The door opens again, slowly this time. Dominic limps in on his own devices. Guess he’s no one’s problem anymore. He gives the standing guy a glare—he must have heard the conversation—and then walks to an old, dusty couch on the other side of the room.
“I see you made it in on your own.” The leader of this gang flicks his cigarette, the ashes falling to the floor.
“Saw myself in since no one thinks it important enough to come help me,” he says, propping his leg up on the couch.
“You, get to helping him.” Jimmy flips his gun around like he’s working on the set of a western, and I flinch, waiting for it to go off at any moment.
I take a hesitative step in his direction. “I need supplies.”
“She needs supplies, boys,” the leader says in a mocking tone. “Someone write down what she needs and go buy it. But go to Whitecap. I don’t want anyone in town until the truck makes it through.”
My ears perk up, and I strain to hear anything else. Didn’t Spencer say something about running drugs?
“Don’t worry, Boss. No one is going to suspect a truck full of Toys for the homeless. It’s a perfect plan.”
I hurry and list off the few items I need to a short, pudgy man from the table and then stand as still as possible so they won’t notice me.
“It was the perfect plan until someone found a dead body. It became a dumbass plan when I needed to blow up a car to distract Ridge and his crew of merry men.” He flicks his cigarette again, the ashes blowing behind him with the breeze from open door as the short guy leaves with my list. “And now I’ve got to deal with her.” A long, bony finger points in my direction.
“What should I do with her while we wait for the stuff?” The second guy at the table asks.
There goes my plan of going unnoticed.
“Lock her up in the basement for now.” He turns and sits back in his chair. “But if Tommy’s not back with supplies by the time we need to roll out, she’s not coming with us. Capeesh?”
Capeesh? No, I do not capeesh.
Jimmy sticks the barrel of his gun against my spine and pushes me forward. I take a few tentative steps. For a fleeting moment, I consider making a run for it, but a bullet is sure to travel faster than me. The woods on the north side of Pelican Bay continues for miles and miles before you hit another town. Even if I made it without getting a bullet in the back, I could spend days wandering the woods just to die from the elements.
With Jimmy pushing his gun in my back, we walk out the front door and down the porch steps. I stop walking when I reach the base of the creaky steps, unsure where to go and afraid “basement” is gang term for a different location than what I have in mind.
“Turn left.” He digs the barrel of the gun in my back harder when I don’t immediately move.
My mind runs wild, most of my fear based around my growing belief he brought me out here to shoot me. Thoughts of escape grow with each step we take to the unknown. I keep my path close to the house, hoping he won’t shoot me so close to their hideaway.
“Stop. Jump in,” he says.
My eyes scan the area to see nothing but trees and fallen leaves around the house.
“Where?”
Jimmy jerks his gun toward the house. “There.”
My eyes fall to a horror worse than risking my life on running. “No.”
“Basement” was a generous term for the hole in the ground I’m faced with now. It reminds me of an old root cellar or tornado shelter you see in movies, but worse. The single wooden door is open, revealing nothing but a small space of mud and darkness. Tree roots wrap around the outside, seeming to grow right from the house itself. I squint, but it doesn’t help me see through the darkness.
There’s no way I’m going in there. He can shoot me.
“Get in the fucking hole, or I will throw you in.” He grabs my upper arm, squeezing hard with the threat.
I hesitate.Please, God, let me live through this.
My prayer is silent. My continued refusals to get in the hole, not so much.
“Please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything.”
He pushes me two millimeters closer.
