Page 18 of Trust

“No, I’ll go,” I hiss, stepping onto the loose gravel and hurrying past him.

He follows. Of course he does. So I keep walking.

“Stop right there,” he warns when I stray too far into the shadows of the trees. Ahead, a massive bush promises a few seconds out of his sight.

My eyes flick skyward, but otherwise I comply. My mind’s already working. I pick a spot, crouch, and while I’m taking care of business, I search the ground for something to throw. I find a rock, small enough to fling and big enough to lead him off track. When I’m done, I pick it up and send it flying into the woods to the left. It crashes through branches with a satisfying racket.

Through the thin veil of twigs, I watch him snap his head around and pounce toward the sound. Exactly the reaction I hoped for.

Clinging to the possibility this might work, I start crawling in the opposite direction, trying not to make too much noise. My hands scrape bark and mud. Thorns snag my hoodie.

But I make it.

I swear I do.

My ride is so close.

I don’t turn around when I spring to my feet and race to the driver’s side. Jerking the door open, I slide behind the wheel, heart thundering, ready to punch through my ribs.

The idiot left the key in and the engine running.

All muscle, no brains.

My pulse spikes, and I floor the gas just like they do in the movies.

The engine revs, but the van doesn’t move an inch.

What the fuck? Three pedals?

“No. No no no no no!” I cry out, fumbling with the clutch and the stick shift. The vehicle jerks forward, stutters, then chokes and dies.

Too late.

I’m yanked off the seat like a rag doll. I shriek, letting my weight drop to the ground. Might as well make it hard. The longer it takes for him to get me back in there, the higher the chances someone might drive by and help.

Although, I can’t imagine I’m in real danger. He won’t actually hurt me, will he?

I’m out of luck. No car passes.

Gravel bites my cheek, his knee pins my shoulders. He seizes my wrists, gathering both behind my back and holding them together with one unforgiving grip while the other hand locks around my nape. He hauls me up, slamming me against the side of the van.

“Silly little princess,” he growls before we shuffle to the open door of the loading area. He throws me in hard enough to remind me who’s in charge.

My face hits the mattress with a grunt. I’m quick to roll over, and when I do, cold metal bites my skin. He cuffs my hands together. Ugh, not again. Can’t he use cable ties? Thanks to TikTok, I know a trick.

“You should be thankful I didn’t put these behind your back.”

A loud bang leaves me in darkness.

Asshole.

SWIMMING

Chris

The road narrows between trees which bow like servants to welcome me back. Nighttime comes fast and the trail is lit by my high beams. I know every bend and dip by heart, but even so, I reduce the speed. It's not really the terrain; I'm tired.

It’s been a long day, and she’s given me a taste of what lies ahead. I wasn’t planning on being that rough with her, but considering she’ll spend several weeks with me, she has to understand she doesn’t get a vote in what’s coming. That fiery attitude will get her nowhere. If she keeps throwing herself at walls she can’t move, she’ll only wear herself out. After all, her father did have a point. She has to learn some respect. One more insult and she’ll learn a lesson no etiquette guide covers.