Chapter 28
Lily
My feet hurt. I’ve been on them all day, and my last break can’t come soon enough. I alternate picking up each foot and twisting my ankles while biting my lip at Noah’s recent text message.
Why do you have to be so addicting?
It’s been two weeks since the funeral. Since Noah touched me like he couldn’t breathe without it.
Like I was the one person keeping him from drowning in grief.
I felt it in every rough kiss, every desperate pull of his hands.
I still do, the ghost of his grip, the pressure of his fingertips—it’s all I feel.
And yet, he hasn’t said much.
I’ve been giving him space, telling myself it’s what he needs, but I’ve seen him, even when he’s trying to avoid being seen. He sits out in his truck, parked across the street from the diner like he’s just passing through, like he’s not watching me through the windshield and pretending not to.
I keep willing him in. Wishing he’d just walk through the door and see me. Talk to me. Tell me he doesn’t regret it, even if I’m afraid he does.
“Hey, Lily. It’s your break time, girl. Take your fifteen.” Hannah loads up a serving tray with dinner specials.
“Sounds good. Think I’ll head out to my car.” I grab my bag and walk toward the back exit.
“Don’t be falling asleep or nothin’. We’ve got a crowd tonight.”
I wave her off over my shoulder and plow through the door.
The sun descends toward the horizon, and I kick a pebble, watching it tumble and hit the dumpster. I inhale a lungful of air, grateful the smell of melted cheese and grease no longer assaults my nostrils.
With my bag slung over one shoulder, I reach around, probing for my keys and phone.
A few steps from my car, I pause, hand landing on my vape pen.
I fiddle with it. It’s been forever since I’ve used the thing, and oddly I want it, but don’t want it.
I shake my head. I’m not sure I could ever vape again after knowing Ms. Sullivan. I just can’t.
Ripping it out of my bag, I turn and sling the thing into the dumpster, feeling pretty proud when it lands in there on the first go.
The wind kicks up, and a breeze lifts and teases the strands of hair around my face. They tickle my cheeks, so I tuck them behind my ear then unlock my car. I’m looking forward to sitting with my feet up on the dash for my break.
I barely get my door cracked when a sharp screaming against the pavement strains my ears. It all happens so fast: the tires skidding, rubber burning, the high-pitched wail of an engine.
I jump, spinning to find a black SUV barreling closer, coming in fast and forceful. Eyes wide, I fumble behind me for the door handle, dropping my phone. The doors fly open and all at once, three men leap out of the car, each dressed in black with matching ski masks.
They move fast. Too fast.
Their boots pound on the pavement, reaching me in only a couple of my rapid heartbeats. One lunges first, his hand swiping for my arm—I jerk, but another is already there, cutting off any escape.
My pulse hammers, panic clawing up my throat as rough hands seize me and fingers dig into my skin.
“Hey! Stop!” I shriek.
With a tug, I lose my grip on the door handle and watch it swing closed.
Thrashing, I kick out, my heels scraping against the pavement.
As they wrestle me toward their vehicle, my bag drops from my shoulder.
They’re unconcerned, and a man even kicks it toward my car as he stumbles to tighten his unyielding grip on my arms.
When they get me to the SUV, they open the trunk, and I twist harder. What is it they say? Don’t let them get you to the second location? Whoever they are.
A man holding one of my arms behind my back leans down and whispers hot in my ear. “Don’t make this harder.”
My arms and legs move faster. Like hell.
An arm grazes past my face, and I bite down—hard. He jerks back with a hiss, cursing, and in that moment, I wrench an arm free. I slam an elbow into someone’s ribs and hear a grunt.
The hold on me lessens, and I think I may be able to run, but before I can snatch away, a fist tangles in my hair, yanking me back.
Pain, like pins and needles, burns my scalp and I stumble, my vision tilting as they drag me upward, lifting me into the waiting SUV.
They nearly get me inside, but I throw my arms out, bracing the edges of the side of the car.
“Get her in! Damn it!” comes from inside the dark interior, but I’m too focused on my struggle to seek out the voice.
They yank my legs, folding me inward. Tears spill down my cheeks, smearing across my lips. The salt tastes like defeat, and I cling tighter, my nails gouging into the frame.
I won’t go in. I won’t—
A fist slams into my side, and my world tips as I’m tossed onto the rough floor. I don’t react in time, and the trunk lid slams in my face.
Darkness swallows me whole.
The car lurches forward, tires screeching out of the parking lot, and I roll, slamming into the back of the third-row seats. I clamp down on my tongue so I don’t plead or cry out. To hell with these human trafficking pieces of shit. I’m not going to beg for my life.
The scent of rubber and gasoline clings to the air as the engine growls. Sharp turns, one right after the other, cause my heart to pound, but soon, the road smooths out, and the car hums along.
The men inside are silent, creepily so. The decision to sit up wars within me, but I wouldn’t put it past them to be watching.
Adrenaline surges, making my already shaky hands tremble further as I blindly reach out for anything—any latch or weakness.
I freeze when my fingers land on a blanket.
Images of me not making it rip through my mind—being killed and wrapped up in this wool blanket, buried, and left for wild animals to find.
Shuddering, my thoughts spiral. Where are they taking me? Why? Who are they?
Mitch.
Hannah.
They’ll notice when I don’t return from my break and, hopefully, after being sufficiently pissed for twenty minutes or so, they’ll call the police or …
Noah.
I push against the trunk lid. It doesn’t budge.
The car takes another abrupt turn, and I slide, my elbow skimming over the carpeting. It burns, and without thinking, I shout, “Learn how to drive, you sick bastards!”
Silence.
And then …
A sadistic chuckle.
A whimper slips out before I can stop it. My eyes burn as I fight back more tears.
Don’t cry. Panicking won’t help.
I press my palms to my eyes, my pulse hammering in my skull. I’m trapped.
It grows darker as the sun sets, and having kept to my fetal position, I can only stare at the surrounding world from this angle.
The clouds are a deep orange and red, and as the car hisses along, the tops of pine trees grow larger.
The steady rhythmic whoosh of passing cars slows until I’m fairly certain we are on the road alone.
A metallic clatter echoes from the front, and I muster the courage to peek over the seat.
Two men are in the front and two in the second row.
The driver and two men in the second row have their ski masks pulled up, resting on their forehead.
However, the man in the front passenger seat doesn’t have one at all.
I can make out his dark hair and straight posture, but that’s it.
My stomach twists. Is he the one that laughed? He must’ve been the man who yelled.
The car turns off the main road, jolting onto the uneven dirt with a grinding crunch. Loose gravel spits beneath the car as it bumps and dips, and dust kicks up in the car’s wake, swirling in the rearview.
Trees close in and grow thicker, their shadows stretching tall in the fading light as we wind deeper into the woods. Unintelligible whispers from the front filter back.
We’re getting close to something. They’re restless.
When the car stops, I duck, making myself smaller and tucking into the corner. I blink, adjusting to the darkness, but when the men get out of the car, the dome light turns on and I can’t see anything outside besides my reflection.
I inhale a shaky breath, trembling as I wait for them. Swallowing, the click in my throat is loud in the silent car.
The light goes off, and movement outside makes me exhale an unsteady tremor.
The trunk opens, the incessant beeping like some hellish omen. I push back, watching it to find the same three men who grabbed me standing there. The fourth is turned looking away from me, and it raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
The man in the middle of the group leans forward, extending a hand for me, but I ignore it. He sighs while the man to his right reaches in to grab my foot.
“Get off of me!” I kick again, but they’re less worried about making a scene now that we’re in the middle of nowhere.
Another man grabs my other foot, and I’m hauled out of the trunk, my backside landing on the mushy forest ground with a sickening thud.
The impact slams into me, and for a terrifying second, my lungs forget how to breathe.
The air rushes out in a single strangled wheeze, leaving nothing behind but a burning ache in my chest. My mouth gapes open, but no sound comes out—only useless attempts to suck in air.
Finally, a gasp scrapes its way in, and I roll onto my side, coughing.
One of the men kicks at me, and I twitch to avoid it.
Muffled voices, more than the four from the car, mutter around me, and I work to squint through the darkness toward any movement. As I spin, I land on a hanging light, almost lantern-looking, as it dangles from a tree.
Slowly, more details come into focus. A few battered sagging tents form a loose circle around what appears to be the center clearing, where I am. A charred fire pit smolders, the tendrils of smoke drifting into the dark treetops and disappearing into the night.
Crates are stacked behind a few folding tables lined up in rows, and people sit in chairs on either side, shuffling something down between them in an assembly line.
Careful not to draw attention to where I’ve been left in the clearing, I roll over, switching sides.
I have to bring a hand to my mouth to keep the whimper at bay.
Weapons lean against the tree trunks—rifles, AR-15s, other large guns I couldn’t identify if my life depended on it. Hell, maybe it does.
Traces of gun oil mixed with rotten pine wafts by, and I tuck my head, chin to chest, to keep the nausea down.
It’s already dark, but a shadow blocks out the dim light from their makeshift lighting.
Lifting my head, I look up to see a tall man towering over me, and the familiarity of his figure and backlit silhouette drags up memories from all those years ago—the forest, being pinned to the ground, him above me—I look around.
It’s like now. Like … him.
I scramble to sit up, the needles scuffing the sides of my shoes as dirt presses into my palms as I push myself upright. My legs tangle beneath me, and I slip against the loose leaves and soil. Fine dust coats my tongue, so I spit.
The man lets out another one of his disgusting chuckles and crouches in front of my face.
My heart hammers, my adrenaline surging as he lowers enough for the moonlight to carve out the sharp lines of his face and catch on his piercings.
His expression is dark and unreadable, but he rolls his shoulders forward giving me a better view, and my pulse pounds in my ears.
He’s too close. Too real.
Frozen, I’m only able to blink the dirt from my lashes as my eyes widen.
“Bran?”