Page 35 of Outcast

I glanced at Henry, whose face stiffened. Had he been telling the kidnappers about me?

“Well?” snapped the short kidnapper.

“I am, but they only got married less than two months ago. We barely know each other.”

“Right,” he said in a tone that implied he was making recalculations. “Well, if he decides not to cough up, we’ll send him body parts.”

The dread lining my stomach formed a spike of fear. “They won’t allow human flesh through the mail!”

He tossed his head and stepped out of the room with his companions, leaving me gasping at their brutal stupidity. It was going to get me killed, maimed, and addicted to whatever had been in that syringe.

As soon as the key turned in the lock, I whirled on Henry. “Why did you overestimate my worth like that? Now they’ll be disappointed with anything they get!”

Henry stepped back, palms raised. “I said nothing of the sort.”

“Then what were you doing out of the room with them?”

“Bathroom break.” He picked up the paracetamol and water, then sat on the oak chair, which strained under his weight. “Look, there’s no point in blaming me for anything that’s happened. I didn’t ask you to trail after me and get caught in the kidnapping. If we’re going to survive, we’ll have to work together, alright?”

I pressed my lips tight and huffed out a frustrated breath. Henry was right. Yesterday, he was my worst enemy, but today he was the only ally I had in a den of kidnappers. “Did they take your photo, too?”

“Yes. And I expect the school will raise the alarm when Edward tells them I didn’t go to bed last night. There’ll be search parties and everything.”

“Of course.” A bitter taste formed in the back of my throat as I remembered waking up being eaten alive by a sheep and then discovered the triumvirate and their sycophants had left me to my fate in the middle of nowhere. I rested my chin on my knees and wrapped my arms tight around my legs. “No one will raise the alarm for me. They thought I’d run away last night.”

“Really?” Amusement laced his voice. “How did you find your way back?”

Hearing the mirth in his voice was like a fist to the heart. Anything could have happened to me out there. I jerked my head away. “If you’re going to laugh, I’ll stop talking.”

Henry lowered himself onto the mattress, his weight making me topple to the side toward him. One of my hands stretched down for balance and sank into its filthy surface. Ugh. I’d eat left-handed for the entirety of my stay… if they ever fed us.

“Hobson, look at me.” He paused, not speaking until I raised my head and glared at him from the corner of my eye. Even after a night in the trunk of a vehicle and with his blond hair tousled over his face, he still looked like Michelangelo’s David come to life. “What happened at the academy is in the past. The situation we’re in is far worse. Can you focus on the kidnapping and work with me?”

My eyes shuttered closed, and I gave my head a little shake. Not in response to his question, but at my single-minded fixation on the bullying. “Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright. Do you have any clues you can share with the police?”

I repeated a version of the mantra I’d memorized from being carried from the trunk, through the house, and into the room, adding that I’d seen the face of the photographer and the man in the beanie hat.

Henry nodded. “That will be helpful. What about—?”

The key turned in the lock, and a female kidnapper in a white balaclava walked in, holding a plate of sandwiches. From the bulk around her head, I would guess this was the photographer trying to hide her dreadlocks.

“Food.” She placed the plate on the oak chair, reached into her pocket, and dropped two Snickers bars on top. Then she headed for the hallway.

I glanced at Henry, silently urging him to spring forward, commando-style, snap her neck, and make a break for the exit, but he was too busy eyeing the sandwiches to read my eye signal.

“Which do you want?” he asked, “Cheese, ham, or egg?”

I took in the chipped plate. “Neither.”

The female kidnapper paused at the door. “Don’t even think of going on hunger strike.”

“How do I know you didn’t grind pills into the butter or something?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Someone will make a trip to Marks and Sparks, but it might take a few hours. That all right for you, Princess?”

“No sandwiches,” I said. “Just potato chips and packaged food.”