Boscoe drags the metal chair along the concrete floor, stopping it beside me. With his meaty hand, he pushes me back into it.
McCoy approaches, licking his lips and unfurling rope around his hand. “Oh, I’ll enjoy this.”
Dax moves in fast. “Don’t you dare touch her.”
Boscoe holds out an arm, halting Dax. “Hold your roll, kid.”
Uncontrollably, sobs fill my throat. I try to swallow them, but begin choking and wheezing as McCoy ties my wrists to the chair arms.
“I held back last time, McCoy,” Dax threatens, nudging to pass Boscoe.
McCoy smirks. His jagged, unclipped fingernails scratch my flesh. “Malone, I treated you like the child you are. I won’t be making the same mistake again.”
As Boscoe keeps Dax out of the room, the other men talk over the top of each other, planning what to do with me. McCoy suggests sending a ransom video to my dad. I don’t hear Lance’s reply because I keep my eyes peeled over Boscoe’s shoulder.
Dax isn’t doing well.
His eyes glaze over, and he struggles to keep upright. As his body sways without control, I flail in my seat, attempting to get free.
When his eyes roll back, I scream. “Help him! He’s falling!”
Thud. The men turn to where Dax collapses.
“What the hell’s wrong with this kid?” McCoy mocks.
Lance shoves McCoy away and moves over to his brother. He pulls Dax by his T-shirt and taps an open palm against his cheek. “Come on, wake up.”
I thrash against my restraints. “He’s sick. He needs a doctor.”
Lance looks over his shoulder at me. “Sick with what?”
“Haven’t you seen him collapse before?” I glare at Lance with contempt. “Keeping him here is killing him.”
Lance scoffs. “Whatever.” He hoists Dax up and turns in the hallway. “Keep an eye on her.”
McCoy traces a finger along the part in my hair. “I’ll stay with her. We’ll have fun.”
Lance retches. “No, not you.” He then snaps his fingers at Boscoe. “You watch her instead.”
McCoy slouches with disappointment and helps Lance take Dax away.
“Dax!” I yelp, struggling against the rope.
“You hush now,” Boscoe says, standing over me with his arms crossed. “Screaming ain’t gonna do you no good.”
My eyes water. “Please, he needs help.”
Boscoe chuckles. “You’re concerned about him while you’re in this predicament?”
“I’m here because I love him.”
Boscoe grins, wandering to the doorway and peering into the hallway. He taps his elbow as if he’s biding time. Well, I’m not. I continue to thrust my wrists back and forth, hoping somehow the rope unties itself.
After a good ten minutes of turning my wrists red raw, Boscoe ambles toward me, stroking his long graying beard.
“I’m giving you five minutes,” Boscoe says gruffly. He smiles, showing off the gaps between his yellow teeth. “Because I like the kid.”
“What?” I mumble as he walks away.
