“Liv, what the hell are you doing?” Gerard asks, flabbergasted.
I sniff, wiping away the water from my eyes so I can see more clearly. “When Knuckles and I first got here, we would track Damon.”
“Seriously?” Fender curls his lip.
“Yes, seriously. At that point, I didn't know what he had gotten himself into, so I wasn't taking any chances. This morning, we were joking around about it, and I clipped the tracker inside his underwear.”
“No more, please.” Fender stops me right there. “Unwanted visual.”
“It was innocent,” I swear to him. “But we can find him.” I wait impatiently for the app to load and locate. It feels like it takes forever, but then a pin drops.
“I got him.” We all examine the phone.
“That looks like the middle of nowhere,” Fender states the obvious.
“That’s because it is.” Gerard rumbles like a wild cat. “It’s the middle of the damn desert.”
17
Damon
These motherfuckerssure as shit know what they’re doing.
They cased the entire hotel. Knew all the employee entrances and service exits. We got out without a second glance.
I’ve been stuffed in a hot trunk for what feels like hours now. I’m soaked in sweat, dying of thirst, and oh, how I hate to fucking admit it, scared out of my ever lovin’ mind.
I’m not going down without a fight, though. If I'm going to die, it’s going to be with some dignity. No begging, or pleading, or tears. No matter what they do, no matter how much it hurts.
My dad always used to say, “Scared is feelin’. Brave is doin’.” He wasn’t the most poetic of men, but I got what he was telling me. I don't necessarily know if I would peg myself as brave at the moment. I just know if I’m going to knock on death’s door, I’m going to do it with my head held high.
We finally stop, and my fear and anxiety spike.Stay calm. Think.
The trunk pops open, and I’m blinded by the sun.Shit.The ball of fire feels like it’s hovering an inch from my head.
With my wrists zip-tied behind my back, Lev drags me out of the trunk and tosses me onto the ground. I choke on the cloud of dust my immobile body kicks up.
I get a good look at where we are, and it’s desolate. Deserted. I’m having aCasinomoment. Whacked in the middle of the desert. How cliché.
“Get ’em up,” Lev directs Dima, and I’m immediately hauled off the ground.
“You always do what he says, like a little bitch?” I mouth off.
Lev punches me in the stomach for my smartass comment. The shot is as heavy as an iron fist crushing my internal organs.
“Is that all you got?” I gasp. “Pussy.”
“I etogo yest' zhelaniye smerti,”Dima vibrates.
This one has a death wish.
“Da,” Lev agrees, hitting me again, and again, and again until my legs give out and the air in my lungs is so thin, it barely exists. I wheeze and cough, suspended in Dima’s tree-trunk-like arms.
“Vsegda boyat'sya volkov.” Lev pops open a switchblade an inch away from my nose.
Always fear the wolves.
Then he stabs me in the gut. I feel nothing at first, but then a dull, excruciating ache begins to pulsate in my abdomen, ramping up faster and faster with each ticking second.
