The SUV pulls away from the curb, and I try not to think about all those lovely little murder statistics about women who are taken to second locations. I should really cut back on the number of true crime episodes I watch.
“We’re just going to have a friendly little chat,” Jaymin tells me. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”
I disagree but keep my thoughts to myself. Despite saying she wants to talk, Jaymin sits quietly beside me.
My skin itches the longer we go without speaking, but I refuse to be the one to break the silence. She’s the one who wanted this little meet and greet. Not me.
Shifting in her seat, Jaymin crosses one elegant leg over the other before finally turning to face me. “I’d like for the two of us to get our stories straight. I think you’ll find it beneficial if we’re both on the same page.”
Déjà vu washes over me, and it’s like I’m there. Back in that room. Scared and confused as I take in my torn clothes and the bruises on my skin. Then Austin opens the door and says almost the exact same thing.Let’s get our stories straight.
No single sentence has ever triggered me more.
cecilia
. . .
Panic lodges in my throat,thick and unyielding. I am not doing this. I can’t. What was I thinking getting into this car? I should have run. God, I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I run?
To hell if her driver chases me. At least if I ran, I’d have a chance. I remember reading that the odds of surviving an abduction plummet once a victim is taken to a second location. Something like seventy-five percent of abductions end in murder if the victim is moved.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Why am I only just now remembering that statistic from that stupid true crime podcast Adriana made me listen to with her? I’ve just royally screwed myself over.
My stomach churns with a sudden, sickening realization. Oh god. What if this is their plan to get rid of me? What if “we need to talk” is code for “we need to make it easier to dispose of the body?”
Jaymin’s plan to get Austin off could be to get rid of me. It’s as simple as that. No victim, no charges. Right?
My fingers fumble for the handle, trembling so hard I can barely grasp it. But just like I thought they would be, the child locks are already engaged.
“Let me out.” My voice is strained, a desperate whisper as panic settles over me like a second skin, suffocating and tight. The SUV’s interior is a black cage, the air thick with tension and the oppressive scent of luxury. Jaymin’s sharp blue eyes bore into mine, amplifying my fear. God. Her eyes are just like his.
I rattle the handle again, my breaths coming in short, stuttered gasps. “I’m serious,” I say to no one in particular. “Let me out of the car.”
My eyes dart to the gap between the front seats. There’s a small sliver of hope. Child locks only work on the rear doors, right? I could slip between the seats and?—
“Ms. Russo?—”
I don’t answer her. My mind conjures possible routes of escape before quickly discarding them one after the other. Think, Cecilia. Think.
“Ms. Russo—” She reaches a hand toward me.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap, my voice on the edge of hysteria.
My hands are shaking uncontrollably now. A high-pitched ringing fills my ears, threatening to drown out everything else. My field of vision narrows as the weight of the situation crashes over me. I can’t breathe. With my phone still in my hand, I clutch at my chest.
Not again. I will not be somebody else’s unwilling victim again.
I glance at the driver—his eyes cold and impassive in the rearview mirror—then back to Jaymin. The driver is the more obvious threat, but Jaymin is the one in charge. Her authority is almost tangible in the confined space, pressing in around me on all sides. I’m suffocating, the walls of the SUV closing in.
“Let me out!” I scream. “Screw getting our stories straight. I don’t need to be on whatever page of crazy you happen to be on." So much for being reasonable.
My vision blurs. Don’t pass out. Do. Not. Pass. Out. “Fuck. You’re just like him, aren’t you?” I’m hyperventilating. “Austin’s the way he is because of you.”
My words hang in the air between us, and Jaymin’s nostrils flare. The only indication that my words had any effect on her.
“Are you done?” she asks, her words clipped.
