Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are feverish. Something’s off.
“Can’t your club save you?”
“I don’t think they know where I am. Once they noticed I was gone, I’m sure they traced my car and phone to the store, but even Beavis and Butthead know to avoid cameras, so that won’t be very useful to them. Are you okay?” I ask with a frown.
“Yes, why?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I don’t think I am? I mean, I feel jittery and my whole body aches, but it’s cold in here, and I’m wearing next to nothing.”
“Could you be getting sick?”
“Shit. I don’t know. It’s hard to know what’s a symptom and what’s from being tied up this whole time.”
We agree to try to sleep for a while.
I have a nightmare again, but it’s not one of my usual ones. I dream of Marissa. She’s crying, beaten and bruised, and I’m running towards her for what feels like miles and miles.Unfortunately, I’m on some kind of a treadmill and can’t come any closer. I wake up drained. It’s almost worse than not sleeping at all.
I look over at her, and her sleep seems equally restless. She’s twitching, and her face is coated in a sheen of sweat. I’m starting to get worried. The skylight tells me it’s either dusk or dawn. There’s no way to know.
*
I dream that I’m falling and falling, and once I reach the ground, the pain the full-body jerk causes in my ribs pulls me back into reality.
I’m hanging in an incredibly uncomfortable position in my overturned chair. One side of my face is wet with either blood or drool, and I have no way to dry it.
“Marissa,” I call out, and her blue eyes turn to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” she says, attempting a smile. “You?”
The large, metal door of the room suddenly opens. Marissa and I exchange a worried glance. So far, the kidnappers only showed up when the sun was directly above us. I motion my head at her and immediately pretend to be asleep, hoping she’ll follow suit.
“Did you really think you could hide from me, my darling Rebel?” A deep voice asks as it draws closer.
My entire body tenses.
“And who do we have here?” He's clearly surprised.
I take a peek and recognize the newcomer immediately from the FBI’s Most Wanted list. He’s leaning over Marissa and touching her face. I want to slap his hand away.
“My name is Marissa Johnson,” she says politely, hoping, perhaps, that her good manners will show him that she’s just amom who has nothing to do with meth labs or drug dealers. “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake.”
“I’m afraid I agree,” the Preacher says, straightening before turning to the kidnappers. “What have you two idiots done? How the fuck did you get the wrong woman?”
The two men look terrified.
“This is her! We memorized the photo you sent out. We watched the bitch for days! She was always with the club brother she’s fucking, and we saw them arrive at the party together. The first chance we got her alone, we grabbed her,” Butthead protests.
“Care to weigh in? What were you doing when these two gentlemen grabbed you?” The Preacher asks Marissa.
“I was at the Gray Wolves compound for a New Year’s party. I went out for some air, and that was when they grabbed me. I think I know how the mistake happened,” she says, which seems to amuse the drug lord greatly.
“Do tell, Miss Marissa Johnson.”
I wish I could grab Marissa and get the hell out of here, away from this man. She seems too exhausted and unwell to fully comprehend who she’s talking to.
“You called me Rebel when you walked in. Did you think I was Rebel, the sister of the Gray Wolves’ Prez?”
