Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SIERRA
Gratitude number one, I’m not dead. Gratitude number two, the longer they take to kill me, the more chance someone has to find me.
Or, I have time to escape.
Unfortunately, the chances are getting worse instead of better.
Now there are two of them. And being shoved into the back floorboard of the asshole’s truck kind of puts a hold on any escape attempt.
They knew exactly how to get me into a spot where I can’t move a single part of my body.
Both hands are bound behind me. Feet zip tied to hands. I’m trussed up in an impossible position. Stuck between the backseat and front seats of his truck.
Have they done this before?
The oily, sick feeling in my bones gets worse.
Some dark part of me wonders if other people have seen this floorboard on their last ride.
I try to lift my head to get my face out of the carpet but can’t. Twisting to the side causes a stab of pain. Holy hell! My ribs hurt.
I drop my head back down. The gag bites into the corners of my mouth.
I mutter, “Screw you,” against the strip of bedsheet my attacker ripped off Evelyn’s bed. It tastes like the most disgusting laundry detergent on Earth.
Ick.
Somehow, the mix of grit and new car fumes and nasty taste only makes my anger hotter.
I hate them. Violently.
Which is good. It makes my blood surge hot through every single little capillary in my body.
If I’m lucky, I’ll set the truck on fire from sheer fury.
The driver says, “She is going—”
His voice dips low and I can’t make out the rest of his words. The second guy mutters something.
Dammit, the road noise is too loud. I can’t hear.
“He’ll pay.” It’s the driver’s voice again.
Nothing else is said. The vibe in the truck is lethal. I will not last long at their hands.
The only reason I’m in as good of shape as I’m now is because the second man got there before idiot number one had time to do what he wanted…
His idea of sick fun.
The truck jostles. My ribs scream. Oh wait. That was me screaming. Only the gag blocks it…bluck!
I work and work it with my tongue. My stomach twists around, revolting against the taste. The disgusting thing won’t budge.
Fuming, I try to channel my inner James Bond. But one word spoken between the two stops my mind cold in its tracks—bridge.
A bridge!
God. No. I can’t swim like this. I swallow, even though my mouth is cotton-ball-dry.
My shaking turns violent. My teeth would be chattering if they could touch. These men are going to throw me in the water.
I bet there’s a cinderblock in the back of the truck with my name on it.
Shoot me. Stab me. Anything is better than getting thrown off a bridge like a discarded human pretzel tied to an anchor.
An arrhythmia flares behind my sternum. Sweat is gathering on my wrists, between my mashed breasts, at the small of my back. I fight the tears that are seeping out of my eyes.
I will not cry. I will not fucking cry.
The truck suddenly lurches to a stop. My body rocks. The road noise is gone and all is deadly silent.
This is it.
The end of the road.
The bridge to nowhere.
What’s up with all these water deaths, or near-death experiences? If I get out of this, I’m moving to the mountains, where the biggest body of water is a trickling stream.
I bet Cole has a stream near his house.
A nice, small, bobbling stream of water. Great for sitting next to. Perfect for dipping a toe into. But I will never, ever have a chance of drowning.
Thinking of Cole’s cabin and beautiful land makes fresh tears spring up.
If I ever want to see that place again, I need to get loose.
Twisting my wrists, I try one more time to break the plastic ties. It hurts. My skin tears. Blood oozes beneath my restraints.
“Let’s do this,” the commander says to the other guy.
No!
The doors open. The truck rocks when the front doors slam. My pulse ceases. Cardiac arrest might be happening.
But I’m breathing. Hard and fast. Hyperventilating is a completely inadequate word for what’s going on back here.
A race car’s pistons pump slower than my chest is right now.
Get a grip. Slow down. I’m going to pass out if I don’t.
I close my eyes and try to control my body, but know I’m probably about to not only die, but do so in the midst of a full panic attack.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and just keel over first…
Agonizing minutes pass. Where are they?
I strain to hear. Several more minutes go by before I catch their voices approaching the truck. The crunch of boots gets louder.
Breathe. Brrrreathe.
Angels, if you’re up there, please save me now.
If only I could teleport. I’d whisk myself away to Cole’s cabin in an instant. Maybe I should be praying to the Star Trek Enterprise crew instead of angels.
One push of a button and I’d be tucked into his side with his big brawny arm around my shoulder, and his heartbeat would be steady below my ear. A fire would snap and glow in the gigantic stone fireplace.
My throat aches horribly. I tug at the plastic ties again, grunting. Fighting to ignore the pain.
I want Christmas lights too. They would twinkle like perfect stars on a clear winter night.
And I’d tell Cole how much I really love him.
My chest heaves as I break down. Complete emotional collapse.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cole. I just wish he knew I loved him.
I’ve been such a headstrong fool when all he was trying to do was love and protect me.
When the front door opens on the driver’s side, I nearly throw up. This is it. It’s coming.
Whatever horrible fate they have planned for me is seconds away.
I can’t even breathe. But the truck rocks when the driver climbs in. A second later, the passenger follows and climbs into his seat.
The truck starts. Leather shifts as if someone is turning around to look at me. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Stinger. Or maybe it isn’t. Change of plans. You’re going to be worth more to us alive than dead right now.”
It’s the ringleader of the pair. The laughter that follows his words is utterly terrifying.
The man that grabbed me joins in. “Death can wait. It’s not going anywhere.”
Is it stupid of me to feel elated?
I’ve been given a few more minutes, at least. And if I have time… maybe, just maybe, I can get away.
It’s not much. But hope creeps in only to be dashed when I get jostled and my injured ribs make me sob.