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Get out! I try to shove past him, but my arms are two limp strands of spaghetti.
Air wheezes through my lungs.
“It’s okay, Shelby. We’re going to be so happy together. I’ve always wanted the perfect wife to give me a large family.” He licks his lips and drops his gaze to my stomach.
Oh, hell no.
He smiles wide. Rows and rows of shiny shark teeth.
Huh?
I shake my head. My vision blurs and now there are four shark-toothed people standing in front of me.
Something hard clamps around my wrist.
I jerk and twist. Fear burns through the cloudiness in my head. A scream tears out of me, like shards of glass shattering against my throat.
“The time has come. I can’t have you cavorting around with these men any longer. It’s not good for us.”
Inside, I’m madder than a mule chewing on wasps. But my body can’t seem to will the anger into action.
“Shh.” He presses his finger to my lips. “Stay right here.”
He guides me to the toilet and sits me down on the closed lid. My body slumps against the wall.
Do something. The bathroom door’s wide open.
My gaze swings wildly around the bathroom, searching for a weapon.
Plunger.
Eww.
Better than a toilet brush.
I wrap my cotton ball fingers around the wooden handle, willing some strength into my limbs.
There’s rustling, a bang, and a scraping sound. Mr. Creepy Letters appears in the doorway dragging my trunk behind him.
“You’re going to have to be a good girl and get in there for me so we can leave without any questions.”
Like hell. I’m not claustrophobic but who wants to take a ride in their luggage?
“How’d ya reckon we’re meant to be together if ya gotta drug me and stuff me in a trunk?” The words seep out of my mouth slowly.
“I need to get you away from all of this and deprogram you. Then you’ll understand.”
Deprogram. I don’t even want to guess what that means.
“You didn’t finish this.” He holds out the water bottle to me. “Here.”
“Hell fuckin’ no!” I smack the bottle out of his hold but use my hand holding the plunger. My burst of energy fizzles fast. I end up grazing his cheek with the rubber end, knocking the bottle onto the floor. The plunger goes flying into the shower stall.
I stare at my empty hand.
Well, that was about as effective as using a dishtowel to swat at a wasp’s nest.
He lunges, grabbing my wrists and yanking me to my feet. My noodle legs refuse to cooperate, and I sag toward the floor. He uses my weakness, turning us toward the trunk and letting gravity do the work.
My ass lands in the trunk so hard tears prick my eyes. The backs of my thighs hit the metal edge and I yelp from the pain. My elbow burns from hitting something in the fall.
The man leans over, grabbing my ankles, attempting to fold me neatly inside like a damn tablecloth. I scrabble for the opposite edge, curling my fingers around the lip of the trunk.
With a grunt, he slams the lid. It bounces off my head. Good thing or he probably would’ve broken my fingers. In a daze, I stare at my hand. I need my fingers.
The blow to my head finishes the job the drug-laced water bottle started. My ears are muffled, like I’ve been plunged into a lake.
Rooster, please save me!
Slowly, I slump into the trunk, silently screaming at the darkness coming to claim me.Chapter Sixty-TwoRooster
“Sir, someone reported that you’re carrying a gun. We need to search both of you for weapons,” the asshole at my back informs me.
“Are you fucking kidding?”
“Do you give consent to search you?”
“You can see my fucking pass.” I fumble for the lanyard around my neck and fling it backwards. “Shelby Morgan’s my girlfriend.”
He snorts. “Sure, buddy.”
“Listen, you stupid fuck. She’s got some creep stalking her. I need to be there when she gets offstage.”
“She’s got security. You can wait here a second.”
“I’m her security, motherfucker.”
“Sooner we can search you, the faster you can go.”
“Knock yourself out.” My need to get to Shelby blazes hotter than my need to kill this stupid prick.
I have no doubt who’s responsible for this.
Terror melts my brain. Shelby’s in danger and I have no way to warn her. “Hurry it up.”
“Just hold your horses.”
“Sir! Sir! What are you doing!? That’s Shelby Morgan’s boyfriend,” a high-pitched female voice I don’t recognize screams.
Thank fuck.
“I’m filming all of this, Logan!”
Cindy.
“Cindy, get Greg. Or anyone. Make sure someone’s with Shelby,” I shout. Something about this fucking reeks.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jigsaw growls “Let’s fuck them up and go.”
I twist my head and count. Five bouncers surround us now. But it’s not the uneven number stopping me. Jigsaw and I could still easily take them. It’s the pile of bullshit it will cause, delaying us even longer, that holds me back.
