My mind flits to Liam. We argued, but not like this. Not selfishly. Not with accusations or cruelty.
He never apologized for wanting the best for his family. Henever compromised with what that would take either. I didn’t allow myself to be swallowed up. All of these things are noble.
These men are…
A mechanical whirring tells me the lock is disengaged and powering up the hydraulics that lift the door. I close my eyes… and wait.
“Well, get her already,” the complainer starts.
“Do I look like your bitch?”
“You will.”
“Seamus, the only reason I’m handling this is because you’re too old and fat to do it yourself.”
Seamus? Liam’s dad? That’s why his voice was familiar.
“Not true.” Gravel crunches under heavy footfalls as the sound of the trunk opening stops.
“The girl would put your sorry ass on the ground and she’s a featherweight. Move.”
This is the threat. The man who drugged me. There’s no other explanation for ending up in a trunk.
Eager hands tug brutally at my arm pits and knees, scraping my body over the ridges in the plastic trunk liner.
Schooling my face, I barely avoid a grimace. But just barely.
When the brutal man grunts and repositions me with no care for… well, anything, I crack one eye and look around. It’s sunset and we’re at elevation, looking down on arid ground and the valleys below. We’re on the outskirts of what I assume is an old mining town. So many around here are. Gold rush land was feast or famine. Or both.
“Why isn’t she awake?” Liam’s dad asks.
The body holding me shrugs.
“I need proof of life to get him here.”
He used the term bait earlier, so, of course this is about Liam. The man ruined his other two children’s lives. Why not add my husband to the mix too?
My husband… the man must be going out of his mind. I have no way to tell him I need help but that he must avoid this trap.
“Back up,” the man holding me says.
“No.” Thick sticky fingers pull at my eyelid.
I grimace and squint. The body’s reflexes are just that… and they’re a dead giveaway.
“She’s awake.”
“Oh really?” the younger of the two says. He squeezes me tightly as he pinches at my ribs.
Ouch. I cry out. I don’t mean to, but that hurt.
“Welcome to hell. I’ll be your tour guide.”
Seriously? An evil villain speech? No thanks. “Put me down,” I grit.
He releases his grip, and I freefall to the dusty earth, rocks and gravel digging into my spine.
“Okay,” he utters long after I reach for my aching back.
