Will opens the front door and steps outside with Nate, who says, “Shit, I need my shoes and a jacket.”
Will turns around. “If you try anything—”
“Yeah, not to catch a cold. Give me a minute.”
To Nate’s credit, he walks out in less than a minute with shoes and a jacket.
“How long until we get there?” Will asks.
“About thirty minutes, maybe less if you drive fast.”
Oh, Will is going to drive fast. He walks toward his car, knowing he should first find Sheryl; she’ll go crazy if he doesn’t show up like they agreed. Besides, if he’s going to face criminals, he’ll need more help than what useless Nate can provide.
He takes out his keys and starts to open the door of his truck when he notices Nate is still behind him. Before he can turn around to ask why he isn’t going to the passenger side, pain explodes in the back of his head. The world shifts around him, and gravity no longersupports his body. He drops to his knees. His vision turns into a storm of blinking lights, and he realizes that Nate has hit him with his gun.
Will tries to shake his head and regain enough focus to react, but his energy is spent on trying not to crash. He feels Nate’s hand gripping the back of his neck.
I should have never turned my back on that snake.
Nate shoves hard, and Will can do nothing as his forehead collides with the truck’s door.
*
He hears music in the darkness.
The song sounds familiar, but it takes him time to recognize it asDancing in the Darkby Bruce Springsteen. Slowly, he regains enough consciousness to realize how much pain he’s in.
He grimaces, his skull feeling like it’s shattered from the back of his head to the back of his eyes. The song grows louder when the world becomes slightly more lucid. He tries to move, but he’s sitting against a tree. His arms hurt when he tries to move them. They’re pulled backward, tied together with rope around the trunk.
He hears footsteps, then a palm hits his cheek. Will jerks his head up and cracks his eyes open to see Nate’s blurry shape. Half of his face is illuminated by pale light from a nearby lamp.
“Morning.”
Will blinks and tries to shift to a more comfortable position, but his hands are tied too tightly. A boombox close by keeps playing music.
“Have a sip. It’s good for the pain.”
Nate presses a bottle to Will’s lips. The strong smell of vodka swims up his nose. He shakes his head, but it costs him another slap. He stops struggling, afraid his bruised brain can’t take much more abuse. He needs to get out of these bindings and go find Owen.
“Drink.”
Will parts his lips and lets the bitter alcohol flow down his throat. He can handle the taste, but if he’s wasted, his chances of getting through to Nate will go down to zero.
The second Nate takes away the bottle, Will asks, “Do you want Owen to die?”
Nate blinks. His surprise seems honest, but anger takes over quickly. “Don’t act like what’s happening is on me.”
“You know where he is! How is it not on you if we’re wasting time on this shit?” Yelling intensifies the pain, but Will is furious, dreading the passing of time.
“I gave both of you enough warnings, didn’t I?”
“So you got him kidnapped by drug dealers?”
Nate shakes his head. “That wasn’t my plan, but I can’t stop it.”
“The hell you can’t!”
Nate presses the bottle to Will’s lips. “You need to calm down, baby.”
