Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
RILEY
T hey shackle my arms above me, securing handcuffs around each wrist and settle in nice and close—one man on either side and one in front of me.
The men rip their masks off as soon as the door shuts and the driver heads toward the edge of the property.
I’m right. Definitely not students. These men are easily in their mid thirties and rough looking.
The students here look like prep-school kids in comparison.
My shoulders jerk, shaking against the restraints as the metal clangs together.
My head hangs low, tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision as I fight to breathe.
I’m not cut out for this crap. I half expect someone to jump out and yell “surprise” and tell me I failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.
Everyone would get a good laugh at my expense.
And honestly, right now, I wouldn’t care.
I’d laugh with them. You fooled me. Ha. Ha.
Except I know that’s not what’s going to happen here. I know it from the way the men leer at me.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, keeping my head lowered. “You know my father’s going to be looking for me. Michael Whittier, the Governor?”
The men exchange a curious look, but they don’t seem bothered by the information. In fact, the one to my right, his eyes light up like a tree and he licks his lips as his beady eyes travel the length of my body, stopping at various spots.
I’ve never wanted to vomit more in my life. “Who do you work for?”
No answer. Not that I actually expected one, but a girl can hope. The van slows, and I know we must be at the front gates now. This is my last chance before we’re off school grounds. The driver rolls down his window and says something to the posted guard.
“He—” I yell and the man across from me with the gun smacks it across my cheek, my head snapping to the side from the force of the blow.
Pain brands my skin as I struggle to take a deep breath.
I turn my face into my shoulder as the tears flow in rivulets down my cheeks.
I think he broke something. My face is numb and throbs all at the same time. Son of a bitch, it hurts!
“You don’t know when to stop, do ya?” he whispers in my ear. “I’m going to have fun breaking you. Boss never said anything about no stops along the way.”
I shake my head, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. “No, please,” I say quietly as my crying picks up. My entire body wracks with sobs.
The van pulls forward again, and I know that was my last chance.
Unless I can escape, I’m at their mercy; and no amount of fighting is going to put me on top.
These men easily have eighty pounds or more on me.
And being restrained, I don’t have a chance.
They are going to do whatever they want to me, and I won’t be able to stop them.
I don’t have my phone. No one knows where I am, or who I’m with. And I only know that someone turned off the cameras. Which means Zander is probably the one who was calling me before Derek dragged me out of my dorm. I know how much he watches those things.
The van jostles us and the men carry on a quiet conversation, as if I don’t exist. I listen, hoping for any useful information. Because I’m damned sure I will find a way out of this, and these fuckers will rue the day they messed with me. I’m not going down without a fight.
The van comes to a sudden stop and I lift my head, trying to look out the windshield to see where we are.
It was already dark when they kidnapped me, which means I can’t see a damned thing outside the headlights.
Plus, I have no idea where we are. How far from campus did we get on the short drive?
Was it actually longer? My sense of time has flown out the window with each sense on high alert.
I say nothing. I know it won’t do me any damn favors, and I don’t need my face bashed in more.
The front door opens and closes, and then the driver slides the back door open.
It stops with a final bang and I jump in my spot.
I glare daggers at him as he squats down, so he's directly in my line of sight.
Dark hair and eyes, some face scarring that looks like acne caused them. He’s covered from head to toe in black, which covers any distinguishing marks, like tattoos, on the rest of his body. I file as much as I can to memory, hoping it will serve me well.
“You know, it’s been a long time since we’ve had merchandise as pretty as you.
” Merchandise? So I’m being sold off. That answers that question.
He drags his finger down the side of my cheek that I know is probably turning a deep shade of purple, then gives it a slap.
Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have hurt, maybe just a slight sting, but with the bruise, I cry out in pain.
“I like when they fight. Makes me hard as a fucking rock.”
I glance between his spread thighs and then back up to him. “You’re sick.” I try to sound as disgusted as I feel, but it comes out scared. I’m terrified. My body shakes involuntarily and I know the three of them see it.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his cold, dead eyes. “All part of my charm.” He looks at the other men. “Let’s play a game, boys.” He opens his hand and holds up two small white pills. “Open your mouth.”
I shake my head quickly. “No,” I whisper. He laughs and puts the gun against my temple. “I said open. Your fucking. Mouth.”
My heart pounds in my chest and I can feel it pulse in my throat.
Whatever that drug is, if I don’t calm down, it’s going to take hold of me a hell of a lot faster than it should.
When I make no move to acquiesce, he squeezes my cheeks together and forces me to, then shoves the pill between my lips and holds my mouth closed.
The sharp taste of medicine assaults my taste buds and I try to spit it out.
“Swallow it. Now!” he screams in my face, pushing the barrel harder into my forehead and covering my nose as well, cutting off my air supply. “Or I’ll crush it and force you to snort it.”
I hope I can throw this thing up. My tears start up again, a steady stream down my cheeks.
I work hard to swallow them with the little spit I have.
My mouth is so damn dry, it feels like cotton.
He removes his hand from my face. I’m going to die or be raped by the end of this anyway, and I don’t want to feel like the timid thing I feel like right now.
I want to go down swinging. To be more of a brat, I open my mouth wide and stick out my tongue, showing him I took it.
I see the flash of desire cross his eyes and bile rises in my throat.
“Get up.”
I stand, and someone unlocks the handcuffs from the bar and slaps it back down on my wrist. The only thing I can be thankful for is they put them in front of me and not behind.
“You’ve got five minutes and then we’re hunting.
” He grabs my sweatshirt and pulls me close to him.
His breath smells of stale tobacco and I twist my face up.
He pulls a knife from his pocket and rips my sweatshirt down the middle, exposing my bra. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat.
“Run!” He screams in my face. I trip over my feet, trying to get away from them and fall in the dirt.
The men laugh behind me as I scramble to stand and take off.
My feet pound on the soft ground of the woods as I trample on fallen leaves and vegetation.
It’s nearly impossible to see with only the light from the moon above me.
Some low branches catch on my hair and the fabric of my sweatshirt as I keep up a steady pace.
My vision swirls and I know whatever that pill was is going to catch up with me sooner than later.
I need to find a road, or a clearing, or something. There has to be someone around. But even as I think about it, I know the chance of me being close to anything familiar is slim. I don’t know if those men know the area, but I have to assume they do.
My foot catches on a fallen log and I grind my teeth as I twist my ankle. I stop myself from falling by falling against a nearby tree, but I know I can’t keep up the same pace. I wince as I place weight on my foot and hobble along until it feels marginally better.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” their taunt comes.
They still sound far away. I listen for a moment for crunching leaves, knowing time isn’t on my side, but don’t hear anything.
My head spins and I shake it, warding off the vertigo it causes.
I turn around in circles, trying to determine the best way to run.
How did my night turn from one of the best to one of the worst in the blink of an eye?
If I had just gone with my gut to confront Julien straight away instead of cleaning up, I may not have been in this mess.
And who the hell is Derek working with? A sob breaks free and I slap my cuffed hands against my mouth, stifling it as I frantically look around me.
I don’t know which way to turn or where to go.
I’m in the middle of the woods. The only people crazy enough to live out this way are hermits.
The temptation to give up and lay down to close my eyes weighs heavily on me, but if I roll over, I’ll never survive it.
Those men are going to more than rape and sodomize me.
They’re going to sell me to the highest bidder and I’ll never be free again.
I’ll never see Leah and Ava again. Will Wesley and Zander mourn for me?
Julien? I know he doesn’t like me, but would he feel bad about what happened or feel responsible?
As much as I’m on the outs with my dad, I know he would stand up for me and fight to find me.
Even if it’s just to protect his public image.
I take a few steps in one direction and stop again.
Everything is getting fuzzy and my body is sluggish.
Is that…is that light? Off to my left, I swear I see light coming from just over the hill. I race that way, stumbling every few as my mind screams at my body to fight whatever they hell they made me take. When he told me I only had five minutes, I knew throwing the pills up wasn’t an option.
Get to the light. It’s a chant I repeat over and over as I get closer. And just over the crest of the hill, I see it. A small ranch style home in the middle of the woods, and there are lights on inside. Somebody is home. Someone who can call for help.
I pant and wipe tears from my eyes as I focus on making it to the house. My mind is the driving force behind getting me to take step after torturous step. I hear rustling behind me, but I’m too focused on my task to give it more attention.
The house is a few yards away now. I’m so close I could cry.
My ankle is giving out, but I trudge on, my pace slowing with each step.
I climb up onto the small porch and fall in front of the door, my legs no longer able to support my weight.
I don’t even have the energy to reach out and knock on the door.
I lay my head down and focus on my breathing.
I reach my arm up but miss the door by a couple of inches.
But it doesn’t matter. Quiet footsteps infiltrate my ears and the click of the lock on the door tells me it doesn’t matter that I missed knocking.
Whoever lives here knows I’m here now, and they are coming for me.
The door swings open and light pools around me.
“Miss Whittier?”
I smile before everything goes dark.