Amelia swung one leg out from underneath her and tried to stand. With nothing to hold on to, she stumbled to the ground again and sucked in deep breaths that filled her lungs with dead heat. Jack helped her up and regarded her with curious eyes. While he didn’t leer, his gaze loitered all the same as he led her to the car.
Amelia wrested from his hold, but he snatched her by the elbow and pushed her against the car. She went limp until he loosened his grip then threw her weight in the other direction.
Jack corralled her again and shoved her harder the second time. He no longer regarded her with pity, only frustration that dangled on the precipice of anger.
“Listen, there are no two ways about it. You’re coming with me, okay? That’s it. That’s your option. You can make this harderby struggling, or you can get in. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you just get in the fucking car.”
Amelia swallowed hard despite a dry mouth. She’d sooner burn alive in the desert than go with him. She could bluff, tell him he would be in a world of trouble when her father found her—it’d surely be soon—but the road had remained empty the whole time, no other souls in sight. She was alone, and Jack was right. There was no way out of it.
Amelia climbed in but garnered no relief from the cool leather seat against her skin or the blast of cold air from the vents. Next to her in the backseat, Damon mumbled to himself. Amelia cradled her arms to her chest and pressed her knees against the door.
Jack glanced at her through the rearview mirror but turned to Damon and said, “If you try anything, I will slit your throat and watch you bleed out.”
The warning went ignored. Damon chewed a fingernail and bobbed one knee with a nervous tick. When Jack started down the desert road, Damon’s rambles grew louder, and he clawed at his cheek that seeped blood anew. Jack cranked up the music until Johnny Cash’s baritone drowned Damon out.
The benefit before was drugs, whatever they’d given her that robbed her of time and ushered in the darkness. At least Amelia didn’t suffer in silent panic then. The pain returned too. The thin rope rubbed her wrists raw, and her limbs throbbed with a dull, relentless ache.
She closed her eyes and thought of home, silly little details to distract herself—just how many moving boxes crowded her room? In how many family photos did her dad wear that one sweater? And what was he doing? He must know something horrible happened, but a terrifying notion occurred to her.
What if he didn’t know? What if they sifted through the ashes of Rich’s party and told him she was dead?
The car shifted as Jack sped through turns. Amelia tried to memorize them, but inertia pushed and pulled, and she lost track of time. They must’ve driven for an hour before the sway of eachturn became less forceful and Jack pulled into a garage. Light streamed into the car when he climbed out.
He spoke with two, perhaps three, other men. Amelia strained to listen, but something cold nicked her neck. Her eyes darted to Damon holding a knife to her throat. Every muscle tensed, and she fought the instinct to jerk away.
“I could kill you so easily,” Damon whispered against the shell of her ear. “Wouldn’t you like that?”
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and huddled against the car door.Do it then,she wanted to scream. It’d be better if it were quick, but the door swung open, and she tumbled out at Jack’s feet. He helped her sit and pulled a folded buck knife from his pocket. When he lifted her bound wrists, Amelia scooted away.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Give me your hands.”
Twice, he’d said that. He could say it all he wanted, but bound and taken against her will, he was insane to expect her trust. Bent over with his hands propped on his knees, Jack hung his head in tired resignation.
“You wanna be tied up all night? Not my thing, but to each their own.”
Laughter filled the garage from four other men. Amelia scanned the space and the other three vehicles parked beside Jack’s. Fluorescent lights hung on chrome chains, and the other end of the garage boasted a heavy steel door.
Amelia licked her bottom lip and tried to control how badly she shook. If she offered her hands, Jack might cut her open and laugh with the others as her blood bathed the floor.
He waited for her answer. That alone must’ve meant something.You can’t fight. Just do it.
Amelia offered her arms and held her breath as Jack sliced through the rope. The men observed with something between sympathy and concern. It was their concern that terrified her the most, as if they were privy to her fate.
Jack led her to the door at the back of the garage. Two men followed, while the other two fetched Damon from the backseat. He held open the steel door. It led to a dimly-lit corridor longenough that Amelia couldn’t see where it ended, the underworld perhaps. She hesitated at the threshold, and her eyes darted to Jack.
“Come on. Emory’s waiting,” he said.
Amelia shook her head as if she had any say. “What does he want?”
The question momentarily stumped him, the answer perhaps complicated.
“You,” Jack replied with a sinister smile and nudged her into the hall.
TEN
AMELIA
The corridor echoed with the footfalls of Amelia, Jack, and the others following close behind. A series of single bulbs overhead offered meager light. Amelia inhaled shallow breaths that smelled musty and alkaline like asphalt after the rain.
