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“You'll find out.”
I stare at the back of his head. “Wow.”
Silence.
“Do you practice that?”
His eyes lift to the mirror. “What?”
“The creepy serial killer answers.”
His jaw tightens.
“Or do they just come naturally?”
“Shut up.”
“There it is. Another classic.”
I wiggle my thumb. Pain burns through my hand. Almost.
“You talk a lot.”
“So I've been told.”
“It's irritating.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
My thumb slips a little farther.
I suck in a breath.
Mercer's gaze flicks toward the mirror.
“Sorry. Head hurts.”
He looks away.
I pull again.
The rope slides over the base of my thumb.
Holy shit.
I can do this.
Don't rush.
I look out the window. All I see is trees surrounding a narrow road. No buildings. Or people. Nothing I recognize.
My stomach tightens. “How long was I out?”
Mercer doesn't answer.
“Five minutes? Twenty? An hour?”
Nothing.
