The views will be wild.
Maggie closes the door and leans back against it for a few minutes. I work my fingers, finally feeling them again. My arms still won’t lift, but I can turn my head a few degrees to the left and right.
Nearly.
Fifteen more minutes and I think it’ll be enough.
Maggie moves to the driver’s seat, sitting heavily and gripping the steering wheel.
‘I’m not made for this.’ Her words tinge with bone-weariness. I flick my eyes to her, taking in every detail. She doesn’t look like how I imagine a kidnapper to look. Surely there should be a spike of excitement at catching her prey. Adrenaline. She looks somewhat sick to her stomach if I’m honest. Worried. Anxious. Her fingers are white where she’s so tense.
The car starts with a slightly worrying grind, and she puts it into gear.
‘I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but here we go, I guess,’ she mutters.
Moving forward a few metres, she brakes.
‘Sorry, I almost forgot.’
I watch as she opens the glove box and pulls out a syringe. My pulse spikes, and I move my hands, fighting against the still ebbing sedatives. She pushes it into my thigh and presses the plunger.
‘I’m so sorry. I really wish I didn’t have to do this, but I don’t think you understand yet. Hopefully, I can explain during the drive. Because I absolutely can’t keep drugging you when we get to my dad’s place. At thatpoint, you need to be up for the game. Otherwise, we’ll both regret it.’
‘Stop,’ I manage to croak.
‘Oh, Roman. I wish I could. Do you think I want any of this? No.’
The injected fluid rushes through me, deadening any movement from my arms and legs.
London passes by, the last vestiges of escape passing in a sea of glittering lights.
ELEVEN
MAGGIE
The weightof silence marrs the first hour of our journey, each mile of road stretching before us in stilted awkwardness.
What do you say to the man you’ve just drugged,twice, and kidnapped? The usual idle chatter about the weather isn’t going to cut it.
Roman sits still as you like. Albeit, his immobility isn’t much of an option with the paralytic drugs still coursing through his system. I pick up a pack of Polo mints and work one out, popping it into my mouth before holding the packet out.
‘Want one?’ I ask. More out of habitual politeness than anything.
Roman looks at the pack. His eyes slide to mine for one short, scathing look before looking back to the road ahead.
‘A no thank you would suffice,’ I say, dropping the packet back into the cup holder between us.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not being polite enough to mycaptor?’ His voice drips with sarcasm, and I grip the wheel, swallowing down the urge to bite back at him. I get it, he’s not exactly going to be swapping stories like besties after what I’ve done.
‘I don’twantto do this.’ I maintain my focus on the road as I speak. ‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘There’s always a choice not to be a garbage human being.’ His words sting, but I understand why he thinks that.
‘It’s ten days of your life. That’s it. You can drink champagne, have every whim catered to, and then go home. Hell, I’ll even pay you if you like.’
‘There are people you can pay to hang out with you. You don’t have to go stalking them like a psycho.’
As if I hadn’t considered an escort. I had. But my sister would have seen right through a mystery man appearing for the wedding before disappearing. Roman is my neighbour. A real-life person I could feasibly end up dating. His muscles drift through my head, and I recalibrate the thought. Okay, maybe notfeasible, but explainable at least.
