And apparently it didn’t stop him and Lincoln from getting involved in whatever illegal activity Lincoln was referring to.
Fuckers. Fuckers. Fuckers.I’m not going to get out of this alive. That much is obvious. Why confess all of that if he’s planning to let me free? I’m a liability. A guaranteed prison sentence.
I kick my legs, lashing out at the inside of the trunk.Thud. Thud. Thud.Anything to gain a passerby’s attention.
The car keeps going, giving no indication it’s picking up speed, and my stomach sags to the floor. The driver either can’t hear me or they aren’t too concerned about anyone else hearing me because no one can.
I’m alone and no one knows where I am or that I’ve been kidnapped. I made plans with Simone, Zara, Emily, and Avery for tonight, but the car could be long gone from Maple Ridge before anyone realizes I’m missing. I’m screwed. I’m royally going-to-die screwed.
That realization sucks the fight from me.
I lie still, listening for something, anything, that will help me escape.
There’s nothing but the quiet purr of the engine and the low vibration of metal against metal. I can’t hear music and I can’t hear talking. I don’t know if whoever is driving is alone or if Lincoln and the man who drugged me are both in the car.
“What would Angelique do?” I ask myself out loud, so I don’t feel so alone.
Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer.
I feel around for a weapon or a way to escape, but between my hands being tied together and the small enclosed space, I’m limited with my movements.
The road switches from being relatively smooth to bumpy, like the car is driving over deep potholes. My body jostles about so much, I’m positive I’ll be covered with bruises by the time the car stops. On top of that, the ache in my muscles from not being able to stretch out is getting worse.
My thoughts go to Troy. He won’t be going to my house and wondering where I’ve gone. He won’t be coming to my rescue, like Johann rescued Iris after the Gestapo arrested her. None of the Carson brothers will be.
Lincoln is a cop—or he was the last time I saw him—so I’m not expecting the Maple Ridge police department to come to my rescue either. The only person I can rely on to save me isme—and that’s hardly reassuring.
The car stops.Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.I still don’t have an escape plan.
The crunching of gravel underfoot approaches the trunk from both sides of the car. Possibly two men. Or more. As far as I can tell, their strides are long, their footfalls rapid.
My muscles tense, bracing for the worst, bracing for my life to end in a round of bullets.
The trunk opens. Above me, bruised clouds obscure the sky—as do the broad shoulders of a man, his features dark in shadow.
The man reaches for my arm. All my shifting around while I was searching for a weapon achieved one thing: my legs are no longer where he left them when I was dumped in the trunk. I kick out.
My attempt to hit the man in the chest or face or anywhere else I can do damage is pathetic at best. He grabs my legs and yanks them hard. I’m pulled with such force, my top rides up, exposing my skin. Something rough on the edge of the trunk scrapes the length of my back, abrading my flesh.
A sharp pain rips through me. I shriek, but all the screaming I did earlier turned my throat raw. The sound comes out as a gasp.
The man releases me, letting me fall. The crown of my head hits the bumper.Thud.Pain ricochets through my brain, and I sag to the ground. Gravel digs into the exposed skin of my arms and lower back.
I lie there for several seconds, dazed and unmoving, too afraid to consider what’s coming next. My breath is a ragged pant; my heartbeat the frightened flutter of a caged bird.
I look up at the man who hauled me from the trunk. His features are still obscured in shadow, and my vision is blurry.
He bends down, grabs my upper arm, and yanks me up. Gravel stabs the soles of my bare feet.
It’s only then that I see him better. He’s…it’s…it’s the man who looks like he could be a cover model. The man who was looking for his wife and daughter the first time I saw him.
Is that what this is about? He didn’t want an ex-con living in Maple Ridge? He believed the lies I’m a risk to his child?
No, that doesn’t make sense. Why would he be with Lincoln? How did these two men end up together if the stranger just wanted to get me out of town?
I shift my attention to the abandoned concrete building in front of us, with bars on the windows, as if it has the answers. The layout of the single-story structure is bigger than my house, but I can’t tell what it was previously used for.
Trees surround us in all directions. Pine, spruce, and others I don’t have names for. The ground is flat here, but I can’t figure out if we’re in the foothills or somewhere in the mountains.
