“Can we make popcorn?” Preston asks, the two of us now alone, aside from the security guys who walk around outside.
“Sure. Let me get it. You watch the screen and yell the minute you see the commercial,” I tell him, not wanting to miss it. Having already seen snippets from filming day, I know it’s going to be amazing.
This new home is incredible, and it’s nice to be back in a fully functional kitchen again. I might even have Preston make us his famous Croque Monsieur tomorrow; I know Sutton will love it.
Grabbing a bag of popcorn, I throw it in the microwave before I move to the sink and fill up a glass of water. The popping begins immediately, and the kitchen fills with the scent of buttery goodness that can only be achieved by popcorn the minute I open the bag.
“Did I miss anything?” I sit next to Preston on the sofa, the two of us getting comfortable. He immediately dives his hand into the bowl.
“Nothing yet.”
The beautiful French doors on the side of the room open, dragging my attention. It’s Jackson, Sutton’s head of security. Having just met him, I don't know him well. But he always seems grumpy and extremely serious. These security guys are generally all the same. They’re working, not relaxing; they have a job to do, and they stay focused.
“Everything alright?” I ask as his eyes roam around the room.
“Everything’s fine. Just doing my checks.”
I relax as Jackson walks around, ensuring locks are still in place and radioing his team before he leaves again to circle the perimeter.
“He looks so mean…” Preston says, and we giggle, both munching on the popcorn.
I look at my watch, knowing Sutton would’ve arrived by now and will probably already be working the room. They have lots of media there tonight, plus all the big spenders and key contacts from the city Tanner flew in. It’s probably something my dad would ordinarily go to, but I can’t imagine him traveling all the way to Whispers for just one night.
I hear a thud outside, and my eyes flick to the French doors.
“Did you hear that?” Preston sits up, his gaze looking in the same direction as mine.
“Yeah… stay here.” I jump up and walk tentatively to the glass doors. The night has settled in, and the lights that are usually on in the garden have gone out. “Hmm, lights are out,” I tell Preston, and he doesn’t say anything.
I turn to look at him and my heart stalls as I see a familiar woman restraining my brother, her hand over his mouth.
My stomach falls to my feet, voice lodging in my throat as someone comes at me from behind.
“No!” I shout as I start to kick and thrash, their hold only tightening with every movement. “What are you doing? Who are you?” I demand as the old guy I recognize from the diner pins my arms behind me.
“Maribel said she’d be a tough one,” the woman says, and my blood runs cold. I still, and Preston’s eyes widen even more, both of us knowing just how bad this situation is. My shock gives my attacker enough time to secure me and push us out the French doors.
“Help! Help! Jack—” I start to yell, hoping Jackson will hear me, before the old man’s hand slaps across my mouth and I continue to twist and thrash with all my might.
“For God’s sake.” For an older guy, he’s pretty strong, but I’m almost out of his arms when I feel a sharp pain in my arm.
Immediately, my body feels off, like I’m falling into a haze. “Ahhh… What…”
“A sedative. Should shut you up for a while,” he says as my feet grow heavier.
Then I see Jackson. Hit from behind, his head bleeding, out cold. Preston starts wailing, his mouth then quickly wrapped in cloth, his screams muffled, just as I hear a familiar tune come from the TV inside. I look back quickly, seeing Sutton’s face lighting up the screen through the open door behind us. Although, I’m starting to see double.
Looking at Preston, I murmur, “Yellow brick road.” He looks at me, his eyes big and round and scared. But we need to at least try to get out of this. Preston nods as he kicks the woman in the shins, and I do the same to the man. It’s enough to have their grip slip.
“Run!” Preston turns and runs as I throw an outdoor cushion at the man before I pull the entire outdoor chair out in front of them both. As expected, he runs toward me, swatting the cushion away, but not before he trips and falls, having not seen the chair.
“Fuck!” I hear the woman yell from behind us, Preston and I sprinting.
We dash across the back lawn, straight to our path. I pant, really wishing I did more cardio as my oxygen demand outpaces my supply. My eyesight’s fading in and out, my legs weak, but I’m pushing as hard as I can. The cool air feels nice across my hot skin and I see Preston remove his gag, then I stumble.
“Come on, Charlotte. Please, stay with me,” Preston pants as he glances behind him, seeing me struggling.
He grabs my arm and pulls me with him, trying to keep us both moving at speed. I can hear footsteps fast approaching, but as we hit the path, the trees offer some coverage to hopefully keep us out of their sight—at least for long enough to do what we need to. And thankfully, Preston and I know the way like the back of our hands.
