Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Shenna
I do everything they tell you to do when trapped in someone’s trunk.
I try to find the taillights, hoping to damage them so that the traffic violation will get Derek pulled over. No such luck. The back of the lights has been covered by a plastic panel, and it’s been bolted on. I try to push down on the spot where the trunk is connected to the back seat, but that doesn’t work. I look for an internal emergency latch. Nothing. A chill runs through me when I realize this was planned. He removed the internal emergency latch for a reason. That took forethought and know-how. And I’m screwed.
I’ve been kidnapped by a psychopath, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. And I’m in my fucking night shirt with no pants.
Crying solves nothing, but in the moment, I feel so helpless and scared that I let myself cry just a little bit.
I wish I’d gone to Clara’s house like I was told to do. Better yet, I should have gone straight to the pub to find Hurley, bachelor party be damned.
My pity party of one is interrupted when the car has come to a stop. I freeze and listen to my surroundings. Derek exits the car. I hear faint beeping and the sound of other vehicles coming and going. And then, the unmistakable sound of someone removing the gas cap and pumping fuel into the car.
This is it. I’ve been given one last chance to get away. If I don’t act now, I might disappear forever.
I just start kicking and wailing on the lid of the trunk. I shout for help. I scream. I pray that someone hears me and does something.
“He has a gun! I’ve been kidnapped! Someone call the police!”
I just keep shouting.
This goes on for a long time. Judging by how raw my throat feels, I’d say at least twenty minutes. Surely someone has heard me, called the police, or detained Derek until the police arrive. That’s the only explanation for why we aren’t moving yet. He wouldn’t want to hang around a gas station for shits and giggles when he’s got a prisoner in the trunk.
I don’t know what’s happening out there, but nothing is going to shut me up until I’m out of this goddamn trunk.
Suddenly, there’s a pop of gunshots, followed by a scuffle.
“Hello! I’m in here! What’s happening!”
No one answers me, but I hear Derek’s shouting, “Who are you? Get away, or I’ll shoot you for real this time!”
Men’s voices grunt through some kind of struggle, and someone is thrown against the car. Metal skids against the pavement. Someone calls out that they’ve got the gun.
“Shenna! Are you in there?”
Hurley. It’s Hurley. Oh my god, I’ve never been so happy to hear his voice.
The trunk lid opens, and my eyes take in the most welcome sight of my life. Hurley reaches for me.
But just as I grab for him, something jerks him backward.
I scramble out of the trunk, mindful of my bumps and bruises from the ride, only to see Hurley and Derek chaotically dragging each other across the pavement. This is not like fistfights in the movies. Nobody’s playing fair here, and it’s hard to tell who’s winning. It’s a lot of shoving and cussing and angry grunting. Fingers poking. Clothes ripping. Legs kicking out aimlessly. The struggle is about even between the two, until finally, two more guys jump on Derek, letting Hurley put Derek in a headlock.
I wish I hadn’t actually watched the final move, with Hurley slamming Derek’s head in the car door until he falls unconscious to the ground.
I think I’m going to be sick. I cover my mouth and run away. Where am I going? I have no idea. My body just needs to move.
“Oh no you don’t.”
I’m lifted skyward and find myself being carried away in Hurley’s arms.
“Don’t struggle.”
“I can’t stop. I need to get away from here.”
“I got you, Shenna. Breathe.”
It seems stupid to have to remind me to breathe, but Hurley does just that as he buckles me into the passenger seat of his truck and calmly closes the door.
I look back and watch the two men who helped Hurley subdue my attacker load the unconscious Derek into the trunk of his car.
Hurley guns the engine.
“Don’t we have to wait for the police to show up?”
He says nothing, and I can see from the look on his face that his singular focus is to get us out of there.
“Please don’t ask me to talk to the cops, babe.”
“What did you do?”
He shakes his head. He’s not ready to tell me that.
After I’m calm, I reach over and find Hurley’s hand in the darkness.
“Fine. We don’t have to wait for the police. How did you find me?”
“I put a tracker on your phone, dummy.”
“You what!?”
“And on your car, too. Which didn’t do me a lot of good. We are getting you a new car, and you’re going to use it, by the way. No more walking everywhere. Too easy for people to follow you.”
I’m still stuck on the fact that my husband manipulated my phone without telling me.
“Hurley! A tracker?”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hurley!”
“What?”
I stare at him for a long minute, not knowing whether to kiss him or punch him in the arm for being such an overprotective ogre.
In the end, I don’t do either of those things.
Instead, I grab his shirt and pull him forward. “Take me home. Now.”
“Like hell you’re setting foot in that dump of an apartment again.”
I tap him on the cheek. “Not there. To your home. I want to go home with my husband. Now.”