36. Anna
ANNA
I try to get lost in the spirit of the festival, especially since this is the final night until next autumn, but I can’t.
Not while I’m so hyper-vigilant of my surroundings.
Anger mixes with my anxiety the longer I work because, once again, Sebastian has ruined something I love.
The Slaughterhouse was my safe space, somewhere I could go to escape.
I know better than to think Sebastian would show up here, but I keep scanning the crowds, as if waiting for his boogeyman to come out of the shadows and attack like last time.
Hell, this would be the perfect place to do it.
Bystanders would probably witness me getting stabbed and just think it was part of the performance.
A half-hour before closing, my nerves finally uncurl themselves from every cell of my body when my phone vibrates with an incoming text message.
Damon:
Does my Candy Cane want some pink champagne?
It’s a reference to the movie Joy Ride and one of our codes for Sebastian.
Holy shit. He got him. Damon actually got him.
Me:
That would be a 10-4, Black Sheep.
I can finally breathe, and when we’re called in for the festival’s grand finale, I’m sporting a smile that could rival the Cheshire Cat throughout the entire performance.
I want nothing more than to go to Damon when the shift ends, but it seems there are other plans.
At least right now. Apparently, there’s a wrap party over in Peeksville, and pretty much everybody’s heading there right from the festival, still wearing their makeup.
I obviously won’t be getting any information from Damon for a while, so I agree to go.
We all head out to our cars, and I’m on the road for five minutes when I hear it.
It doesn’t “blow out,” but there’s obviously something wrong with the rear right tire.
My immediate instinct is to panic, to keep driving even if it gets so bad that there’s nothing left but the rim. I should be trying to get somewhere more populated, but I need to have faith.
I need to pull over.
Right outside of the industrial district, the area is surprisingly rural, with plenty of open roads and trees.
Civilization is a bit out of the way, and I don’t know my coworkers’ cars well enough to know whether the vehicles passing me are theirs or not.
I’m not about to flag down a stranger, and Damon doesn’t answer when I call.
Just breathe, Anna. You ’ ve got this.
He won ’ t let anything happen to you.
I’ve had the car in park for less than a minute when I look in the rearview mirror to see a vehicle behind me pulling over onto the shoulder. Their headlights hadn’t been on before. I would have noticed that.
The other cars passing by illuminate the silhouettes of the vehicle enough that I can see the driver’s door isn’t open, and the windows must be tinted because I can’t even make out any shapes to see how many people there are.
But then I look forward—
And there’s another car parked in front of me now, the body of it covered in more rust than paint. The back end is positioned at an angle and is far too close that I won’t be able to drive around it.
I’ve been blocked in.
Glass suddenly explodes, raining onto my lap as the Sunfire’s passenger window is smashed.
After everything I’ve been through recently, you’d think my body would be used to the adrenaline by now, but I’m a shaky, frantic mess, fumbling for the door handle and my seat belt.
I barely get the chance to open the driver’s door when it’s yanked open.
The person snatches a fistful of my hair, and I’m dragged out onto the pavement.
The few passing cars swerve and lay on their horns, but no one’s slowing down. No one’s helping.
Not surprising. People aren’t usually inclined to help strangers anymore—the result of a society that preys upon people’s good nature.
What they’re witnessing could be legitimate, but it might not.
And even if it is, who’s to say my assailants aren’t armed with something worse than crowbars?
Are you really going to risk being shot by trying to defend a stranger who’s being attacked for reasons unknown?
As a woman, I sure as hell wouldn’t. The only thing anyone could reasonably do is call the police, and by the time they show up, I’ll be long gone. Or dead.
Thankfully, the latter seems unlikely. If they really wanted to kill me, they could have easily bludgeoned me over the head without needing to drag me out of the car.
Damon was right.
Sebastian is too much of a chickenshit to go after me himself.
And he doesn’t want to miss seeing me getting my comeuppance firsthand. His goons will be bringing me to him.
I punch and kick and claw at the men as they each try to carry me to the car parked in front of mine, seeing the trunk pop open.
I catch my fingernails on the side of one of the guys’ cheeks and am promptly dropped back to the pavement.
My only warning that it’s coming is the sharp crackle above me before two thousand volts of electricity course through my body.
Any fight I have is extinguished as every muscle in me contracts, leaving me ramrod straight and spasming.
The feeling dissipates the second my attacker pulls the taser away, but I don’t recover quickly enough to stop them from hauling me the rest of the way.
Like I’m nothing more than a gym bag, they dump me into the trunk, and when I try to make a move to stop them from shutting the decklid, I’m hit once more with the taser.
All I can do is writhe in the compact space, witnessing my last hope fade away as I notice the lever for the trunk release is lying next to me, severed.
I twist to see even the cables themselves have been cut…
just before the light is snuffed out for good as the lid slams shut.