Chapter 23
This guy is crazy. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, or how long he’s planning on keeping us, but I know he wants our boy. Our Ezra. Tough shit, he ain’t ever getting Little Dick.
Bubba says it’s almost time for us to make our move, but he still ain’t told me what that move is. We’ve been here for days or weeks, or maybe even months, and each day away from our family—from the home we’ve created—feels like forever. I just want to go home.
Bubba don’t seem scared very often, but he seems scared right now.
Something must have happened earlier. I know they were whispering to each other, what if he threatened to kill Bubba?
Or what if he threatened to kill me? I don’t know the guy from Adam, so I don’t know what the hell he’s capable of.
He stalked our car, thinking we were Ezra, only to dig us out of an embankment and drag our unconscious asses here.
For the last ten minutes, he’s been muttering to himself about fated mates. I don’t know what the fuck that means, but it don’t sound good.
“You,” he growls, and his eyes are aimed right at me. “You’ll be first.”
The room is thick with tension, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your heartbeat thump in your ears.
I glance at the cracked window, weighing the odds of making a break for it, but the lunatic’s got his eyes on both of us, and besides, Bubba told me no matter what I do, I can’t make a run for it unless he tells me it’s okay.
He’s smart like that, always seeing the bigger picture.
Not like me, all erratic and impulsive by nature.
Bubba’s on the other side of the bed, and his eyes are on mine with a knowingness in them.
When Clitmaster Harold turns to grab a syringe from the small, black medicine bag he carries around on his hip, Bubba quickly shakes his head at me, motioning for me to stay still, probably.
I’m tired of waiting, but I trust Bubba with my life, so I nod.
Time seems to crawl, every second stretching longer as the tension builds.
My palms are slick with sweat, and I try to steady my breathing, forcing myself to stay calm and listen for any hint of an opportunity.
Bubba’s subtle signals keep me grounded, reminding me that losing my cool could mean the end for both of us.
All I can do is wait and hope Bubba’s got a plan brewing, even as the crazy bastard paces the room, muttering threats under his breath.
Each time Bubba’s face ticks, I prepare to launch, but then Bubba just sits there, not making a move.
When Harold’s eyes meet mine, they look completely black, not a drop of light left in them. He’s staring at me like I just fucked his girl or something, and then he lifts the syringe over his head and walks forward slowly like this is a really bad eighties horror film.
For a split second, the world narrows to the glint of the needle and the pounding of my heart.
I glance sideways at Bubba, searching for any sign—a twitch, a nod, anything—that it's time to move.
But he stays stone-still, his eyes sharp.
He's waiting for the perfect second. Somewhere deep inside, I cling to that sliver of hope, trusting that Bubba won't let this fuckin’ creep get the jump on us.
The air is electric, and every muscle in my body is alive, ready to spring the instant Bubba gives the word.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
He swallows, his eyes darting back to Harold. “Now.”