I’d make sure Juric knew how true that statement was if I got the chance. I lifted my hands, which were shaking violently, and the man looped a thick, white zip tie around my wrists. He yanked the end painfully to cinch it closed, and the plastic edges bit into my skin.
That was when it became horrifyingly real.
I’d taken my sister’s place and successfully fooled these men. Successfully fooled myself into believing I could do this until it was too late to turn back. The man nudged my shoulder and forced me to turn and face the people scattered across the lawn.
Black smoke poured from the windows of the brewery.
There was a woman dead on the ground near my feet.
And before me, Shawn’s employees, bloodied and every face staring up at me. I didn’t want to see any of it. Certainly not my sister, who sobbed in Jason’s arms. His face was a mixture of emotions I couldn’t place. He looked . . . shaken.
Hopefully, he was thinking about how to escape with his wife and how to save his sister-in-law who’d given him a tremendous gift.
Most of all, I didn’t want to seehim.
Yet I faced the crowd, and it was like being on stage. An unspeakable force compelled my gaze to him.
Shawn couldn’t stop me. If he revealed I was lying, he’d condemn me to the same fate as the woman lying face down in the grass, blood staining her blonde hair, and the men wouldgo back to looking for Laurel. He couldn’t come for me, because they’d kill him.
All he could do was sit there and watch them take me while his company burned behind him.
It looked like he was furious, but I had no way of knowing how much of it was directed at me and how much was a result of the situation.
But his anger visibly faded and was replaced with dread when he watched one of the other men pull a black bag from his back pocket and march toward me. The desire to run was so strong, my gaze darted around, searching for escape, but the tears burning at the corners of my eyes blurred my vision.
I knew I’d be able to breathe inside the bag, but it somehow felt like I was about to go underwater, and I gasped for breath. Everything I felt was mirrored on Shawn’s face.
“Wait—” My voice cracked, but the man didn’t.
He shoved it over my head, making everything black. I panted for air, the fabric clinging to my mouth and nose, and when I went to adjust it, rough hands grasped my arms, forced me to turn, and thrust me forward. Then they pulled me in a new direction. I was already disoriented from the bag, but I tried to keep hold of myself.
The heat grew stronger, and my legs went weak.
What if they push you into the fire,my irrational brain screamed. It was the worst possible way to go, burning alive in front of the people I cared about. But I stumbled along, half-carried by the men until the crackling flames were behind us.
Abruptly, the hands lifted me off the ground and pitched me forward. My elbows and knees took the worst of the impact as I landed on a hard, uneven surface, and something cut across my bicep.
One of them laughed when I swore with pain, and someone shoved my head down, forcing me to lie awkwardly in a cramped space.
Oh, shit. It was the trunk of a car.
“Take off your hood and I’ll put a bullet in each eye,” a voice said. The trunk slammed closed, and I yelped with surprise when the car lurched forward, peeling out.
My stomach filled with bile, and I gasped for air through the rough fabric. To keep myself from throwing up, I focused on the movement of the car.
Left, left... a bridge, then right. The car jostled, either over potholes or train tracks. The trunk stank of motor oil and faint decay, and I forced myself to keep memorizing the directions.
Another right turn. Or was that one more of a gentle merge?
Don’t think about the blonde woman who was murdered. Don’t think about whether you’ll ever see the people you care about again.
Were we driving in circles?
No. My heart sank further. It was a roundabout.
After what felt like thirty minutes, I gave up on the turns and focused on what else I could do, how I could work the problem. This might be my only time alone.
Besides being gorgeous, my dress had pockets hidden in the folds of its skirt. Not big enough for my phone; that was in my clutch somewhere back on the lawn, but it had room for my slim wallet—which had my ID in it.
