I toss him on the floor and point my pistol at his forehead.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“Who?” he asks, kicking his heels into the cheap carpet to back away from us.
“Mercy,” I growl. “You fucked with the wrong man’s girl. You got one minute to tell me where she is, or you’ll never be speaking another word in your life.”
“I don’t know, man,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do nothing with any Mercy.”
“That was ten seconds,” I say. “Want to keep wasting words, or say something that might save your life?”
“I don’t know,” he says, his voice going high with fear. He tries to back further, but Mad Dog blocks his way, shoving the muzzle of his gun to the back of his head like an executioner.
“We have surveillance footage that says otherwise,” I tell him. “So I’ll give you one last chance to stop wasting our time.”
“Please,” Chris blubbers. “I just went with them, I didn’t know what they was going to do with her. I don’t know where she is! They dumped me out of the van and took off with her.”
“Who?” I demand, planting a boot on his leg. It jolts with fear, and I lean forward, pinning it with my weight.
“I don’t know,” he sobs. “I don’t know them. It was the Disciples!”
“The Disciples?” I ask, drawing back in surprise. Mav’s brows rise, but he doesn’t say anything. “Why the fuck were you working with the Disciples?”
“They wanted help finding her,” Chris blubbers. “I just got caught in between. I’m innocent!”
Mad Dog snorts and backs up a few steps, leaving the space behind Chris empty. The rat must know what that means, because he tries to turn over, like he’s going to crawl away. I stomp his kneecap, barely feeling the crunch when it tears free of the ligaments beneath. He screams, but it’s muffled to my ears. When I go into ‘business mode,’ as Maverick would call it, I shut down and get shit done.
“It wasn’t me,” he screams. “I don’t even know their names. Ask the Sinceros—ask the Delacroixs—I don’t know anything!”
He’s blubbering now, but I got all the information I needed. I pull the trigger, and the pop echoes through the room, loud enough to make my ears ring. His body crumples to the floor, and I turn to the door. Maverick nods and backs up a step, and I lead the way out, with Mad Dog bringing up the rear.
Their old man is still out cold.
As my cousins climb back into the El Camino, I tip my chin at Zephyr, who stands by his project car.
“We were never here,” I warn, and then I climb in too, and we pull away from the curb.
three
The Merciless
“Can’t we leave her tied up in here while we got grab a few beers?” asks one of the men in the van. We’ve been driving all day, and my shoulder hurts so bad it’s all I can do not to whimper. It takes every ounce of willpower to stay still, not give anything away.
“You don’t stop running when you’re one step from the finish line, do you?” says Mr. Sincero—or Julian, as I’ve decided to call him. That’s his name, after all. He deserves no title of respect.
“Fine, but I’m coming back across as soon as we drop her off,” mutters the younger Sincero, the one they call Leo. He climbs out of the van and slams the passenger door unnecessarily hard.
The last guy, Curtis, grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t dare stand up to the two Sincero brothers. He sits in the back, guarding me, and on occasion, feeding me pills that make me so drowsy I can’t physically keep my eyes open. Apparently they didn’t like the side effects of whatever Julian gave me, which made me so dizzy I instantly vomited all over the floor the moment I woke up. Since then, they’ve decided that pills sedate me well enough.
That works for me, since I was able to spit out the last one Curtis gave me without him noticing, hence being awake right now. I’m not sure where we are or how much time has passed. I woke in a groggy fever dream at least half a dozen times, so I’m guessing it’s been a few days, but I have no way to know. Theyhaven’t taken me out of the van except to drag me into sketchy motel rooms each night, and to use outdoor restrooms on the back of gas stations, something I rarely see at home, but that they seem to find with ease.
Now that my head is clear, the reason behind their knowledge chills me to the bone. They’ve either mapped out and heavily researched the route ahead of time, or more likely, this is a familiar journey for them. After all, one of the Sincero boys told me as much himself when I confronted him. I can’t be the first—or second—girl they’ve taken.
But I can be the last.
I’m so startled when the van door rolls open that I flinch when evening sunlight hits me straight in the face. They’ve never woken me before. Only when I wake and beg for a restroom do they reluctantly stop at the next sketchy outdoor restroom. Once, they even made me pee in the bushes beside the road when they didn’t have a favorite stop close. But I haven’t drank enough water to make frequent stops a problem. I haven’t eaten, either, which is a big problem.
There are three of them, and one of me, and I’m hardly in prime fighting condition. Still, I have my wits about me. I sit up, blinking sleepily, playing into the weakness by letting my arm shake badly when I prop myself up.
