Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
PARKER
Pain shot through my body, dragging me closer to consciousness. Every inch felt leaden, disconnected from my fuzzy brain. My mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and my eyelids didn’t want to work. I just wanted to sink back into the oblivion of sleep until this flare was over, because it was clearly a bad one. But fresh daggers of pain stabbed through my skull because I was… moving? Beneath me, a cold metal floor vibrated, each jolt making my stomach pitch. Every bump and sway sent pain pulsing through my body.
“—transmission is completely shot. Listen to that grinding—” A harsh Russian accent cut through my confusion.
Russian?
“Shut it! We need solutions, not complaints.” This voice was deeper, angrier.
Memory slammed back like a physical blow. The walk back from lunch. The van. Falkor’s desperate attempts to fend off my attackers. The sharp stab of a needle. Then nothing.
My brave boy. If they’d hurt him, I’d kill them myself. Somehow.
I had to believe he’d escaped unharmed, and that he’d gone to find help. The alternative was too awful to contemplate.
Despite my discomfort, I resisted the urge to wiggle or move, keeping my breathing slow and steady so they wouldn’t know I was awake yet. I had to fight through this fog of pain so I could find a way out of this.
“There’s an old sheep barn about half a mile down that track we passed.” A third voice, younger. “Nobody uses it anymore. We could hole up there until?—”
“Until what? The whole fucking village is probably looking for her by now. We can’t make the switch point, can’t risk the main roads with a van that’s probably already been reported.”
I cracked one eye open, just enough to make out my surroundings through my lashes. Rust had eaten holes in the van’s floor, showing glimpses of pavement rushing by underneath. The fetid smell of old oil and exhaust fumes made bile rise in my throat. My hands were bound behind my back with what felt like zip ties, the plastic biting into my wrists every time we hit a pothole. Technically, I knew how to get out of that, courtesy of book research I’d helped Paisley with, but I had neither the leverage nor the energy to snap them, even if I had been alone, which I definitely wasn’t.
The van lurched violently, and a grinding screech filled the air. My captors swore, their voices rising in panic.
“That’s it. She’s done. We’ve got to get off this road.”
“Take that track up ahead. We’ll find cover and figure out the rest.”
The van turned sharply, and my body slid across the corroded floor. Pain flared through my shoulder as I hit the wheel well, but I bit back my cry. My head was clearing enough to notice details now—the sound of gravel under the tires instead of pavement, a musty smell mixing with the exhaust. Why did I know that scent?
“Sheep. I fucking hate sheep.”
Wool. It was the scent of wet wool. I gathered we must’ve come to a stop near someone’s farm.
I well knew that a huge chunk of the Highlands was rural, and sheep were around every corner. But I was getting the sense that we hadn’t made it more than half an hour from the village before things started going wrong.
These weren’t the organized professionals we’d feared might come for me. These men were scared, improvising, making mistakes. And that meant they’d be easier to find. Callum would be looking for me by now. So would Jade and everyone else.
My brain circled back to lunch. To the text from Jade telling me to go ahead. My stomach swooped again. She wouldn’t have said that. Wouldn’t have done that. What if these assholes had gotten to her first somehow? Prevented her from coming back to the pub for me?
Oh God, was she okay? Had they hurt her, too?
Tears pricked my eyes, and I struggled to hold them back.
Callum and the guys would find me.
They had to.
The van shuddered to a stop. Around me, everyone began to move. Doors slammed, followed by harsh whispers I couldn’t quite make out. Then rough hands seized my arms and legs.
“Get her out. We’ll have to carry her.”
They hauled me from the van like a sack of potatoes. One of them—the one with the deep voice—slung me over his shoulder. The position sent fire racing through my joints, and I couldn’t quite hold back a gasp of pain.
“She’s awake,” the younger voice said.
“Doesn’t matter now. Keep moving.”
My captor’s shoulder dug into my stomach with every step as he trudged uphill. The zip ties cut deeper into my wrists as my body bounced against his back. Each jolt sent fresh waves of agony through my nerves.
“What do you want from me?” My voice came out raspy, my throat raw from whatever they’d used to knock me out.
No answer.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Quiet.” The deep voice rumbled through his back, vibrating against my ribs.
Was there anything I could do to indicate we’d come this way? I couldn’t reach my pockets and didn’t know if anything was inside them still. Without my hands being free, I didn’t have the flexibility to do much of anything. But I felt the slim band of my ring still on my right hand. The twining Celtic knotwork had been a purchase with my second paycheck. Maybe I could work it free? Under the guise of flexing my fingers to get the feeling back, I slowly began to work the band down my finger and over my knuckle. When it fell to the ground, none of my captors noticed. Possibly no one would ever notice, and I’d just given up one of my favorite pieces. But losing a ring was hardly my biggest problem at the moment.
We climbed for what felt like forever, the path growing steeper and rougher with each jolting step. The warm summer air had grown thin and crisp, carrying the distant bleating of sheep and the occasional rustle of dry grass. Through my sideways view of the world, I caught glimpses of the rugged hillside, all weathered stone and scrubby vegetation. A few lonely sheep dotted the upper slopes, their white wool stark against the muted browns and greens, but most of the flocks had already been moved down to lower pastures. At least, that was what I’d overheard some of the locals discussing at the pub recently.
Finally, a small stone building came into view—a shepherd’s bothy, like the ones I’d seen in photos at the office. No electricity, no running water. Just four walls, a roof, and a fireplace. Perfect for shepherds during lambing season. Perfect for hiding someone who didn’t want to be found.
My stomach lurched as my captor ducked through the low doorway, his broad shoulders nearly scraping the weathered stone frame. He dumped me unceremoniously onto what felt like an ancient wooden chair, the rough-hewn seat creaking ominously beneath my weight. The musty air inside the bothy carried decades of wood smoke and damp wool, the kind of deeply ingrained scents that made my nose wrinkle. This definitely wasn’t like some of the bothies used by hikers all across the Highlands. Everything inside was so old and decrepit, I wasn’t even sure that whatever farmer owned the land still used it.
“Please,” I tried again, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Just tell me what you want.” If I could connect with them somehow, get them to see me as a person, maybe I could reason with them. If this was about money, my father would certainly pay it.
The younger one started to speak, but the leader cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Shut it. We wait for new orders. That’s all you need to know.”
My heart sank. They were just the muscle, the grab team. Maybe they didn’t even know why they’d taken me. That meant whoever was behind this was still safely hidden, still pulling strings from a distance.
I closed my eyes against a fresh wave of pain and nausea. Callum would be looking for me by now. But would he think to search way up here? Could anyone even find this place if they didn’t already know it existed?