“Go right ahead.” The bitch waves at a tree trunk looming out of the dark.
A shudder works through me. Not because I’m a princess who can’t pee in the woods, but because of the memories her unfeeling tone sparks to life; memories of people who didn’t care if I pissed or shit myself while strapped to a bed.
As I bend to roll my sports tights down, a fiery pang runs down my neck, and I gasp. Fuck, I’ve definitely pulled something, but the fact I’m walking around says it’s not a broken spine. Probably.
I breathe through the pain to squat and empty my bladder. Right now’s the perfect time to make a run for it and disappear into the darkness, but I don’t think my body’s going to cooperate.
Not to mention, I don’t know a thing about wilderness survival.
“How long do you need to take a bloody piss?” Clarissa calls, leaning against the car. “And if you’re thinking of running, think again.” She pulls something from her pocket, and an ominous click rings through the air. “I’ll put a bullet through your leg before you take two steps.”
I don’t know if she’s toying with me, but I’d prefer to live through the night. “Yeah, I’m done,” I call, clawing at the tree trunk to haul myself upright. The pain steals my breath every time I turn my head to the right, but if I hold myself rigid, it’s manageable.
In this state, better the devil you know, as the saying goes. Leaves crunch underfoot as I cross the small clearing, and a heated wind gusts around my ankles as I return to the car.
“Get inside,” Clarissa hisses, shoving me toward the shack.
“What’s the rush?” I snap back. “You got an appointment with the president or something? Oh wait, he wouldn’t meet a loser like you.” I chuckle as I set my hand on the wall to balance myself before climbing the wobbly step. “Your son doesn’t even want to see you, so what does that say?”
A cold object bumps the back of my head. “Think you’re clever, don’t you, girlie?”
I freeze, every instinct screaming that my kidnapper really has a gun pressed to my scalp.
She pushes harder, guiding my head to the wall as she leans in. She’s shorter than me, but the real venom in her words shrinks me down. “I may need you alive to get the ransom, but that doesn’t mean I need you in one piece.”
A shiver works down my spine, but when it rises, it’s full of fiery anger. Who wrote the script for my life and determined I get to be some punching bag for absolute bastards? And it’s money, always money. What’s so fucking elusive about money that she can’t get a job and work hard, like I’ve been doing?
She flings open the door and taps the side of my head to guide me inside.
Shivering with suppressed rage, I hop up on the step and into the pitch-black interior. Now’s the moment. I spin, intending to kick her onto her back out the doorway, but the devil beats me to it, smashing her fist into the side of my head.
I tumble to the floor with an agonized gasp as my right shoulder spasms, landing awkwardly on my purse. White dots prickle my vision, lancing painful pinpoints through my head and down my neck. Fuck!
I roll with a groan, clutching my shoulder. Yeah, no, I’m getting real sick of this shit.
Clarissa clatters into the room, and a moment later she strikes a match. The orange light flickers and grows, revealing a glass lantern, and more chillingly, the black gun sitting on the bench beside it.
A car engine sounds outside, along with crunching gravel. My initial flash of excitement dies as my bond connection doesn’t get any stronger.
Clarissa goes to the door. “Get the note delivered?”
“Yeah,” a male voice answers. I faintly remember seeing Rickon’s dad at the courthouse after Ricky’s case against Hudson, but he didn’t talk as much as his wife. Burning with pain, I ease myself upright and shuffle back until I hit the wall.
“Any issues?” he asks.
“Nope.” Clarissa glances over at me, her face shrouded in shadow. “Girl’s got a sewer mouth but nothing else.”
“Right. Make sure you tie her up, just in case. Give me the keys and I’ll dump the car,” he says, swapping keys with Clarissa through the doorway.
I’ve got nothing else? I scoff to myself. This bitch hasn’t a clue what I’m capable of. I gently stretch my arm out and massage my fingers through my knotted muscle running up into my head to stave off the nauseating agony. I just need enough movement to get those keys off her.
Red Hawk will take care of the rest.
In fact, my other persona, unneeded since I broke my alpha out of prison, surfaces now. My eyes flick from side to side, assessing the options. One exit doorway. One woman to overpower. An injury to overcome, and a man who’s going to be gone long enough to dispose of a car.
First things, I need some contingencies.
I ease my purse onto my lap and dig out my cutlery set, wincing as I open the plastic case while praying it doesn’t make a noise. The fork fairies must be with me because it opens soundlessly. I slide the cold metal up under the sleeves of Rickon’s borrowed knit pullover and gingerly press the steak knife up my right sleeve.
