“Not until I find Margrave.”
“There’s no point driving about like an idiot, wasting gas. Get back here and don’t bother fuckin’ arguing. Do as you’re told, prospect,” Slaughter ordered.
I couldn’t argue. Slaughter was my boss and outranked me as a brother. That didn’t mean I had to like it. I growled an affirmative and hung up. Fuck this for a game of soldiers.
April
The wheel blowing out caught me totally by surprise. I’d just exited I-90 and was heading into Spearfish. This was bad timing. Clara had asked me to pick up a parcel in Rapid City, so I’d popped over and was driving back. That left plenty of time to get ready for this evening. Stone had texted and said he’d booked a table for seven. Clara was pleased but wary, naturally so.
“Shit,” I muttered as I skidded, wrestled for control, and finally pulled over safely. I got out of the car muttering and stared at the destroyed tyre. It hadn’t popped as I thought, and when I bent down, I could see the rubber had shredded. Puzzled, I stood back up and headed for the trunk.
There was a spare tyre, and I knew how to change it. Clara and I once took a course. Not that Clara would ever damage her nails changing, but she could certainly give someone instructions on how to. I pulled out the spare and lifted the mat to grab the tyre iron. Deftly, I changed the tyre, and I was putting everything away when an object pressed into my back.
“Drop the tyre iron, do as I say, and you’ll live. Fight, and I’ll pull the trigger.”
“Okay, let me get my purse,” I stammered.
“You think I want cash? Oh no, bitch, I want something far more valuable.”
“Please, I can get more money. Just take me to an ATM,” I begged. A harsh chuckle echoed next to my ear, and I flinched.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“No!” I exclaimed in fear. If I did that, I’d be powerless. The guy didn’t argue, and I stumbled as he pistol-whipped me hard. Blinking and stunned from the blow, I didn’t fight when my arms were yanked behind me. I felt the cool metal of handcuffs click around my wrists.
“Get in the trunk.”
“I won’t fit in.”
“Yes, you will. It’s big enough for your fat ass,” the guy ordered.
Hands ran down my body, and I screamed, thinking the worst. I took another blow, and my knees gave out from under me. My phone was yanked from my jeans pocket. A gag was shoved in my mouth, and then I was pushed hard. I tumbled into the trunk, and the man grabbed my legs and lifted them.
“Jesus, bitch, have you heard of a diet? God knows what he sees in your fat ass.”
The last thing I saw was a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt before the trunk slammed shut. I searched around, seeking something to use as a weapon, but sadly, the trunk was empty. I rarely used it. With my phone gone, I’d no way of calling for help. I tried spitting the gag out, but it was difficult.
Tears streamed down my face, and my nose filled with snot, making it doubly hard to breathe. Panic threatened to overwhelm me as my body shook violently in fear. If I didn’t calm down, I wouldn’t be able to breathe and would be unconscious when the kidnapper stopped. With a huge effort,I used my tongue to push the gag out, and I gulped in deep lungsful of air.
Great, I could breathe. That was something. Now I wasn’t going to black out through hyperventilating or not getting enough oxygen. Somehow, I had to free my hands. I struggled against the handcuffs, but they were too tight. I briefly contemplated trying to hook my hands over my feet, but I wasn’t that bendy. My kidnapper had left my feet free, so at least that was a benefit. Maybe I could kick him or run when he let me out.
The car kept going; it had been ages, and I’d lost track of time when I’d begun to panic. That had been a poorly judged reaction. Now I was completely unaware of even what direction we were heading in or how long we’d been driving. As I puzzled who was behind this—it certainly wasn’t a friendly criminal this time—I was unsure of what enemies I had. Was this the person who’d sent me those presents? No, those gifts hadn’t been sent with hate or spite, and the kidnapper had insulted me.
Baffled, I squealed as the car hit a huge dip and I hit my head hard. There was stickiness in my hair, and I knew the gun had opened a wound. The growing headache was horrible and also making me confused. No doubt I had a concussion, as my thinking was going in circles, and I struggled to keep my thoughts clear. The car bounced again, and I thought we’d left the main road. The car clipped several more potholes, and suddenly we pulled up; the engine switched off.
Boots stomped around, and then silence fell. Unsure whether to call out or not, I listened with bated breath. Minutes later, I heard footsteps.
“Open the trunk,” the man ordered. Someone fumbled at the lock, and then it opened. I blinked furiously into the sunlight that poured into my darkness, shrinking from it.
“Get your fuckin’ fat ass out, now. Make any sudden moves, and this bitch dies,” a man growled.
“Stop going on about my butt, you’d be lucky to grab hold of one like mine,” I muttered. Yup, definitely concussed—who argues about their ass being fat. I shuffled forward and pushed myself upright, but lacking my hands, I couldn’t get out.
“Without my hands, I can’t climb out,” I said, blinking as my eyes adjusted.
“Roll out, you’ve enough padding not to get hurt,” the man replied cruelly. “Make a fuss or scream, and she bites the bullet.”
I squinted and flinched. In front of me stood a teenage girl whom I recognised. Barely. Her cheeks had sunk in. She was gaunt, and the shine in her beautiful eyes had dulled. Her chocolate-coloured skin no longer glowed with happiness and health; instead, she seemed faded. Once bright and shiny, her hair now hung lankly. Shit, I’d located Julie Rogers, or rather, her kidnapper had found me.
