Page 9 of Love You To Pieces

“Guys?” My heartbeat makes itself known in my chest, and the pain in my hands and knees becomes secondary to my rising anxiety. Finally, I make it around the sedan, finding nothing, before I turn my gaze on the other car parked a few yards behind ours, the one I first saw from the rise.

It’s a truck, I note, getting closer.

It’s the truck.

My steps come to a halt, and my stomach drops to the asphalt beneath me. The blacked-out windows are rolled halfway down, and both front doors stand ajar with the cabin light dim and unhelpful. But I remember the shape of it, the windows, and the way the passenger mirror was just a little bit off-kilter and dinged up, like the driver hadn’t gotten around to fixing it after an accident.

But they left, my brain says stupidly, even as my feet take me closer on stiff legs. And I hadn’t seen them circle back around, though that’s not really proof of anything at all. “Hello?” I call, in a much softer, less confident voice. No one answers, and from what I can see, there’s no one in the cabin.

I walk closer to peer inside, just to make sure, but as I thought, it’s empty of anyone, even the man in the back seat. My mind tries to work through explanations and possibilities, even as I continue to walk around the truck, like the paint job will give me answers.

But the moment I get to the back of the truck, where the tailgate is down and the contents are on display thanks to the way the headlights of Tyler’s car are slightly turned this way, my heart goes into my throat and I’m sure I stop breathing.

Ariana is in the truck. Pressed against the side of the bed with blood on her face and her eyes closed. Then I see Tyler is crumpled behind her, almost like they’re snuggled together for warmth, while Scotty is almost spread-eagle on the other side of the truck bed.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, and the scuff of boots on pavement has me whirling around before I know what I’m doing.

The man from the back seat stands there, sucking on his vape. As I stare at him in shock and fear, he grins and blows a plume of mango-scented smoke in my face. “We thought you might not come back,” he chuckles in a low, rough voice.

“Would’ve been better for you if you hadn’t, pretty little meat.”

My mouth opens, some sort of question or demand on my lips. But the blow that hits me in the back of the head has my knees crumpling and my eyes falling shut. My consciousness fades as another of the men jumps out of the back of the truck with a laugh and says something that I can’t quite hear.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Please, just talk to me!” Reaching out, I grab for Emma’s arm, even as she walks toward the front door of our shared apartment. “I’m not lying to you!” Tears stream down my cheeks, my eyes gritty from how much I’ve cried over the last few days. “I’m not!”

She turns to look at me over her shoulder, a look of something—hesitation?—on her face. Like she might, just for a moment, be considering taking my word this time, as she’s taken my side so many times in the past ten years.

Ten years, and I’ve never lied to her. She’s my best friend, my⁠—

“I saw the video, Sadie-Rae,” she says, that look disappearing, her face hardening. “I heard what you said to Sebastian.”

“What I…?” I don't even remember, not truly. I know I was offered wine, and then vodka, and then⁠—

Groans and a mouth on my neck. Whispers in my ear about just letting it happen. I’ve always liked him anyway, he said. Why don’t I just sit back and enjoy this? Fingers that reached and pulled and plucked at my clothes, but somehow, the clarity from fear or loyalty had struck my brain just enough to cut through the alcohol.

“Emma, please!” I say again, this time in a whisper. “Why won’t you believe me?” But I know the answer as clearly as I can see the glimmer of the fancy heirloom ring sitting on her left hand. Believing me would ruin the fantasy she’s created for herself. It would ruin everything.

I know it’s over even before the door opens and she shakes off my hand.

“Please,” I try one more time, my hand extended. Except this time I’m not reaching for Emma. I can’t. I’m sure if I can just grab her hand one more time, she’ll stop and listen to me, yet my hands are stuck over my head, straining and arms aching.

“Emma!”

She walks out the door as I fight my bindings, my feet kicking, the floor suddenly so far away. Fear replaces the hopelessness from that morning, and the ache in my arms builds along with a throbbing in my head. My hands clench, and⁠—

My eyes snap open, lips forming the word, ‘please’ one more time as the dream clears along with the remains of unconsciousness. I try to move my arms, wanting to rub my eyes, only to find that, just like in my dream, they won’t move from above me.

“What the fuck?” I grumble to myself, blinking in the dim light of a small, dirty room. My eyes travel around concrete walls and a concrete floor, stained with a rust-color that my brain refuses to make sense of. Light trickles in through the cracks between the door and the wall on one side, and on another, through the cracked concrete around an old, rusted vent.

Fear builds in my chest as I try to move, and my mind tries to process what the hell is happening here. I remember the car breaking down. The walking, reaching the top of the rise, then falling down the small cliff-like embankment.

I remember the empty car, with Scotty’s blue vomit still staining the ground, though smeared like someone had slid through it.

I remember the truck, its empty cab, and going around the back to find⁠—

“Fuck,” I hiss, my efforts redoubling. While normally I work hard not to overreact to situations, this definitely feels like one that deserves an extreme reaction. My hands curl into fists, palms stinging as the barely formed scabs rip open and bleed. But after a few moments of hooked-fish-like writhing and wiggling, I force myself to stop as my breaths come in heavy pants.