“If this is a proper kidnapping, where are you taking me?” Visions of dungeon basements reentered my mind.
“I told you I have a few friends back home I think you’ll love.”
His words stopped my heart cold. “Hell no.” I hit him in the chest, grabbing on to his shoulder, not caring about the stupid fabric of his suit as the car swerved and my shoulder hit his. “I’m not going into your murder basement.”
The driver jerked the car in the other direction, and my other shoulder hit against the car window. I caught a glimpse behind us and didn’t see anyone in pursuit, but he hadn’t slowed at all.
I stared out the window, trying to see why we were swerving, but Frankie just looked at me, confused. “What is a murder basement?”
As if he had to ask. The words basically explained it, but somehow I found myself in the middle of a getaway vehicle explaining to what I suspected was one of the larger criminals in the United States, exactly what happened in a murder basement.
“You know, murder basements. It’s the place you take all your unwilling victims when you torture them.” Not every murder basement looked exactly the same. I was certain different criminals had different expectations. “A place to tie up your victims.” One thing they probably did all have was shackles. That was a staple all the way back from the medieval times.
Frankie laughed. The car jerked to the right, sending both of us lurching in our seats, and he continued laughing. “Don’t be ridiculous, Shiloh. I never keep those things at home. I’m a firm believer in separating my work and home life.”
“And where are you taking me?” Did he have something worse than a murder basement? Why did he plan to take me to his home and keep me there if not for nefarious reasons?
Frankie looked at me perplexed for a good three seconds until the car sped up and we were soon driving on the highway. It was a much smoother ride, and I checked all the windows again, still not seeing anyone following us. Had we lost our pursuers that easily?
“Consider it a vacation,” Frankie answered the question I’d already forgotten asking.
A horn blasted somewhere to our side and our car swerved back into the right lane after passing a slower vehicle. I tried to lean over in the seat to see the speedometer, but Frankie’s body was in the way. I didn’t want to have to touch him again. Secretly, I liked it too much the first time and I didn’t have time for that in our current situation. The only thing I could do in the moment was have a panic attack.
Which started the moment Frankie told me I should view my kidnapping as a vacation. It was almost as if he thought he was doing me a favor.
Actually, it wasn’t a new panic attack. It was just a continuation of the one I’d been having all day, where my mind had rummaged through every second since I left work and found myself double kidnapped.
Did it now count as a triple kidnapping?
My face turned red, and white spots circled in the air like glitter in my eyes when I stared out the window. My hands shook and I lowered my head between my legs so I didn’t throw up all over the nice upholstery.
Frankie placed a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, Cara Mina. Maine is beautiful this time of year.”
I slapped his hand away and started breathing in through my nose. “I don’t care how beautiful Maine is. Nobody has time for me to be kidnapped and go to Maine on a horrible vacation right now.” Did I really give in to his way of thinking and reference being kidnapped in Maine as a vacation? Yes. It wasn’t one of my finer moments. “I have a paper due.”
It was the last semester of my MBA program, and I wanted to finish with a 4.0. I couldn’t miss the assignment. Plus, no way did my cousin report me to the police as missing, so it’s not like I could even tell a professor about the triple kidnapping. That would be the worst “the dog ate my homework” excuse anyone ever heard.
I was too close to the end to mess up everything now.
“You have bigger problems than a school deadline and me,” Frankie said, and I widened my eyes at him, thankful I had nothing blunt to hit him with.
“Oh really? What?” Right then, Frankie was my biggest problem. He was the one kidnapping me and taking me to Maine.
Except rather than recognize he was my situational adversary, he looked at me like I was a dumbass. “You’re currently being kidnapped, and have you stopped to think about who tried to kidnap you first?”
Holy mother fucking asshole. Everything with Frankie had circled right back around, and he never took responsibility for what he was doing or his part in anything. He and Westley might be bad guy cousins.
How did I find him so handsome, yet absolutely infuriating? What man made you want to sit in his lap and tell him to keep you safe while bullets were flying at you but also slap him across the face?
It was possible that I had completely lost my mind, or I’d had a heart attack back at the Navy Pier. This was all just a crazy fantasy my mind made up while I was in a coma. I was right in the middle of counting to two hundred and taking deep breaths while Frankie stared at me like he worried I might explode at any second—it was a reasonable fear in the moment—when the car pulled off the highway and slowed, coming to a stop at an old gas station.
It had four pumps out front and a big white canopy over the top. The whole complex was no bigger than my apartment, and I stopped hyperventilating to stare out the window at it.
“Do you want some gum?” Frankie asked as he placed his hand on my knee, drawing my attention to him and away from the bulletproof glass separating the station worker from the customers. “It always helps me. Let’s get her gum,” Frankie said, the last part to the man in the passenger seat.
We were stopping at a gas station for snacks in the middle of my kidnapping? Yup, definitely dead. But if that meant I had the opportunity to eat as much junk food as possible and not gain any weight, then… maybe.
“No! Wait!” I said, placing my hand on the passenger’s seat head rest. “Chocolate. Get me all the chocolate. I need a Snickers, Carmello, Milky Way, a bag of M&M’s, Butterfinger, and a package of jelly beans. Jelly Belly only!” Coma me still had standards.
