Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
W e drive some more. Then some more. And then some more.
I’m starting to really regret not using the bathroom when I was...you know, propositioning someone in the men’s bathroom. (Again.) He got to pee before we were kidnapped, but I didn’t take advantage of all those available toilets, and now that Diet Coke I was sipping back at the ax-throwing gym is starting to make its presence known.
I’m still gagged, so I try to do the universal signal for needing to go to the bathroom—you know, squirming around with my lower body like a toddler does. I also try to make meaningful eye contact with Freckles, but he’s pointedly not looking at me, though he does look at Kimo when all my wiggling becomes too obvious to ignore. “What’s wrong with her?”
Her would prefer not to be talked about like I can’t speak up for myself, but then again, I am still gagged. Kimo looks over at me, and my wide eyes must convey my desperate need to him, because he sighs. “I think she needs to pee.”
“I do,” I try to say through my gag. “Reeeally bad.”
Freckles taps on the back of Sandy’s seat. “I think we gotta stop.”
Sandy must have been listening in, because he doesn’t bother asking what’s going on. “She’ll have to wet her pants. We aren’t stopping.”
My wail of outrage is drowned out by Kimo and, surprisingly, Freckles protesting, too. “Just pull to the side of the road. We’re not animals,” Kimo says, as Freckles talks right over the top of him, “I’m sitting on the floor back here, too, dude. I don’t wanna be in a pee puddle.”
Between the three of us, we must be convincing, because Sandy finally sighs and relents. “Pull onto that side road, just up there,” he instructs Driver.
We drive along the side road for a few minutes, presumably to get farther away from the expressway so we won’t be spotted by any passing cars. I’d be touched by all this concern for my modesty if I wasn’t positive Sandy’s doing it to cover his own ass instead of mine.
The gravel road we’re on is a lot bumpier, and I’m jostled heavily up against Kimo. He braces his legs into the floor, trying to steady us in place. Even Freckles is bouncing around, having to hold on to the passenger seat to keep from careening across the vehicle.
Using the distraction as an opportunity, Kimo leans in close to my ear. “Hey. If you get a chance, run for it. Try and hide if you can, then wait them out. It’s me they want, not you, so they’ll probably give up eventually. We aren’t that far from the highway, so you can make it back and flag down help.”
Wide-eyed with terror, I meet his gaze. It isn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but hearing it vocalized makes it seem that much more real. Then again, if my other option is to stay tied up in the back of the van, I’d rather be hiding under a bush in the middle of rural Illinois—or Wisconsin? Indiana? Michigan? I’m not sure which way we’ve been traveling—and take my chances with the kindness of passing motorists. But my stomach twists in knots at the thought of leaving Kimo behind, to suffer who knows what fate. I try to reason away that sick feeling in my gut, reminding myself it’ll probably be easier for him to escape if I’m not here holding him back. He seems weirdly calm about this whole kidnapping, like maybe this isn’t his first rodeo.
Doing my best not to panic, I nod at him to show I understand and I’ll try my best.
Finally, Driver pulls the van to the side of the road. Sandy gets out first before opening the heavy sliding door in the back and addressing Freckles. “I’ll take the girl. You take our friend Kimo.”
“Nope,” Kimo says before I even have time to vocalize my complaints. He locks eyes with Sandy. “I promise you, I will try to escape if you take Matilda. And I think we both know that, even tied up, I can take your friend. No offense, brother.”
This last part is directed toward Freckles, who shifts but doesn’t comment. Seeing as how Kimo has a good seventy-five pounds on him, and a lot of it muscle, he wisely doesn’t refute the idea that Kimo could take him in a fight, especially since they seem determined to keep Kimo alive and likely won’t shoot at him.
Sandy sighs—it’s more like a hiss, really—clearly frustrated at not getting his way. Geesh. This guy is obsessed with me. “Fine. Dylan, you take the girl. I’ll take Kimo Hood.”
Dylan? I eye Freckles over. Nah. That’s a terrible name for him. Dylan is the name for a rebel, a poet , and this guy is just...Freckles.
I’ve never tried to scooch out of a van with my hands tied behind my back and my bladder full to bursting before, but it’s not the most elegant I’ve ever been, let’s just leave it at that. When I finally manage to make it to the door, Sandy grips my upper arm tightly. “No funny business. We weren’t even meant to pick you up. No one’s going to care what I do with you if you don’t behave.”
I just glare back at him. He’s lucky I have this gag on, or he’d already have a loogie on his face. Finally he lets me go, and Freckles (yep, that’s the name I’m sticking with) takes me by the arm, guiding me around the other side of the van. Behind me, I can hear Kimo grunting and shuffling his way out of the vehicle, and Sandy saying something harsh to him that gets carried off by the wind.
Unlike Sandy, Freckles doesn’t seem especially keen to touch me. Up close I can sense how young he is, maybe early twenties, maybe even late teens. He has that not-fully-developed build of a young man still coming into what his grown-up body will be. Maybe I should feel somewhat sympathetic to him because of that, but all I can think is how easy it would be to knock over his thin, knobby body if I rush him.
But first, I really do have to pee.
Freckles motions toward a spot in the gravel. “Go ahead. Do your thing.”
He starts to turn his back to me, but I make a little whine of protest, twisting my back to remind him that my hands are tied. If it were Sandy, I have no doubt he’d offer to help me pull down my shorts (creep), but Freckles just shifts uncomfortably. Either this is his first kidnapping or he’s really in the wrong profession, because he looks like he hates every part of being here.
“Fine.” He reluctantly unties my hands. “Just don’t do anything stupid or I’ll make you regret it.”
Since he’s still facing me, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The delivery could really use some work, kid. I’m not exactly shaking in my sensible walking shoes here.
With his back turned to me, I squat down to do my business. As I do so, I let my eyes roam over the tree line, just a few yards away. If I can knock over Freckles and escape into the trees, I might be able to hide, just like Kimo recommended. I can hear the not-too-distant roar of the expressway from here, so it will likely be within walking distance once I can make my way back.
Holy shit. I’m really doing this.
I discreetly pull my shorts back up and ready myself to make a break for it. First step, knock down the kid. Next, run for the trees. Then, find a place to hide. Actually, first first step, I take off my gag and quietly drop it to the ground. No more need for that. I work my jaw a few times, unable to resist loosening it after being clamped shut for so long.
If I were still the praying kind, I might say a quick prayer now. But I’m all I have. I’ve known that now for quite some time.
“You got it, dude,” I mutter to myself under my breath.
Freckles’s back is still turned toward me. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I center myself before launching into a spinning hook kick aimed at his buttocks.
I watch Freckles go down but don’t wait to see what the aftermath will be. Instead I bolt toward the tree line, running as fast as I can go.