His voice sounded almost pleasant, like they were discussing the Wyoming weather.
She twisted on the mattress, blinking hard as the truck lurched.
More of the fog receded from her mind, replaced by terror that she was in Gary’s truck. And she was in the sleeping compartment. The curtain between the sleeper and the front was partly open, giving her a view of his shoulder and one hand on the wheel.
She shifted her gaze to the windshield and the long strip of highway in front of them.
From this angle, he looked normal. Just a trucker driving his route. Just a man she’d served burgers and coffee to at the Stockyard.
Not a man who drugged her and tricked her into his truck.
Her wrists seared as she strained against what must be a zip tie. Pain licked up her forearms, sharp enough to clear out more of the haze.
“Let me out.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as it usually was, but she couldn’t fix that.
He glanced back, the side of his face visible in the mirror. “Now, Summer, don’t start acting like that. You’re going to make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Pull over,” she gritted out.
“You’re not in charge here.” His tone remained calm, layered faintly with disappointment, like she’d failed a test he expected her to pass. “That’s the first thing you need to understand.”
She swallowed around the dryness in her throat, her mind racing despite the drugged heaviness dragging at every inch of her body.
She had to stay calm. Had to think. Had to survive long enough for Vander to find her, because he would know she was gone by now. He would be searching.
He would tear the whole world apart before he stopped looking for her.
She knew he wouldn’t leave her like Michael had.
Gary seemed to read the direction of her thoughts, and a faint smile tinged his voice. “You’ve got choices. Everybody does. Choose wisely, and maybe you see your friends and family again. You make this difficult, then things get unfortunate.”
Her stomach clenched so hard she thought she might throw up. “What do you want?”
“You.”
The answer was simple, without any hesitation or sign that he understood how wrong he sounded.
She shifted her legs, testing whether he’d bound her ankles too. They moved, but weakness rolled through her thighs when she tried to sit higher on the mattress.
She slipped her hands downward toward her back pockets, already knowing he’d taken her phone and it wasn’t there.
“Gary, listen to me. This is kidnapping.”
He made a small sound, almost amused. “That’s an ugly word.”
“It’s the right word,” she bit off.
“It’s rescue, if you really look at it. You were stuck there. Stuck in that town. Stuck in your low-paying job that couldn’t even buy you enough food or a new set of tires. Stuck waiting tables for customers who don’t see you like I do.” His gaze flicked to the mirror again.
Revulsion clawed up her throat.
She forced herself not to react. Not yet. Men like this got off on emotion—fear, tears and pleading. She refused to give him those things.
“My son,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I need my son.”
“I know about Ben.”
The floor dropped out beneath her, and her heart seemed to stop. “What?”
