Ash
The car comes to a stop so quickly, I slide forward almost off the seat. I sit up to get a look at where we are but Wilson grabs my head and shoves it down again.
“Stay down,” he hisses.
There’s a dull throb in my shoulders. It travels down my arm to settle into my wrist from being secured like this. I shift position to alleviate some of the pressure and Wilson pushes me again.
“I said stay down.”
He’s really pissing me off, but even worse is the harsh reality that I can’t fucking do anything because he keeps pressing that blade of his against various parts of my body to make sure I don’t forget he’s got it.
If I was like Cal . . .
I shut that train of thought down quickly because, for one, it’s not helpful right now. And two, as much as I’ve embraced Cal and everything he is, it’s not for me.
“They’re gonna know I’m missing by now.” I’ve kept quiet the whole ride, not wanting to draw any undue attention to me, but I don’t care anymore. If we’re where I think we are, then nothing I say will make things worse than what they already are. “They’ll be looking for me.”
“Quiet.” Wilson presses his knife under the hinge of my jaw, the sharp sting proof that he’s cut me this time.
Message received.
Blood trickles down the side of my neck, forcing me to swallow my words.
Stokes turns in his seat, holding up his phone. “Stay here. Mel says we’ve got to park in the garage. We can’t get him out in the open.” He leaves the engine running while he gets out of the car.
I hear the familiar creak and groan of Morgan’s garage door as Stokes opens it. I wonder who Mel is? Is he the guy I saw here when I passed by the other week? It seems like a lifetime ago.
Stokes gets back in the car and slowly drives into the garage. He gets out to close the garage door behind us, cutting out the light.
I’m scared.
I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about what happens next in an effort not to panic, but it’s getting harder and harder to hold it back.
My heart beats loudly in my ears, pulse speeding up with each breath in and out.
Don’t panic, Ash. You need to keep your head.
Easier said than done when I’m zip-tied in the back of a car with a knife pressed to my throat.
“You’re the police.” I manage to turn my head enough to look at him before he forces it back down. “You’re supposed to protect people.”
“We do.”
A bitter laugh escapes. “Right.”
“He shouldn’t have told you,” Wilson grumbles, like this is all Morgan’s fault. “You wouldn’t be here if he’d kept his mouth shut like he was supposed to.”
Oh, fuck no. “Maybe if you hadn’t tortured his dad and stolen his house, there’d be nothing for him to tell.” I know it’s a mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth.
He freezes like I’ve shocked him, then curses under his breath and slams the hilt of the knife against my temple. There’s a second’s delay where I register shooting pain across my head and then . . . nothing.