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“Tell me about Enzo. Tell me how you two met,” Milo says.
I open my mouth to refuse when Milo’s phone rings. I hear the buzzing in his pocket, and I look out the window at the passing palm trees.
Milo speaks into the phone, but I don’t listen. I try to enjoy the sunlight pouring in. I don’t know the next time I’ll feel the warmth from the sun on my skin.
He ends the call. “It’s time for us to have a chat.”
I turn my attention back to him, just as his phone buzzes again. He growls as he looks at the number and decides to answer it. “Yes,” he hisses into the phone.
I watch as Milo gets four more phone calls. All from numbers he chooses to answer. Each call lasts five minutes or longer. Each call distracts and irritates Milo further. But he answers them. Each and every one.
Enzo.
Is he arranging these calls? Finding a way to distract Milo to protect me?
Yes, I feel it.
But how long can he keep this up? And once we get to wherever Milo is taking me, then what? Enzo can’t keep having the entire city call Milo.
I need to fight.
I don’t know if Enzo is going to be able to get me back for a long time, but I can try now—while Milo is distracted.
I need a weapon.
I can’t overpower Milo. The door is locked, and there is no way to unlock it from the back seat so I can’t run. The only chance I have is to find a weapon.
I’m sure Milo has a gun on him. Enzo, Langston, and Zeke all carry a weapon near their waist. But I don’t see anything visible on Milo from where I’m sitting.
I glance down to his thick boots. Enzo also carries knives in his boots.
I’d rather have a gun. Langston and Zeke taught me how to shoot. If I had a gun, I’d kill Milo. Although, Milo’s two goons in the front would probably shoot me before I had a chance to turn the gun on them. It would be worth it to know Milo is dead. His men might finish me off, but not before I destroyed Milo.
But if he’s carrying a knife near his ankle, that would be easier for me to get than a gun in a waistband buried beneath his jacket.
Milo’s eyes are trained out the window as he barks into the phone. Something about having plenty of fuel by the time we get there, or he’ll kill them all.
Fuel?
I look out the front window, and that’s when I realize where we are going—his yacht.
Fuck.
I will not get on his yacht. I can’t. I’d rather die.
Seeing the dock and his yacht looming in the distance fans my desire to act. I must act—now.
I glance over at Milo one more time, trying to decide where I’m most likely to find a weapon. And one I can easily retrieve. I decide to go for the ankle.
I bend down, pretending to mess with my own shoe. My eyes focus down, trying not to draw any attention from the three men in the car. When Milo’s voice grows loud again, I make my move.
I slip my hand under his pant’s leg until I feel metal. Then, I grab it—my body launching over Milo’s as the knife lands at his throat.
The car lurches trying to throw me off Milo, but I hold the knife steady to his throat, watching as he swallows carefully.
He laughs and ends the call without a goodbye.
“Easy, guys. I can handle this,” Milo says to the two men in the front seat.
