Chapter 61 Five Minutes
five minutes
Lorien
“Are you fucking kidding me? Go around.”
Sirens cut through the men arguing as I use the break from the silence to readjust. It’s fractional but so needed since my body is stiff from being folded up on myself, and keeping every muscle as immobile as possible for as long as I have flat out hurts.
“As if it’s my fault.”
“We don’t need any eyes on us.”
Is this my time? Is this where I hit the button on the lift gate and run? Could that even work?
If the sirens were closer, maybe I’d have a chance.
From the reflection in the back window, I can tell we’re at a stoplight.
I have no clue where I am, but a signal usually signifies enough traffic to warrant additional safety and typically means population.
But I’d need a lot of people, and they’d have to believe me, and I can’t get outrun.
It’s the last I’m most concerned about—will my legs even have the strength, or would I just collapse on the pavement?
The man who took me is tall, lean, and dark, and I don’t mean his complexion.
It’s the coldness in his eyes that worries me.
He doesn’t seem, from my conversation with him or his with the other man in the car, to care at all about anything but himself or his own wants.
And if he wants me—and doesn’t care if that’s alive or dead—he wouldn’t hesitate to chase if I ran, or to recapture me, even with witnesses.
Heck, I know the security at the Barone’s.
If it didn’t intimidate him, nothing will.
Getting away is the key. Getting away and staying away.
And I can’t trust my legs.
The light turns green, and we pull away, stopping again before we begin a pattern of stops in quick succession.
“This is ridiculous. Go back to the main road.”
Relief. So weird to feel that with this situation, but at least my gut was good. Wasting my shot wasn’t worth it, even if I’m going… Where are we going?
We’re back to cruising at highway speed, and while the rocking is a relief to my body, the more we move, the further I am away from safety, from anything I’ve known—anyone I’ve known—and from any chance at being rescued.
There’s no way someone could be tailing us with the turns we’ve made.
Hell, we could’ve driven in circles for hours and I would have no idea.
I pray.
I scheme.
I hope.
And I know… it’s up to me.
Frozen in fear and from lack of movement. Stuck in an unwinnable situation. And only able to rely on myself.
Only then, when the realization is crystal clear, do I decide. When the trunk door opens, I’ll play drugged. Neither of them knows how much I received or what a therapeutic or lethal dose looks like.
Springing out might take them off guard, but not enough, and timing the lift gate could work against me. And no matter the television I watch, I’m not a badass. I’m a lab-coat-wearing baker, not a kickboxer.
Way faster than I would expect, the SUV comes a halt. Gravel crunches under the tires informing me we’ve left the paved road, and with it, the populated areas.
Perhaps I should’ve run when I had the chance. At the light forever ago. Yes, it was a risk, but this? This is certain death.
The two men are arguing. Again… Or still.
My mind flits to Liam. We argued, but not like this. Not selfishly. Not with accusations or cruelty.
He never apologized for wanting the best for his family. He never compromised with what that would take either. I didn’t allow myself to be swallowed up. All of these things are noble.
These men are…
A mechanical whirring tells me the lock is disengaged and powering up the hydraulics that lift the door. I close my eyes… and wait.
“Well, get her already,” the complainer starts.
“Do I look like your bitch?”
“You will.”
“Seamus, the only reason I’m handling this is because you’re too old and fat to do it yourself.”
Seamus? Liam’s dad? That’s why his voice was familiar.
“Not true.” Gravel crunches under heavy footfalls as the sound of the trunk opening stops.
“The girl would put your sorry ass on the ground and she’s a featherweight. Move.”
This is the threat. The man who drugged me. There’s no other explanation for ending up in a trunk.
Eager hands tug brutally at my arm pits and knees, scraping my body over the ridges in the plastic trunk liner.
Schooling my face, I barely avoid a grimace. But just barely.
When the brutal man grunts and repositions me with no care for…
well, anything, I crack one eye and look around.
It’s sunset and we’re at elevation, looking down on arid ground and the valleys below.
We’re on the outskirts of what I assume is an old mining town.
So many around here are. Gold rush land was feast or famine. Or both.
“Why isn’t she awake?” Liam’s dad asks.
The body holding me shrugs.
“I need proof of life to get him here.”
He used the term bait earlier, so, of course this is about Liam. The man ruined his other two children’s lives. Why not add my husband to the mix too?
My husband… the man must be going out of his mind. I have no way to tell him I need help but that he must avoid this trap.
“Back up,” the man holding me says.
“No.” Thick sticky fingers pull at my eyelid.
I grimace and squint. The body’s reflexes are just that… and they’re a dead giveaway.
“She’s awake.”
“Oh really?” the younger of the two says. He squeezes me tightly as he pinches at my ribs.
Ouch. I cry out. I don’t mean to, but that hurt.
“Welcome to hell. I’ll be your tour guide.”
Seriously? An evil villain speech? No thanks. “Put me down,” I grit.
He releases his grip, and I freefall to the dusty earth, rocks and gravel digging into my spine.
“Okay,” he utters long after I reach for my aching back.
I don’t know whether to stand up or stay down. It always seems like someone else has the right answer. Stand up, go toe-to-toe. Nice advice when you’re not in the situation. Or when you have height or weight on your side.
I can’t fall from my position here. But I can—
Oh fudge. I can take a shoe to the ribs. That’s… breathtaking.
Hands on hips, the man leans over me, glaring. “Get up.”
I whimper as I roll onto all fours. I know another blow is coming. This man is not one who thinks of women as the fairer sex or has any gender expectations.
And I’m right. Another to my other side. Losing all the strength in my arms, I slip, face meeting the gravel and brush of what was once a trail, and suck its dust down my throat. Choking and sputtering, licking fire into my ribs with the pain of movement.
“I said, ‘Get up’.”
Turning my head to him, I see exactly what worried me when we spoke at Ayla’s—cold, dead eyes… evil incarnate, and do as I’m told. One hand wraps around my ribs. The other dangles at my side.
“I changed my mind.” The man tilts his head. “Get on your knees.”
Lifting my chin, I hold his gaze. “No.”
He raises a pistol eye-level with my forehead. “I won’t ask again.”
I sink to one knee, losing my breath at the movement, and then the other.
Violated or dead? That’s what’s laid before me. Violated or dead—a choice between drinking poison and rolling in fire. Neither is good. Both are dire.
One has a chance. That chance is my only thought.
Five more minutes. Survive for five more minutes… Then figure out the next five.
The smile that creeps across his face as the scratch of his zipper spikes my panic in a way nothing has until this point. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know. That doesn’t make sense but…
He drops his pants and underwear below his testicles and takes his dick in hand, stroking. “Open.”
Think, Lorien. Survive. Five minutes. You can handle anything for five minutes.
“Wait. No. You can’t do this.” Seamus Murphy is… defending me? That can’t be.
The gun swings wide. The man holding it does not want to be deterred. My hand hits my pocket where the ball point pen is. It’s now or never.
Rising with all the energy I have, I grab his sac, squeezing and tugging as if I can rip them from their sheath. I stab wildly with the pen, screaming in agony at the ribs that are surely broken.
His screams are a chorus with mine, until…
… until the sound of a gasp silences all of us.
I look up. In panic. In horror. In relief?
Oh no. What have I done?
My hand flies to my throat, as I gag in equal parts shock and reflex.
That ballpoint pen. The only thing I could find in that trunk. My pathetic little weapon.
It’s lodged straight into his neck, directly below his Adam’s apple.
His throat. His trachea. Everything connected to his autonomic nervous system hangs in the balance. Removing it guarantees death… choking to death on his own blood. Drowning in it.
What have I done?