Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Josie
Sedatives have done a number on my muscles, but I still find the strength to raise my leg and drive it right into his nuts. Now it’s my turn to smile down at him as he drops to his knees and turns five shades of red.
“Don’t ever call me that again, King,” I say, and I only wish I sounded more polished. If they inject me with any more of that shit, I’m liable to incur permanent brain damage.
He grits his teeth and looks up at me. “I take it back, then.”
“I bet you do. You always take it back, don’t you?”
“How’d you manage it, hmm?”
He rises to his feet, and I lack the energy to kick him again. At least I’ve hobbled him; he winces with each step around the chair.
“How’d you get Jim in on this? Your last name isn’t Brickle, so you can’t be related to Terrence.” He pauses. “Is there even a damn sloth?”
“Same mother, different fathers,” I say, “but I’m fucking touched you remembered my last name.”
“Well, save it, because I never said I remembered your last name, only that it wasn’t Brickle.”
Ouch, that stings, but I’ll take a hot-chocolate enema before I ever let him know it. I smirk up at him and nibble my lower lip. “Don’t lie. Remember when we went to the drive-in and you carved our initials into that guy’s forehead? We were the local headline for months. You know my last name.”
“We never went to a drive-in,” he says.
“Oh, shit. My bad. That was one of the other killers I fucked. I get all of you confused.”
King nods and looks down at the dock. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your spark. Are you feeling better? You sound much more sober now.”
“Yeah.” I nod back, and he finally looks me in the eye as he circles the chair again. “I’m feeling a little tired, but—”
He grips my wrists and wedges a knife blade beneath the rope. I keep silent and still as he breaks through my bindings. With a sigh of relief, I go to stand, but King steps into me and sends me into the water. I spin and reach for the ledge, but I’m already going under.
Jim wasn’t lying. I can’t fucking swim, and King knows it.
My hands flail in front of me and find a rope. I grip it and haul myself toward the light. I break through the surface and sputter as I look into his grinning face. He squats at the edge of the wooden dock, holding the other end of the rope in his hands.
“You tried to kill me!” I scream. “What happened to the fucking code you taught me, jackass? We don’t kill our own!”
“Tsk, tsk. I didn’t try to kill you. Not yet, anyway. If I wanted you to die, you would be dead.”
That’s supposed to be a threat, right? Like, that’s supposed to make me afraid or, at the very least, cautious. Instead, I damn near moan.
It brings to mind the first kill he ever took me on, when I saw his depravity firsthand. So yeah, I know what he’s capable of, and he’s right.
If he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.
“Help me out of here,” I say as I remember that I’m in deep water and have the swimming ability of a skyscraper. I raise my hand toward him, but he lowers me into the water a bit more, and my hand moves back to the rope. “Cut it out.”
“Will you tell Jim where the sloth is?”
“What? No!”
He lowers me until water touches my chin. I try to climb higher, but he swats my fingers at every turn.
“If you tell me where the blasted beastie is, then I’ll let you live, and you can go on the road trip.”
“Lies. You’ll just drop me into the water!”
“That outcome is far more probable if you make me ask a third time.” He looks down at me, and my heart aches in ways it shouldn’t as I stare into his stormy blue eyes. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the sloth. We know you have it.”
I press my forehead against the rope and sigh. Yeah, I know where the sloth is, but I’m not telling him or his little friends. I saved that animal from absolute hell, and I’ll be damned if she’s thrust right back into the brimstone lake.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and trust that he won’t let me go. We have too much history for him to—
Well, shit.
Water covers the top of my head. I kick my legs, but I continue my downward trajectory.
It seems I’m swimming after all, just not in the correct direction.
The light shrinks away, and I’m shrouded in darkness.
I don’t panic, though. Not yet. His heart may be a shriveled, cold thing in his chest, but it exists.
Right?
I stop thrashing my way to the lake bottom. It’s too dark to see if I can grab anything, so I reach around in the inky water.
My fingertips brush against nothing. Hope fades as my lungs constrict in my chest and beg me to breathe. Pain grips my guts, and the sudden urge to shit strikes me. It’s a wonder my bowels work at all when my blood is more sedative than hemoglobin, but I guess the anxiety shits didn’t get the memo.
Great. When my carcass is hauled from the water, I’ll have dirty drawers. I love this for me.
Just when I’m about to give up, I hear something break the surface far above my head. Arms curl around my waist and drag me upward, and I ready my fist to punch King square in his smug face the moment I get some air.
But as we burst into the light, I realize King hasn’t come to my rescue. It isn’t his powerful hold pushing me onto the dock. It’s Blayne.
“Now why’d you go and do a silly thing like that?” he asks as Lice Pick pulls me from the water. “If you can’t swim, you shouldn’t play so close to the lake, silly.”
I sputter and roll onto my side. King is nowhere in sight. That asshole pushed me into the water and walked away!
“I’ll kill him,” I mutter under my breath.
“Get her up to the house and help her dry off,” Lice Pick says to Blayne.
With a nod, Blayne scoops me up as if I weigh less than a sack of flour.
I’m too exhausted to argue, and my legs feel like lead.
Not to mention the fact that my guts are still cramping as if I just downed a fistful of laxatives for funsies.
If I’m forced to walk, I’m more liable to force something else as well.
No thanks. Blayne can carry me.
We step out of the boat shed and into the sunlight. King leans against a tree, studying his nails. I wrap my arm around Blayne as we pass him, making sure the British bastard sees my middle finger.
“You sure you wanna ride with that guy across America?” Blayne shakes his head. “If you want to bunk with—”
“She’ll do no such thing,” King barks. “My RV is fitted for her restraints, so she’s stuck with me until she gives up the sloth.”
“Restraints?” I ask.
“Sorry, sweet thing,” Blayne whispers. “I tried.”
“In fact,” King calls, “don’t bother taking her to the cabin. Take her straight to my RV. She can sleep there tonight.”
Blayne stops and turns to face King, but he doesn’t start toward the RVs. “She’s wet, though. Shouldn’t we let her dry off first?”
King steps away from the tree and comes toward us. He motions for Blayne to transfer ownership of the burden that is me, but the younger man only grips me tighter.
“Hand her over, lad. You’re no match for this one.” He wrenches me from Blayne’s grasp, and I’m too scared I’ll rip the biggest fart known to man if I struggle, so I just let it happen. He flops me over his shoulder and starts down the hill.
If he pats my ass, I’ll let everything go. The embarrassment will be such a small price to pay.
But he doesn’t. He just hauls me all the way to the RV lot, then drops me onto the bed in the back of the cabin. I lie still, hoping he’ll forget all about those restraints, but he doesn’t. Metal clamps over my wrists, and then he fastens the cuffs to a long chain.
“I’m sure you’re about to shit yourself, so I’ve provided enough length to go to the bathroom.”
“You don’t remember my last name, but you remember my IBS. How sweet of you.”
“You also have enough length to hang yourself. Take your pick.”
He strides toward the exit.
“Why are you so bitter toward me, King? I wasn’t the one who left.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
I wake up on the floor of the RV with a pounding headache and wrist shackles still chaining me to this nightmare. Judging by the way the ground sways beneath me, we’re either on the move or experiencing an earthquake. I can’t really tell. I only know that I feel like shit.
“Don’t tell me I missed the kick-off dinner everyone kept talking about,” I say.
My voice startles King, and the RV jerks to the right. He glances in the rearview mirror and spots me on the ground. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Ready to tell us where that sloth is now?”
I struggle to my feet, then drop to the bed. The chain won’t reach the little sitting area. I can go just as far as the bathroom, and not an inch more. Whoever designed my restraints really thought this shit out.
“I’m not telling you where the sloth is. Once I do, you’ll dump me on the side of the road. I’m not stupid.”
King nods. “Yes, that’s precisely what we’ll do. Aren’t you as ready to be rid of me as I am of you? We have lives to live. Very separate lives.”
I just bet he’s ready to get rid of me. He doesn’t need to worry that I’ll get attached again, but I’ll be damned if I miss an opportunity to annoy the piss out of him and ruin his little vacation. It won’t make up for him ruining years of my life, but it’s a fucking start.
Now that the fog has cleared from my head, I take a moment to study the shackles on my wrists. I tried figuring this out last night, but all those drugs made it too hard to think. Now that I’m in my right mind, it’s time to break free.
They’re comfort cuffs, with soft padding on the inside to protect my skin, but if they think I’m wearing these bracelets for the entire trip, they’re sorely mistaken. Escaping the ropes was a different matter, but cuffs are fucking cake.
King should know better.
I slip my hand into my shirt and grip the ancient bobby pin he gave me five years ago.
I keep it pinned to my bra strap, and it’s gotten me out of more sticky situations than I care to recall.
Using one end, I dig around in the lock’s innards until something clicks.
Then I repeat the same motions on the other cuff, and I’m free.
Without a second thought, I stroll to the front of the RV and sit in the passenger seat. King rolls his eyes and drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I never should have taught you that trick,” he mutters as he changes lanes to keep up with the fleet of traveling houses in front of us. “I’ll secure you better at the next stop. You aren’t free to wander about.”
“Where are we headed? I heard Blayne and Lice Pick talking about games or something.”
“Lice Pick?” He bites his bottom lip and grins.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, nothing at all, my beauty.”
“I told you to stop calling me that.” I glare out the window. “I’m not your anything, and I never was.”
He shifts in his seat, and when I look at him again, he’s no longer smiling.
It’s just as well. His smile does terrible things to my insides. Hell, his entire being does terrible things to me, and I wish it didn’t. How unfair that I finally escaped his orbit only to be pulled in once again.
King slams on the brakes, and I lurch forward and smack against the dash.
“What the fuck?” I bark as I rub what will become a bruise on my forearm.
He flails his suit-clad arm toward the vehicle in front of us. “Don’t blame me! Blame those blasted fools!”
When I glance ahead, I spot a set of butt cheeks pressed against the rear window. “Bit early for a full moon,” I say with a giggle.
“It’s that idiotic friend of Lice Pick’s,” he says. “He’s more of a liability than you are. If he doesn’t fuck up this road trip in astronomical ways, I’ll eat my hat.”
“You don’t wear hats.”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
I look him up and down. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than a suit.”
“Was the lovemaking so unforgettable?”
“That was your birthday suit,” I say. “Do you really plan to go the entire road trip while wearing a three-piece?”
“Do you really plan to go on the entire road trip?” He raises his eyebrows, but I just ignore him.
“Yeah, I bet you brought a barber with you to keep your facial hair lined up too, huh? You have no concept of cutting loose.”
My words strike a nerve, and he sits a little straighter.
His jaw muscles flex, and I have to rip my gaze away before old habits return.
For several bright months of my life, nearly a year, I would reach out and soothe him whenever I saw the tension building within him.
Damn my fingertips for nearly leaping to their old task.
“Speaking of clothes, your friends didn’t exactly give me time to pack a bag,” I say. “I hope you don’t expect me to wear this outfit the entire time. It smells like lake water now.”
“I don’t expect you to remain with us for the entire trip, so it’s none of my concern. Jim’s nearly had it with your antics, young lady.”
I roll my eyes and settle in for the long haul.
For the next hour, I do my level best to pull information out of King.
I learn I’ve slept through the first part of the drive, and we’re nearly out of Florida already.
We’ll travel up the coast and stop for the night at a small campground in Georgia. But that’s as much as he’ll tell me.
I never realized there was a secret club for serial killers, but what’s even more shocking is that King isn’t the one calling the shots here. That honor seems to belong to Jim. Maybe I’ve been trying to butter up the wrong man.
Settling into my seat, a new plan forms. If I can get in Jim’s good graces, that may give me more leverage for fucking up King’s good time.
I set my sights on the horizon. The next time we stop, I’ll find a way to talk to Jim. Maybe I’ll tell him where that sloth is after all. Whatever it takes to get the upper hand.