XXVII
Tori
T he back of the van is pitch black. There are no windows, and the door is closed so tightly, that there’s not even a sliver of light. There is a handle on the inside, but no matter how hard I try, the door won’t open.
When Preston shoved me, I was able to get my arms out quick enough to stop my face from smashing onto the floor, but I landed heavily on my left hand. Ignoring the pain, I’ve felt my way around every inch of the back of this van, trying to find… anything.
In the few seconds I was getting in, I could see the van didn’t have boxes or shelves, but I was hoping that I’d missed something.
I haven’t.
The only thing I could find was a small pile of dirt that I’m still clutching tightly to. With some leaves that didn’t crumble under my touch, and a lingering floral perfume, my guess is the van has been used by a gardener or a florist. From all the flower arrangements at the gala, a florist’s van wouldn’t raise any questions if someone was to check the area.
Because Preston hadn’t knocked me out or tied me up, I was so busy trying to find a weapon or a way out, that I wasn’t paying attention to the driving. We didn’t peel out of the museum, and by the time I thought to try to work out where we were, it was too late.
We must have gotten onto a highway at some point, because the van felt like it was moving far too fast for the average New York City street, but I have no idea what direction we’re heading in.
The van slows as we curve sharply to the right. Whatever highway we were on, I think we’ve just gotten off. The van briefly comes to a stop as though we’ve reached a stop sign or a light, and then we take a sharp right turn. Now we’re driving slower.
Which means we’re probably close to wherever Preston is taking me.
If he heard me hammering and yelling against the partition between us, he’s been ignoring me.
The van takes another sharp turn, and then suddenly, I’m being flung around as the van bounces over uneven ground.
Wherever Preston has taken me, we’re here.
Even though I’ve had the chance to think this time, I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to get out of this.
Logic tells me we’ve driven somewhere secluded.
Preston has a gun.
And even if Syn, Royal or Gemini have noticed that I’m not at the museum anymore, they have absolutely no idea where I am.
The van comes to an abrupt stop.
My chances of survival are slim, and I’ve probably used up all my luck when I didn’t die the last time someone tried to kill me, but I sure as hell am not going down without a fight.
With my back to the door, I lie down and force myself to keep my breathing as steady and quiet as possible. Moments later, the door opens.
“Really?” Preston releases a deep breath of irritation. “You’re not fooling anyone. Get out of the van, and you’ll make this a whole lot easier for yourself.”
I don’t move.
“You’re getting out of this van one way or another, but if I have to get in there and drag you out, I promise you, I will make this as slow and as painful as I know how.”
My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest, but I still don’t move.
“Fuck’s sake,” Preston mutters. The van lurches as he climbs in. It’s not a big vehicle, but it feels like an eternity passes as he walks over to me, his footsteps making the van rattle with each step.
I sense him right behind me, but instead of grabbing my arm or shoulder like I expect, his hands wrap around my hair, and he starts to pull me backwards. The scream of pain that comes out of my mouth is real, but it’s enough for him to pause and lean his face down closer to me.
“You thought—”
The handful of dirt I’ve been desperately clinging onto flies into his face as I hurl it at him.
Preston stumbles backwards with a roar. Although he doesn’t let go of the gun he’s holding, he’s using both hands to desperately rub the dirt from his eyes.
I scramble to my feet then shove him as hard as I can, away from the door.
He stumbles, smacking his head against the wall, but he still doesn’t drop the gun.
My time and luck is quickly running out, so I run to the door and jump out. Pain seers across my leg, but I ignore it as I turn and slam the door shut.
Wherever Preston brought me to, I don’t recognize it. I’m standing on rocks and pebbles. The ground is so uneven, everywhere I look is littered with deep looking puddles, most frozen over. If there is a moon tonight, it’s obscured by the clouds. To my left, in the distance, I can only see a few lights, but between them and me, is a river. From the little time I’ve been in the van, I’m most likely either still in New York, or we’ve crossed over into New Jersey, but that wouldn’t help me now anyway.
Precious seconds have already been lost, so I pick up the long skirt of the dress, but as I start to move towards the driver’s door, pain shoots down my leg again. Quickly, I press my hand against the source of the pain, keeping it against the wet area as I move to the front of the van and open the door.
The key isn’t in the ignition.
I’ve never tried to hotwire a car in my life, and if I had the time, I’d try. Only, if the key is with Preston, then there’s a chance the door didn’t lock.
Behind me, the dirt road will lead to the exit, but the road is straight with the river on one side, and not much to hide behind on the other. In front of me, there are shipping containers, vehicles like diggers and cranes, and the start of the buildings they’re being used for.
Without wasting another moment, I run as fast as I can.
The puddles are deeper than I expected, but even though I’m aware of the icy water as it splashes all over me and fills the bottoms of my shoes, I don’t allow myself to try to take too much of a detour around them and just stick to running in as straight a line as I can.
Just as I reach the first shipping container, a bang echoes around the area—too loud to be a bullet.
“You’re going to pay for that, you fucking bitch,” Preston bellows.
I ignore him.
Preston isn’t stupid. He’s going to figure out which way I ran in less time than it took me to make the decision, which means I can’t stay where I am.
With my hand still pressed against the cut on my leg, I do my best to ignore how much it hurts to move but keep going, heading deeper into the construction site.
Running around a corner, I find an open doorway. That’s probably the first place he’d go, so I run straight past it, squeezing through a narrow gap between a wall and a parked vehicle. Then I duck down behind it.
Finally, while trying to catch my breath, I pull up the skirt. The cut on my leg is long, but there’s not actually that much blood. The pain makes it feel much worse than it is, but I do get a moment of short-lived relief.
“Oh, Victoria? Where are you?” Preston calls in a sing-song voice, like we’re playing a game of hide and seek.
I duck lower, trying to keep as quiet as I can, sending a silent prayer that he goes into the building.
“Do you really think you can get away?” he calls. “We’re miles away from anywhere, and I’ve already got backup coming. But then again, I heard you like to be chased. Maybe…”
Whatever he says after that, I don’t hear. Gingerly, I peek out around the vehicle.
Preston is nowhere in sight.
Taking a deep breath, I grab a handful of my skirt in each hand, and then I start running again, trying to keep my steps as light as I can. Deeper into the shadows, I keep close to anything I can duck behind, if I need to.
My haphazard path eventually leads me to the property line and a metal chain-link fence that has to be at least eight feet tall. There might be enough of the construction to hide me as I attempt to climb over it, but there are spirals of barbed wire at the top.
To my right, there’s a dock jutting out into the water. Part way down, there are a couple of barrels that I could hide behind, but they don’t offer much shelter. The closer to the open water I get, the more wind there is. It might not be raining, or even snowing, but I’m soaked—the lower half of me, from the puddles, and the top is covered in a sheen of sweat.
I drop down behind a large pile of metal construction beams. Moving kept me warm, but the moment I stop, the wind attacks every inch of my exposed skin. My guess is that I’ve only covered the length of a football field, even though it feels like much more.
Now what?
My watch shows the time as still before midnight. If I’m lucky, there will be construction workers here tomorrow, but tomorrow is Sunday. I think construction workers work weekends, but that doesn’t guarantee anything.
I’m cold and exhausted, and the longer I stay still, the more I discover how much of me hurts.
But if I have to spend all night trying to evade Preston, I will.
Only, he said he’d called for backup.
How much of a chance do I stand against two people? More than two?
Maybe I can circle back to where the van was before they arrive, and take my chances across the grass? If I see any lights, I could just drop to the ground, and with any luck, they’ll think I’m trash or something.
It’s far from a perfect plan, but right now, I’m literally backed into a corner.
And then, from somewhere in the distance, I hear the rumble of an engine.
My heartrate speeds up, and it’s not from the exercise.
“Now’s not the time to panic,” I tell myself as sternly as I can.
The fence blocking my exit ends abruptly at the water’s edge before it turns at a right angle and covers about ten feet to where the dock is. I’d struggle to get over it, but maybe I can scale it sideways?
I creep over the edge of the dock. The pole holding the fence up doesn’t look particularly secure. My weight might bring it down with me… The water beneath me looks like ink, and the wind is creating waves against the tips of the rocks that are poking out of the surface.
In the distance, I hear shouting, but I can’t make out the words.
Biting my lip, I grab the pole and shake it gently. The barbed wire on top rattles as the fence bends back and forth, sending loose dirt splashing into the water.
No, heading back to the van is a better idea—there’s no fencing there. I gather up my skirt again, take a deep breath, and then hurry back the way I came, keeping low behind the beams.
From out of nowhere, something barrels into me.
Propelled from behind, I feel like I’m flying before my body slams into the fence, making the barbed wire rattle loudly. The air is knocked out of me as the body behind crushes me into the metal.
“Gotcha.”