6. Maddie
6
MADDIE
Each breath pulls the dusty fabric closer to my mouth, the little dirt particles flitting into my mouth and coalescing across my tongue. My eyes adjusted to the filtered light a little while ago, yet I still can't make out enough from the shadows and shapes on the other side of the hood to know where I am.
“This is pointless,” I say, spitting fibers from the fabric out after the last word. “Why hide where I am when I know who took me, Uncle?”
Footsteps scratch across the ground before me. From the noise, we're somewhere with a concrete floor—dusty or dirty. However, the lack of a breeze or clear sounds of the night tells me we're inside, which means we're somewhere industrial. Or maybe on a farm. Somewhere with a large building that is exposed to the elements from time to time.
“Whatever you’re after, you won’t get it.”
My head jerks to the left, and the screech of tape precedes the hot and dirty fabric pressing against the tip of my tongue. The gutless fucker tapes my mouth in place, jaw open, and unable to speak.
I force my breath through my nose to avoid the taste of the crude hood, yet the air isn't enough. I draw a breath through my mouth and promptly gag at the shit that comes along with it.
"Jesus, fuck." Uncle Fox utters from my left. "Tape your goddamn whore hole closed, and you still manage to make noise."
Fuck you. I scream the insult in my mind, nose wrinkling with the force of the anger that shoots through me in hot waves of adrenaline-fueled rage. Rage at the fucking injustice of this. Rage at the knowledge that the day I'm used as a pawn in a game, it's my goddamn family who do it to me.
Of all the fucking people I could have guessed, Fox was low on that list.
Fucker .
I gag through another breath, the dusty little fibers of the fabric wrapping around the dangly bit at the back of my throat. Fuck me. I’ve always been a gagger. It was the favorite part of head for my high-school boyfriend—my weak-ass throat closing around him.
What I’d do to have a dick in place of this goddamn thing…
"Twenty years old, and you still don't know how to breathe properly," Fox snaps.
Twenty-one, fucker, not that you’d remember that.
“You’re a pain in my fuckin’ ass.” The tape is ripped unceremoniously from my mouth.
“Then let me go.”
“Shut the fuck up and it might still happen.”
That's a positive, I suppose. He's not intent on killing me if that's Fox's choice of reply. "You know, if you wanted something from Dad, you could have done what any normal person does and picked up the phone."
He chuckles at my jest yet says nothing further.
What feels like a goddamn hour passes before I'm jerked to my feet by my bound hands and forced forward. I pick the second we move outside, thanks to the lazy crickets singing in the night. A cool breeze touches my heated flesh. If only I could jerk the neckline of my shirt lower and ease the heat that radiates beneath my clothes.
Wherever the fuck he had me, it could have been done with a bit of air conditioning.
“Where are we going?”
"Like I'd tell you that," he chuckles close to my right.
“Ooo,” I taunt. “Surprise party. I love those.”
“Jesus,” he murmurs before the clack of a car door opening.
I'm shoved toward the vehicle, a hand on my head to guide me inside. I smack my shin on the running board —it must be a truck or SUV —and take two tries to get my bearings. Hands from my left wrap around my arm and haul me across the seat on my hip, positioning me in the center before they secure me with the lap belt. It’s this little detail that finally silences me; Fox isn’t alone.
I never heard another person around the whole goddamn time I knelt on that rough surface.
“Where to?”
No way… I frown, eager for the other hands to say something else.
“I’ll guide you,” Fox snaps. “Just drive.”
The car starts, the gentle rumble of a V8 beneath me. So, it is a big vehicle then. We jerk forward, jostling over uneven ground. I brace my feet wider to save myself from face-planting the seats before me. Stones crunch beneath the tires, a series of quick-fire bumps, and then we're on smoother ground. A cattle grate. We must have been on a farm.
The ride continues in silence, only two turns taken before the second person talks again.
“Did ya prep the place?”
Goddamnit. The Irish accent is hard to deny this time. My blood chills. There's only one Irish motherfucker I know of around these parts who'd get caught up in this kind of shit.
Ronan.
Maybe Fox won’t kill me, but my death card is suddenly back on the table.
"If you mean, did I check it's secure? Of course, I fuckin' did," Fox snaps.
The other guy—possibly Ronan—sighs. “I meant, did’ya line the walls, block out the windows, fill the locks…” He sighs again, short and sharp. “Shite.”
“You want to take charge?” Fox bites.
I stiffen, breath held while I wait for the driver's response. Please no.
“I don’t get paid enough for that level of care, ya bastard.”
“Ain’t me you need to bitch to about that,” Fox mutters.
"Just shut it, would ya?" The leather chair squeaks, and then, "I don't want yer prize knowin' too much."
"Like how Uncle Fox is working in cahoots with Terry's favorite cleaner to hold me hostage?” I measure the silence that follows my question before adding, “Isn’t that right, Ronan.”
A gentle chuckle is all I get in response before the car jerks to a stop and both doors, left and right ahead of me, open. Their voices fade from the vehicle, the cool night air rushing in to swirl around where I melt into a veritable puddle of stress against the soft leather upholstery.
I could die tonight. I could fucking well die, and I never got to live life on my terms. I never got to fuck Deo. I never got to open my dream store in town. I never had a husband, a home, or a garage filled with my favorite toys.
I never got to teach my future kid how to ride.
I have so much left to do before I check out.
This is not happening. Not tonight. Not like this.
The door to my left jerks open. “Come on.” Fox unclasps the belt from my lap and then jerks me toward him. “We got work to do, girl.”
Yes—yes, we do.