We’re only a few blocks away—I’ll just ask Ross to turn around. Reaching to lower the partition, my heart clenches when it doesn’t move.
I try again, and when the button does nothing, my heart drops. Blowing out an unsteady breath, I think about how Ross wasn’t waiting for me outside of the car like he usually does, and how I didn’t actually see him—just his hand—as he waved through the window.
“Ross!” I yell, unbuckling my seatbelt to move closer to the partition. “Ross! Lower the partition, please!”
I can’t hear anything in the front, and I realize he probably can’t hear me either. Father does value privacy, and obviously wasn’t kidding when he said the back of the town cars are soundproof.
Still, I beat my fist against it, thinking if he can’t hear me, maybe he’ll see the movement. I hit the barrier repeatedly until my hand begins to
hurt, before forcing myself to stop. Scooting backward, I get back in my seat and try the button one more time, and the panic sets in when the button continues to do nothing.
Looking out the window, I realize we’re going in the opposite direction of my office building, and there’s no longer any doubt in my mind that something isn’t right.
Dread builds inside me as I watch the street pass by, driving further from where we should be going. I white-knuckle my purse and the second the car rolls to a stop at a red light, I pull open the door of the car, ready to dive out if I have to.
But it doesn’t budge.
“Shit!” I yell, realizing the child safety locks have been flipped.
Then the tears come.
Slow, steady streams roll down my cheeks. All I can do is watch out the window and try to figure out where we may be going, who might be driving, and why. I pray to God that itisRoss, and that he noticed something wrong and is taking me somewhere safe, but my instincts tell me otherwise.
And I’m a sitting duck. No cell phone, no way to escape the car unless I fling myself from the window.
My tears fall harder as I think of Sly, and how he has no idea anything is wrong. I told him I’d be home around three-thirty, but that’s still hours away. Until then, no one will know I’m gone.
A sob racks through me, and I lean my face into my hands, trying to calm myself so I can think logically, but it’s no use.
We drive for maybe another fifteen minutes before the car comes to an abrupt stop. As it turns off, my heart threatens to explode from my chest with fear of the unknown. Questions race through my mind as bile makes its way up my throat. I press my hands on my stomach and pray for the strength of whatever’s to come.
I can’t even bring myself to look out the window, too scared to take my eyes off the partition.
When it begins to roll down, I hold my breath.
All the air leaves my lungs in a strongwhooshas Ross comes into view, along with my brother in the passenger seat. His body is angled toward him, and a chill runs down my spine. “Joseph?”
“Hiya, sis. Beautiful day for a drive, isn’t it? Thanks for the lift, Ross.”
“Vinnie, I’m so sor—” but he never finishes his sentence. A gunshot pierces through him and I scream, watching as his lifeless head bounces against the glass window. I keep screaming, unable to stop, and unable to tear my eyes from my driver’s body.
“SHUT UP,” Joseph yells, turning his head to stare at me. I only do when he turns the gun to me and cocks it. “Get out of the car,” he demands, then laughs. It sounds foreign and not at all like his normal laugh. “Oh wait, you can’t. I guess I have to pretend to be your new chauffeur and open the door for you.”
His door slams shut behind him and not even a second later, mine yanks open and his hand reaches in, grabbing onto my arm tightly as he pulls me out. Stumbling, I hardly catch myself from crashing to the ground, but my brother acts like he doesn’t notice.
The air smells heavily of saltwater and metal, and as I look around, I realize we’re at the docks.
“Stop crying,” he orders through clenched teeth, but I couldn’t stop if I tried. I’m too scared.
With the gun in one hand, he grips my bicep and roughly leads me to a warehouse a few yards away, only stopping long enough to stow his weapon in the back of his pants to unlock the door.
I didn’t even know he owned a gun, but I shouldn’t be surprised, given the nature of Father’s business.
When we enter the warehouse, I’m immediately hit with the scent of old, rotting fish, and a strong wave of nausea rolls through my stomach.
I can barely keep up with my brother as he pulls me over to a metal chair and shoves me into it. I never see him procure any rope, but the next thing I know, my wrists are tied to the chair behind my back.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask through a fresh wave of tears.
