Chapter 2
EMILY
Why didn’t I say yes when Derek offered to come with me?
If only I had, I might not be here.
But it seemed silly to make him leave the line just to accompany me to the restroom, especially when he was in the middle of a conversation with his friend.
Honestly, I thought it might be nice to give the two of them some time alone.
Time to shoot the shit, as my brother likes to say.
Not have to filter their words, like I know they would have done if I were standing there.
Or at least, Derek would have, because he’s the kind of man who believes in speaking politely in front of a woman.
I thought I could make a quick trip to the row of porta-potties at the edge of the lot, find the least offensive of them, and hopefully freshen up a little before rejoining Derek in line.
Fix my ponytail, which was springing flyaways everywhere, give myself a quick wipe-down with one of the cleansing cloths I tucked in my waist pack, and top it off with a swipe of lip gloss that promised to make my lips look extra kissable.
Did I have to make the extra effort? Was Derek expecting it?
No and no. After living together for the last two months, we’ve moved past the having to look perfect all the time stage and into the cuddle on the couch in our worn, holey sweats one.
Derek’s seen me at my worst, like when I was sick with a stomach bug and hadn’t showered in three days.
I’ve faced him in the morning with a makeup-free face and stinky breath.
Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to look nice for him.
But crap. If I hadn’t been thinking of my flyaways and worrying about body odor, I’d be with Derek right now, instead of the mess I’m in.
“What a fucking shitshow!”
The exclamation is punctuated by a hand slamming on the steering wheel. The horn lets out a short, indignant beep, and the car jerks slightly to the right.
I let out a frightened yelp before I can stop myself, and the man in the driver’s seat flashes an angry glare at me. “Shut up!” he barks. “What did I say about keeping quiet?”
Instinctively, I cringe away from him, whacking my elbow on the car door in the process.
The sharp pain brings tears to my eyes, and for a moment, the view through the windshield blurs.
My heart is lodged in my throat, thrumming hummingbird fast. It feels as if a tremendous weight is pressing down on my chest.
“What did I say?” he demands.
After a lightning-quick inner debate—do I answer his question or keep quiet, like he ordered?—I whisper, “Not to say anything.”
“Right!” He thunks the steering wheel again in emphasis. “I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut! But noooo—” He drags out the word. “You have to flap your damn mouth. Just like my bitch of an ex.”
From the backseat, there’s a small whimper, followed by a sniffle.
The man’s gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. His eyes narrow. “Stop it,” he snaps at the little girl sitting back there. “This is your fault, you know. If you’d just come with me—”
“I want Mom,” she interrupts. Her voice is small and wobbly. “Take me home. Please. I just want to go home.”
“That’s not your home,” he retorts. “I’m taking you to a new house. A new home. It’s much better than that shithole your mom has you living in.”
The little girl—Kylie, she told me, before everything spiraled into chaos—replies, “It’s not. What you just called it. Our house is nice. We have a fireplace and a backyard and Mom said I can turn the attic into my own special hideout.”
Chancing a glance behind me, I turn to look at Kylie. Her face is pink and tear-stained, but there’s a stubborn jut to her chin and a hint of defiance in her gaze. I’m glad to see that she’s still holding herself together, but I’m scared for her, too.
The man in the driver’s seat is her father, which in normal circumstances would mean he wouldn’t think of hurting her. But these aren’t normal circumstances, and he’s not a stable person. Which makes me worry about what might happen if she talks back to him.
Just the thought of it makes my chest clutch with fear.
On the heels of that, fresh determination surges through me.
I won’t let him hurt her, I silently vow. It doesn’t matter what I have to do. I won’t let Kylie get hurt.
Before turning forward again, I catch Kylie’s eye. It’s going to be okay, I mouth.
Her forehead pinches for a second. Then she mouths back, How?
How, indeed?
Rather than answer her, which would be tough since I don’t have a plan as of yet, I flash her a tiny, reassuring smile. Or at least, I hope it looks like a reassuring smile and not a pained grimace that lets on how scared I really am.
Twisting back around in my seat, I clutch my seatbelt as I watch the road unfold in front of us. Kylie’s father is quiet, his focus back on the road, so I take the opportunity to scan the interior of the car, hoping to find something I can use against him.
Although what can I really do to him while we’re traveling seventy miles an hour on the highway? Even if I did find some sort of weapon, I can’t exactly attack him. Not unless I want to make the situation even worse than it already is.
And as bad as things are right now, they could definitely get worse.
Kylie’s father could shoot me with the gun he threatened me with. He’s got it tucked into his waistband, and it would only take seconds for him to fire off a shot.
Or he could take the next exit and drive into the country until he finds a convenient ditch to dump my lifeless body.
He could lose his mind completely and drive into oncoming traffic, potentially injuring or killing dozens of innocent people.
He could take me and Kylie to this house he keeps talking about and hold us both hostage there for years.
He could—
No. Thinking about all the terrible what-ifs doesn’t help us get out of here.
Instead, I need to come up with a plan.
The only problem is, in the fifteen or so minutes we’ve been in the car, I haven’t yet thought of one.
If Derek were here, he’d know what to do.
Although, if Derek was with me back at the restrooms, the rest of this would never have happened.
Derek would never have let me go off to confront Kylie’s father by myself. He would have insisted on handling it, and Derek would have had the skills to quickly disarm the man if he tried pulling a gun on him.
Not me, though. As soon as I saw the gun, I froze.
Which was stupid, in hindsight. What I should have done was shout for help or at least hit the emergency call button on my phone. But I was just so shocked.
I’d been about to head back to Derek when I noticed Kylie and her father just off to the side of the porta-potties, and there was just something about them that set my inner alarms ringing.
It was in her tearful, pleading expression and the angry twist of his features.
It was the way he was holding her hand, even though she didn’t look like she wanted him to.
My body was moving before I had a chance to think about it.
As I drew closer to them, I was mentally preparing for how to confront him. Politely but firmly, I’d ask if there was a problem, if I could help. I’d use some of the de-escalation skills I learned at work and hopefully defuse the situation.
But in all the scenarios I imagined, being kidnapped in the middle of a crowd wasn’t one of them.
That’s what happened, though.
I started out addressing Kylie, asking her with a kind smile if everything was okay. Then I turned to the man I later learned was her father, smile still plastered on my face, and asked if there was anything I could do to help.
That’s when everything went terribly wrong.
In a blink, his expression flipped from irritated to furious. “Go away,” he snapped. “This is none of your business.”
But the frightened look in Kylie’s eyes told me otherwise.
“I work with kids,” I replied, gesturing at Kylie. “Maybe I can help.”
The man cast a furtive glance around us. Despite the crowd, the area around the porta-potties was quiet. And the few people nearby didn’t seem to be paying attention.
Then Kylie pulled against her father’s hand. “Dad, let me go,” she pleaded. “My friends are waiting. I wasn’t even supposed to come to the bathroom on my own. I need to get back before I get into trouble.”
“You’re not leaving,” he informed her in a tone that brooked no argument. “You’re coming with me.” And before I could do anything, he pulled out a gun and shoved the barrel against my belly. “And so are you.”
As he marched us to his car, I was certain someone would stop him. Even if they couldn’t see the gun he had pressed to my side, surely, they’d realize Kylie and I were in trouble. They’d do something.
It’s ironic, really. All those people, and not a single one noticed.
Although, if Derek had seen us, he would have known right away.
If Derek had seen us, I wouldn’t be here now. I’d be safe with him. And Kylie would be back with her mom.
“This fucking traffic,” Kylie’s father grumbles. “This damn race fucks it up every year. One of the reasons I’m glad I don’t live in this piece of shit city anymore.”
“Dad,” Kylie whines from the back. “Please turn around. I don’t want to go to some weird new house. I want to go home.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “We are going home.”
“It’s the wrong way,” she argues. “This is the way to gram and gramps.” A beat, and then more hopefully, “Are we going to see them?”
Before he can answer, my phone rings.
My heart leaps.
It’s Derek. I just know it.
But just like the dozen or so other times my phone’s gone off with an incoming call or text, I’m unable to answer it. All I can do is stare at my pack sitting on top of the dashboard, where my phone is tucked away inside.
It’s so close. Just an arms-length away. All I would have to do is lunge forward, grab the pack, unzip it, and in less than twenty seconds, I’d have my phone in hand.
“Don’t think about it!” my captor snarls. Moments later, something hard and cool jabs into my side. “I’ll shoot you right now if you even think about moving!”