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Fucker.
I am not going to die today. Whoever these assholes are think they can get Carson to pay a ransom or do some kind of bidding in exchange for me, and he’ll teach them real quick that what they’re going to get in exchange for my life is killed.
They’re going to be the dead ones.
I just have to hang in there and not fucking panic.
Because even if the phones are crazy, my husband will find me. There’s no other option. He has anything and everything at his disposal. He tracks people for a living.
There’s no way he doesn’t find me.
Suddenly, the car stops, and I can hear voices, and now I want to freak the fuck out because that means they’ll probably pull me out of this car and try to do something horrible to me.
The trunk opens, and the big guy from before sneers down at me.
“Come on.”
“Do you know who my husband is?” I ask as he yanks on my arm, pulling me out of the trunk, and my feet land hard on the pavement. “This isn’t going to end well for you. You have to know that.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m trying to—”
“I said shut the fuck up.”
He shakes me and then pulls me, practically dragging me, past what looks like the charred remains of a house. I glance around, but I don’t recognize this place. It feels like we’re out of town, since I don’t see other buildings and there’s no street noise to speak of.
“This place is spooky,” I say, frowning as I stare at the black ruins of what, from the looks of it, used to be a really big house. “I hope you don’t live here. If you do, I’m sorry for your loss—”
“Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?”
“Not when I’m being kidnapped. I’m a nervous talker.”
He doesn’t reply, he just keeps dragging me back to a building hidden in the trees, and I try to dig my heels into the hard ground.
“No. I don’t think it bodes well for me if I let you take me in there.”
“You’re not letting me do anything. I’m simply doing it.”
“You’re well spoken for a big meathead.”
He glares down at me.
“What? That was a compliment. You’re capable of so much more than this.”
“Stop running your mouth.”
He opens the door on the small building. It’s about the size of a one-car garage, and it’s seen better days, and when my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, my heart sinks.
Because this is what Carson would call a cell.
A place to hurt your captive.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“There you are.”
A man walks in through a door on the opposite side of the open space, his dress shoes clicking on the cement floor as he walks my way.
