Of course, they weren’t really going to tell their kidnapee where they were taking her. But it was worth a shot.
And maybe if you’re annoying enough about it, they’ll at least give you a clue.
“Tell me where you’re taking me!” you demand again, louder. Crawling forward to grip the metal grate between you and the front seat.
“Shut up,” the guy you kicked growls, glaring at you over his shoulder as he drives. Before you can ask them again, a phone rings from somewhere up front.
A Kpop anthem blares out through its tinny speakers.
“Dammit, Jerry,” growls Ski Mask Guy as the driver reaches for it. “I thought I told you to change that.”
So the guy you kicked in the balls’ name is Jerry. Not that this is very useful information, but at least there’s that.
He fumbles with his phone in one hand, the other swerving on the wheel as he weaves through traffic.
“Give me that,” Ski Mask growls, wrenching the phone from his partner’s hands. “Yeah,” he answers into the receiver. “We got her. The Chosen One is incoming.”
Chosen One?
Oh, no.
What the heckin’ heck have you gotten yourself into this time?
Ziros
Some time later…
I groan as the lights flash on overhead.
Every damn inch of me aches.
I feel like I got run over by a team of horses.
Where the hell am—
“Hey,” says an annoyed male voice. And something whacks into my side. “Dude, you’re gonna have to get out. It’s closing time.”
I blink against the light, narrowing my eyes at the skinny bartender or janitor or whoever-the-hell he is standing there in his coveralls, holding a broom.
Yeah, definitely the janitor.
A broom that he just whacked me across the side with.
He shakes his head when I don’t move, lifting the broom like he’s about to whack me again.
I grab the handle, hauling myself up to his eye level. And more.
Leaning down over him, I growl, “Hit me with that again, kid. I dare you.”
He flinches, pulling back.
Poor skinny kid. He looks like he’s barely twenty-one—or whatever the drinking age is these days—and probably working whatever crappy jobs his boss assigns him.
Maybe I should cut him some slack.
“Kid?” he asks after a moment, head tilted like he’s confused.
Right.
