Chapter Fifty-Two
The short drive felt as though it lasted hours. Chelsea had made a last-ditch effort to scream for attention. Maybe someone would call the cops. Maybe Odili hadn’t gone far.
But they traveled without incident. The older man had joined her in the back seat, where his muscle man had tied her feet and hands in place.
She wished they had locked her in the trunk.
At least then, she would have had the chance to kick out the taillights.
What she wouldn’t give to be pulled over.
When they finally stopped, the back door of the dark SUV opened, and the Muscle Man untied her feet.
“Thanks.” Chelsea stepped out of the vehicle and into a large warehouse. The most delicious smell wafted in the air. Her stomach had growled during their journey, and she wasn’t sure how she remained upright, given the enormity of the day while taking in next to zero calories.
Muscle Man unfastened her wrists, and not expecting that, Chelsea wanted to make a list of escape possibilities—until the third man appeared and extended her a bag.
“Take it,” the older man in charge said. “It’s food.”
Her mouth watered, and unsure why they would feed her, she carefully took what was offered and peeked inside. The heavenly scent of roasted chicken floated out.
“Thank you,” she volunteered then followed the three men and tried to understand their conversation. They led the way across a large warehouse hall, and she couldn’t figure out what language they were speaking.
They didn’t seem concerned if she heard them or if she followed. They continued without looking back.
Maybe the exits were locked, but more likely they knew she wouldn’t run off without eating her meal. They were right. Hunger and strength went hand in hand, and the day had taken everything out of her.
After a few turns, they ambled down an ante-hall and came to a large cage. Her nerves went on high alert.
The walls were constructed with what looked like thick chicken wire, and Muscle Man unlocked a door, directing Chelsea inside.
He was courteous enough, except for the part when he locked her inside the cage. She clung to her bag of food, scared, and turned. That’s when she spied the other woman on the far side of the cell.
She sat at a table, surrounded by piles of books and magazines, and she appeared genuinely surprised to have an interruption. The woman didn’t acknowledge the men who’d walked by, and their light conversation drifted away as they continued down the hall.
“Hi.” The woman stood up, her expression curious.
“Hey.” Chelsea didn’t know what to make of her. “Are you…” Another prisoner? A guard?
“Bored out of my mind,” she volunteered. “Soon you will be too.”
All-righty. Not what she’d expected to hear. Chelsea made her way to the table.
The woman extended her hand. “I’m Angela.”
“Chelsea.” Light-headed from hunger, she shook Angela’s hand and wondered if starvation and pregnancy could make her hallucinate enough to invent an imaginary friend.
Angela sat and cleared a spot on the table in front of another chair for Chelsea to have her meal.
“I’m not sure what’s going on,” Chelsea admitted then sat at Angela’s urging. She took the food from the bag. “Would you like some?”
“No. I ate earlier tonight.”
A well-fed captive?
“But the chicken from that place is amazing,” Angela continued.
Really, Chelsea couldn’t have been more confused, but she also couldn’t contain how hungry she was and dug in.
“Whose kid are you?” Angela asked as Chelsea shoved a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy into her mouth.
The full mouth gave her time to think. In the last five minutes, enemies hadn’t seemed like enemies, and she didn’t know if Angela was trustworthy. “What do you mean?”
Angela shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m here because of my mother.”
“Who’s your mother?”
“Samantha Sorenson.”
Chelsea froze. Senator Sorenson. Liam’s untrustworthy source. It couldn’t have been coincidence that Liam had mentioned her and now Chelsea was caged with her daughter. But… Angela flipped through the pages of a magazine as if she wasn’t worried.
“How long have you been here?”
“No idea. A few years?”
Chelsea lost her appetite.
But Angela shrugged, then added, “Don’t try to count the months, or you’ll go batty. Just watch the meals. That’s how you know it’s day and night.”
Chelsea stared blankly.
“You look like you need to eat,” Angela prompted.
She did. Even if she’d lost the urge. “Right.”
For the next few minutes, Chelsea ate and Angela paged through a magazine. The fog lifted from her mind with every bite, and finally, she asked, “You don’t seem… concerned. Or scared.”
“I was, but that can only last for so long. Now?” Angela shrugged. “Great food. Good books. I’m not scared. I’m bored.”
“They have us for a reason—”
“Of course they do. You can’t be Senator Sorenson’s daughter and make it through life without realizing your mother is ruthless and power-hungry.” She leaned over a stack of books and eyed a small container of green goo that had turned Chelsea’s stomach. “The creamed spinach is really good.”
Chelsea shoved it Angela’s way. “They have us here for a reason,” she repeated.
“And sometime after the first month or year, I realized that no one was coming to get me. It didn’t serve me to be in an anxious fit every day of my life.”
“That seems very Zen, considering.”
Angela reached into a drawer and withdrew a plastic spork. “Out of my control, and who knows when it’s all over.” Then she dug into the creamed spinach. “But your arrival is different. Maybe I should be concerned.” She stopped mid-mouthful. “Oh, one other thing.”
Chelsea arched an eyebrow as she chewed the chicken. “Hm?”
“The old man? I call him Gramps to myself.”
She swallowed then asked, “What about him?”
“He likes to come in sometimes and ask questions like I’m his kid.” She let the spork hang in her hand. “It’d be creepy if he didn’t seem so sad.”