“I mean, I have to be your first hostage, right?” I take another bite of the terrible sandwich. “Doesn’t seem like this is really your scene.”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re the only one who asked Aaron about a backup plan. Which tells me you’re smart enough to think ahead.” I set the sandwich down on my lap, holding his gaze. “Are you smart enough to think about what happens when this goes wrong?”
“It’s not going to go wrong.”
“Kyle.” I say his name gently, like I’m trying not to spook a skittish animal. “Do you know what the federal penalty for kidnapping is?”
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s life in prison.Life. And that’s just the kidnapping.” I let the words settle before continuing. “What Aaron’s planning to do to me if the ransom doesn’t come through? That’s trafficking. Human trafficking. Do you know how many years you get for being complicit in that? Maine might not have the death penalty, but we’re talking federal crimes here.”
“I wouldn’t be—I’m not—“ He stumbles over the words, face going pale.
“You’re here. You’re guarding the door. You’re feeding the victim.” I keep my voice casual, like I’m pointing out something I’m assuming he already knows. “In the eyes of the law, that makes you an accomplice. Every single thing Aaron does might as well have been done by you, as far as the law is concerned.”
Kyle’s breathing has gone ragged. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
I wait a second for reality to sink in for him before continuing. “But there’s still a way out for you. I doubt that Aaron is putting much thought into your future.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just telling you the truth.” I lean forward as much as my restraints allow.”Eventually, I’m going to get out of here. Do you want me telling the cops that you helped me escape or confirming that you were here and did nothing to stop any of it? Unless Aaron just kills me, of course. In that case, I have to assume you’re okay with having my blood on your hands.”
Kyle’s face has gone the color of old paper. He’s breathing too fast, chest heaving under the borrowed leather.
“I can’t,” he whispers. “Aaron would kill me.”
“Aaron’s going to prison. Whether it’s tonight or next week or next month, he’s going down for this. The only question is who he takes with him.” I hold his gaze, willing him to understand. “If you walk out of here and leave me tied to this chair, you’ve made your choice. And you’ll have to live with whatever happens next. For the rest of your life.”
The silence stretches between us like a wire pulled to breaking.
Kyle’s hands are shaking. I can see the conflict playing out across his face—fear of Aaron warring with fear of prison, loyalty to the gang crashing against the dawning horror of what he’s become part of.
“Please,” I say, and I let him hear the real desperation underneath the calculated calm. “I’m not asking you to fight anyone. I’m not asking you to be a hero. I’m just asking you not to be a monster.”
One second. Two. Three.
Kyle crosses to my chair and starts working at the knots binding my other wrist.
They had me in a fucking storage container.
Like I couldn’t be treated even more like an object than by being left in a steel box designed to ship objects over long distances.
We’re in some kind of industrial lot—that much I can tell from the hulking shapes of shipping containers stacked in haphazard rows around us. Rusted machinery hunkers in the shadows between them. The smell of salt and diesel hangs heavy in the air, mixed with motor oil and the rust of old metal.
I can just barely make out the sound of water in the distance, but Kyle directs me the other way.
“You need to stay out of sight,” he hisses. “Follow the fenceline and you should find a hole big enough to squeeze through.”
I glance back at him, hesitating. “You’re not coming with me?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t.”
“But—”
“Just go.” His voice cracks. “Before someone notices I’m gone too long.”
