CHAPTER 1
present day
Hazel
The desert landscape was monotonous. I counted hundreds of cacti before I finally gave up. I should have been grateful that Eric was dead, and I was still here, driving to start my new life with Muscle Boy. All things considered, I was alive, and technically free. I wanted Muscle Boy to talk. It’s not that I wanted to make conversation with him, but I needed to do something. After being in isolation at the clinic for weeks, I was tired of silence. Silence led to thoughts about those gray-white eyes staring into space, seeing nothing. Reminded me of why I was here in the first place.
And the radio was off. What kind of person goes on a road trip and doesn’t listen to music?
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Home,” Muscle Boy said.
“Your home, or my home?” I scoffed. “Because my home doesn’t exist, and if I remember correctly, you live with that scar-faced freak, and I refuse to go near him again.”
Muscle Boy kept his eyes on the road, steadfast on giving me the silent treatment. The scab I had given him a week ago had finally flaked off, leaving a faint pink scar, but the sunglasses covered it anyway. He leaned on the window, one hand on the steering wheel. Driving as if I wasn’t in the passenger seat. Apparently he was relaxed enough that he didn’t think I would deck him again. I felt like a prisoner again.
My sister, Heather, and her new boyfriend, the scar-faced Zaid, had worked out some sort of agreement with Muscle Boy, also known as Grant. He would help me ‘reintegrate’ into society, and afterward, we would part ways. He must’ve been getting paid a hefty sum.
“What do you get out of this?” I asked. “Gratitude from your master? A bonus? A piece of ass? Because I’mnotinterested, buddy. Not a chance in hell.”
Which was only partly true. Under different circumstances, I would have tried to butter Muscle Boy up. A man with thighs stronger than steel, and whiskey-brown gaze meant to destroy prey, was hard to resist. And I hated to admit that. But that didn’t mean that I would do anything with himnow. Not when he had helped abduct me. Thrown me in a hospital. Agreed to make me his little normal puppet.
This time, he didn’t even acknowledge that I had said anything. I groaned and pulled at my hair. I soothed myself by thinking of buying actual shampoo and conditioner, and fixing my roots, simple things that had seemed mundane, even bothersome, before I was abducted and put in isolation for months. I needed to fix my roots; that was first on my list after a decent shower.
But my mind kept wandering back to the car, to the driver, tohim. It was better than the alternative. Thinking of Dean. I tried to think of a reason, any good, solid reason, why I had agreed to this situation of letting Muscle Boy guide me through life. At the time, being close to Heather seemed like a logical step to finding a normal existence again. But when I thought about it, she had fallen in love withmy abductorand was living with him in the mountains. And now, I was with my abductor’s number one crony, going to live with him in the city, for the foreseeable future. Fuck. My. Life.
Silent hitman. Number one crony of an abductor. Muscle boy. Asshole.Grant.
That was his name.
Grant is going to help you get reintegrated with society, Heather had said. I was doing this for my sister, because my threats were fucking real.Thatwas my good reason. If her new boyfriend,my abductor, made her shed a single tear, I would make sure that he paid. Because Heather had been there for me when each ex broke my heart, and I would do the same for her.
And yet she was the same woman who had shoved me into a forced roommates situation with a silent crony. Thanks, sis.
“What was Zaid’s deal with Eric anyway?” I asked. “Did Eric screw his ex-girlfriend or something?” As if jealousy was a good enough reason to imprison people underground. I was being callous on purpose.
“Eric killed Zaid’s mother,” Muscle Boy said.
I rolled my eyes. Of course Eric had killed his mother. What a justifiable reason. It made me sick to think that scar-face had these perfect lies, and people like my sister and Muscle Boy believed him. Maybe Muscle Boy’s brain muscle wasn’t that big, you know. Like he made up for it elsewhere. Hence the ridiculous bodybuilder physique.
Grant was huge. I had dated this firefighter once who was six feet tall, and built like a model. (How did I screw that one up? Don’t ask.) But Grant could have easily taken my ex out. But I wasn’t afraid. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it hours ago.
But he couldn’t anticipatemyactions. He didn’t know me like that.
“I could kill you too, you know,” I said. Grant glanced at me, then focused back on the road. His damn sunglasses were chromatic, making it impossible to read him. I stayed strong. “Don’t ever doubt what I’m capable of.” A small hint of a smirk crossed his lips, like he was laughing at me.
“Would you feel better if I restrained you?” he asked.
Asking me. Because I was a joke to him. He didn’t need to tie me up. The asshole was making fun of me.
“Don’t forget what happened on our way to the clinic,” I warned.
He chuckled then, and I knew what that meant. He knew exactly what to do if I did attack. Any threats I gave didn’t matter.
He took the next exit. A large casino and hotel stretched across one side of the road, with a strip mall to the other. A truck stop was next to the mall, with a burger joint, gas station, and ample truck parking. It didn’t look like Vegas, but we were in Nevada; the casinos were a clue. But it was a small town, the kind where it seemed like it only had one casino to its name.
He took the car to the far side of the parking area, away from the semi-trucks and fast food restaurant, near the dumpster. The view of the car was blocked by the trucks, giving us privacy. This was fishy. My heart raced. He turned off the car and leaned over me, opening the glove compartment. Getting a gun.
