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Nick’s body stays eerily relaxed behind me, and then he chuckles. I can see through my peripheral vision him giving a quick jerk of his head toward the door as both Jake and I take a look. I swallow against a thick lump in my throat as a sick sense of déjà vu washes over me. Those are the men who took me the last time, and the three of them are heavily armed.
“I don’t think you want a repeat of last time, Jake,” Nick reminds him with an authoritarian voice. “How’s that leg healing?” he taunts.
Jake’s chest heaves with fury. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot.”
“Oh, but it is,” Nick smoothly states. “Everything has been signed, sealed, and delivered. No returns, no exchanges, all sales final. I suggest you think of that, should you try something stupid.”
So this is it? My life has been bargained away because of a deeply disturbed, paranoid, schizophrenic man? Everyone’s words are becoming muffled, and I can’t make out anything past the fact that somehow under the influence, I did indeed sign important papers.
I feel like I’m in a jousting tournament and I just lost. I lost big time. My lungs constrict as I feel the sharp lance piercing my chest, spearing through my heart as it exits out my backside. A very sick feeling falls over me, making my face turn hot and flushed. I feel clammy and dizzy as I grab onto my medallion, clutching it with the palm of my hand, grasping for something familiar to give me comfort.
“That’s another thing I’ll be glad to be rid of,” my dad says as he steps forward to unclasp the necklace from around my neck. Both Jake and I just stand here frozen, unable to do anything as I try to get a grip on my physical and mental being, but nothing is cooperating.
He tosses my medallion in the air and catches it with an evil smirk. “Do you know how sick I was of seeing you wear this every damn day? I’ll be glad to be rid of it once and for all. It was a constant reminder of how traitorous both your grandmother and mother were…and now you.”
His words and actions paralyze me. Beads of sweat have gathered along my upper lip. I feel nauseous, and my vision sort of pixelates from the edges. My inner balance is so screwed up that all I can think about is how I’m going to fall flat on my face. The last thing I remember as my knees give way is not hitting the floor.
I slowly rouse from a deep sleep, still too tired to open my eyes. I realize my head is lying on a hard, muscled thigh acting as a pillow. Must be Travis’ lap I’m lying across. My mind is hazy from sleep, but I can’t remember the dream. The sound of a highway surrounds me, and I know then I’m in a moving vehicle.
I smell leather, a lot of leather, and I wonder what Travis is up to. I’m sprawled out on a very comfortable, roomy backseat of a car with the warmth of a blanket laid over top of me. My hair is being played with, and on occasion, softly stroked in a loving manner. I start to wriggle awake, and am met with a deep, soft voice that doesn’t belong to Travis.
“You’re awake.” My eyes flutter open, confusion swirling around me. My pulse spikes, and I try to sit up. I’m in a panic-induced haze as memories begin to pound me like a tidal wave. Nick gently nudges my head back down on his lap, encouraging me to stay put. “Easy there, Princess,” he says soothingly. “You’ve been out for a good while. Just relax.”
I roll my head back slightly to peer up at him, and he looks down at me with tender, sympathetic eyes, which display nothing but warmth. His fingers are caringly stroking the side of my cheek, and as I look at him in my disoriented state, I notice how exhausted he looks.
“Where am I?”
“I’m taking you home with me,” he softly replies as he runs his fingers through my hair.
I swallow hard against the sick feeling brewing in my stomach. “Back to the facility?”
His lips form a thin line as he shakes his head. “No, baby. I’m taking you to a place where we both can call home.”
“Home?” I ask even more confused. I have no home. I have no life. I have nothing.
Nick reaches over me for a second, and when he leans back against his seat, he has a bottle of water in his hand. “You need to stay hydrated,” he says, ignoring my question. “Let me help you sit up.” Apparently, his definition of me sitting up is sitting in his lap, because when I begin to move, his free hand slips underneath my armpit as he lifts me onto his lap.
