Back inside, I empty out Sandro’s pockets. Wallet, phone, some change, his business cards. The business cards make my vision go blurry. He was so fucking happy when he got the damned things that he drove over to show them to me.
I let out a heavy breath.
Hold on.
He drove here… Where are his car keys?
I check his pockets again, but they’re empty.
Maybe he left them in his car?
I go to check, but they’re not there either. I search the front lawn, the porch, the living room… Nothing.
There’s an AirTag on them. I remember because he bought me one too, but I never put it on. I grab his phone, hover it over his face to unlock it, and then pull up the locator app.
There they are.Car keys.
They're all the way out on the I-44, moving toward St. Louis.
The fuck?
And then it dawns on me.
Blake’s got the keys.
CHAPTER 41
BLAKE
“Try him again. We’ve gotta get in touch with those fucking Italians in the next twenty-four hours for this to work.”
“Maybe we should have waited until we talked to them.”
“Did I ask for your fucking opinion?”
A groan escapes my lips. My head’s pounding, and my throat is bone dry. Suddenly, my body bounces, and pain shoots up my spine. I’m in a vehicle.
“You awake, Blakey girl?” That’s Uncle Lyle. I crack my eyes open and see his face hovering over me. “Thirsty?”
I nod, my thoughts struggling to coalesce into coherence.
A hand slides under my head and lifts me a few inches off the ground. Lukewarm water that tastes like plastic drips past my lips, but I’m so parched I don’t care. I drink greedily, my palms pressing against the rough carpet stretched over the floor of the van.
Uncle Lyle watches me closely. “You’re a bit banged up. Hit your head against the floor when you passed out.”
It’s like a light suddenly turns on. Memories come flooding back, and I choke on the water, spitting it all down my front.
Sam!
“Oh my God, Sam… Sam’s—“
Uncle Lyle shushes me and pulls me against his chest. “He’s dead, Blakey. That boy’s dead.”
Adrenaline surges through me. I fight him, claw at him, scream. This is a nightmare. This isn’t real.
An arm appears around my throat, then a hand presses to my lips. I smell cigarette smoke and gasoline. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the reality of my situation crashes into me.
“Stop fighting, girl. You’re only going to make this worse for yourself. You want me to tie you up?”
