Page 73 of Keeping Zita

Zita tried to protect herself from the punch that was coming, but she was too slow. Too dazed to cover her face.

This time, the pain was so extreme her body couldn’t cope. Everything went dark as she gave in to the excruciating agony.

When she came to, Zita blinked—and immediately realized the small movement caused her head to throb so badly, she felt nauseous. She had no idea where she was, except it was dark. It was taking every ounce of her control not to puke everywhere.

The pain in her head and face hadn’t receded, but eventually she realized she was in a car. More specifically, the trunk of a car. The hum of the motor, the way her body swayed back and forth as the vehicle changed lanes or turned, and the darkness all told her she was in deep shit here.

Doing her best not to panic, Zita slowly reached out, fumbled around where she thought the brake lights should be. She’d seen more than one video about how to escape a trunk if you were locked inside. How to disable the lights so maybe the driver would get pulled over. Or to knock them out altogether and stick a hand out so people in other cars could see her waving for help.

But it was pitch black inside the trunk, and she couldn’t see what she was doing. She also had no tools to get the screws off the plates covering the electronic wires for the lights.

Feeling frustrated, Zita decided maybe her best bet was to scream. Perhaps someone at a stoplight would hear her and call the police.

She waited until the vehicle stopped, then yelled at the top of her lungs.

“Help me! I’m in the trunk! I’ve been kidnapped! Call the police! Please! Fire! Fire! Call nine-one-one!”

She’d heard once that yelling for help usually didn’t make people act, but saying there was a fire was more likely to get someone to do something.

Her yelling did get a reaction. But as far as she could tell, not from anyone who would help her. Silas—she assumed it was that asshole driving, since he’d been the one to hit her—turned on the radio. Loud.

The screaming already had her head throbbing even worse than before. Paired with the sudden pounding music, she couldn’t hold back the vomit that had been hovering in her throat.

The amazing breakfast she’d eaten not too long ago came up with a vengeance.

Zita did her best to puke off to the side of where she was lying, but once her stomach was empty, the smell in the trunk only made her misery worse.

Tears formed in her eyes. She wanted to be strong. Wanted to be the kind of person who could save herself. She’d also watched videos of women getting out of zip-ties, escaping their assailants, and basically being kick-ass. And here she was, practically lying in her own vomit, helpless to do a damn thing to save herself.

She still had no idea why Silas had kidnapped her. He hadn’t said anything before punching her, and she’d been unconscious when he’d put her in this trunk. She had no idea where they were going.

The tears dripped down her cheeks, causing her more pain when the salty liquid seeped into the open wound on her face from Silas’s knuckles.

How long they’d already been driving, Zita had no idea. It seemed like she was in the dark for hours before the car slowed once more. It felt as if they were driving over gravel or maybe on a dirt road. Which scared her all over again. Had he driven her out into the countryside? Was he going to shoot her and leave her for dead? Or worse, bury her body so no one would ever find her?

Zita’s mind immediately went to Sage. He’d wonder where she went. He’d definitely look for her, but how would he find her if she was underground? Her parents would never know what happened, her brother would probably go crazy trying to find her.

The damn tears she’d briefly managed to stem started up again. She was overwhelmed and terrified.

She thought she heard Silas talking to someone, but the music was too loud for her to understand what was being said, and when she opened her mouth to yell again, they were moving once more. But much slower than they’d been before.

Licking her lips—and feeling more upset that she could no longer taste Sage on them, than she was that her face was swelling because of Silas’s punches—Zita tried to think about her best plan of action for when the trunk opened.

She knew all too well that allowing a kidnapper to take her somewhere wasn’t good. She’d been unconscious and hadn’t been able to fight Silas when he’d put her in the trunk, but she was awake now. And she wasn’t going to die without one hell of a fight. She’d get his DNA under her fingernails; she already had her DNA in the form of vomit in his trunk. She’d put scratches on him that no one could ignore.

Anything and everything that would point the police, and Sage, straight to Silas Graves.

It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t know where to start. He was the only person she’d had trouble with in the recent past. He’d threatened her just days ago with that vague “or else” warning. Thank God she’d told Sage about the encounter. Silas would be the first person he’d suspect in her disappearance.

She was so lost in her head, she almost failed to realize the vehicle had stopped. The music shut off suddenly, and Zita could hear her own breaths in the quiet space around her. She needed to calm down. Slow her breathing. She could do this. She had no choice. She wanted the future she’d been hoping to have with Sage. Wanted to start a new life in Virginia. She didn’t want to die.

The trunk latch disengaged, and Zita tensed—then she shoved the lid up hard and fast, hoping to catch Silas’s head with it.

To her surprise, no one was standing behind the car waiting for her.

Sitting up, Zita looked around, trying to understand where she was and what she was seeing.

There were weeds and high grass everywhere, along with rusted cars, trucks, and…was that an airplane?