed in on all sides. Who are you?

No talking, either. His Danish carried a trace of accent I didn’t recognize among the shouts and laughs of kids and adults.

He walked behind my right shoulder, outside my peripheral vision. I had the impression he was tall and light on his feet. The pressure he exerted on my kidney increased as the crowd swelled. Where was Dimitri?

Not close to our American mark. The baseball cap bobbed in and out among the masses as if he was sauntering down a deserted street. I craned my neck to see around two sightseers gobbling Danish hotdogs.

When we reach the exit, we will go right. Understand?

Yes, of course. The Russian spilled out of my mouth automatically as a single, rushed phrase.

Mr. Smart Ass, my companion spit out in Russian, sending goose bumps slaloming down my back. The phrase yes of course tripped up most foreigners since the same words said without a pause carried the opposite meaning. In that split second, he told me he grasped the nuances of my first language damned well.

You speak Russ—

I said no talking. Perhaps you no longer understand Danish.

Not a question, so I figured it was a trap. No talking. I locked my jaw.

Laughing hordes entered Tivoli and spread out like a mutant virus. If I pulled away from him could I—

You’re thinking. His jab to my kidney took my breath away—along with any desire to argue. An involuntary moan escaped my throat.

Funny, I thought you’d be tougher. You did kill your mother.

Sweat soaked my scalp, and I swallowed the first bitter taste of fear.

My mother killed herself. The muscles in my back tensed for the next kidney-poke.

So the rumors about your smart mouth are true. He steered me to our right and slammed his fist between my shoulder blades.

I nose-dived into the backseat of a black Mercedes sedan. Orange and green spots danced at the end of my nose. My scalp stung as if live electrical wires, sharp and hot, were tunneling past dura mater into my cerebral cortex. I cried out.

Shut up, you sniveling bastard. The man hurled me against the front seat, holding my face smashed against the warm leather. He yelled at the driver in Finnish.

The back door slammed shut. The front passenger door opened, then closed. A second later, the car glided away from the curb, into the revelers, quickly picking up speed as pedestrians broke away. Spit dribbled down my chin. With my head at the neck-breaking angle, I could barely swallow. My heart galloped. My lungs refused to expand.

All right, you little twit. Sit back. Flick an eyelash, and I’ll give you a headache you can compare with your warped friend when he wakes up.

Chapter 3

A Familiar Face

The sun’s eerie summer glow disoriented me as much as the headache hammering my skull. Or maybe my confusion came from the man seated next to me, his foot placed at the top of Dimitri’s spine. I gritted my teeth. Dimitri lay crumpled face down in the space behind the driver’s seat. His legs were folded under him like a penitent waiting for absolution.

The man in the front seat turned and flashed a mouthful of piano-white teeth. His piercing blue eyes glittered. I stared. Without the baseball cap, his copper-colored hair glowed in the golden evening light.

He laughed as if I’d said something funny. For a boy who killed his mother three months ago, you have a face that borders on transparent.

You-you’re not American.

And you’re not Finnish—despite your mother.

Involuntarily, I snorted.

Nostrils flaring, he cuffed my right temple with his knuckles. "I