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Chapter seven
Daphne
“Isthisher?”the one with long, greasy hair questioned disbelievingly. His gaunt, narrow face and close-set eyes bracketed a too-big nose, and his skin was scarred from what looked like years of bad acne.
“Yup,” replied the one on the far left. When he grinned maniacally, I recognized his crooked teeth and realized it was Spaz, just with no mask. “It sure is. She stepped right up and asked for it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” His condescending tone made the hair on my arms stand on end.
The third man just glowered down at me, his massive arms crossed over his huge barrel chest. The dude looked like he could bench press a truck, but he was also the shortest of the four men, his bulk making it appear like his head was growing directly out of his shoulders.
The last in line hadn’t moved, but my gaze drifted to him anyway. It was as if I couldn’t help it. He was taller than all the others, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His face was shadowed in the fading light of the early evening, but I could still tell that he was classically handsome. With dark hair and eyes, he looked like he had Mediterranean blood, maybe Greek or Italian. If I had seen him on the street, I would have definitely looked twice. He was model gorgeous.
But his eyes were cold, dead-looking and flat. Of all the men staring at me in the trunk, he was the one that truly scared me.
He raised his hand and brought a lit cigarette to his lips, drawing deeply and then exhaling directly at me, the smoke stinging my eyes. “She most certainly did,” he drawled, and there was no mistaking his scratchy voice.
Mr. Chill.
I swallowed, a shiver moving through me, as he flicked the stub of his cigarette away, his gaze passing over me with a frightening mixture of disdain and something that looked like lust. The first I expected, the second caught me off guard, making my stomach roil with fear of what that look might mean for me.
“Get her inside. It’s getting late,” Mr. Chill said coldly, turning and walking away from the back of the car and out of my line of sight.
Spaz clapped his hands together enthusiastically, his maniacal laughter ringing out in the quiet. “Let’s go, Socialite Barbie. Time to play.” He reached down into the trunk and seized my arms, yanking me up and dragging me over the lip at the back of the car.
I’d like to think wasn’t that heavy, but Spaz struggled with my weight, barely capable of lifting my torso before losing his grip and dropping me again. With my hands still bound and unable to catch myself, I landed hard on my stomach, the top half of my body dangling upside down against the back of the car, my legs still in the trunk.
Greasy hair cussed while Spaz laughed like a lunatic, neither of them making a move to help me. I hung awkwardly, the blood slowly rushing to my head as I tried to bring my bound hands into a position where I could push myself back up again. Pressing the heels of my palms against the dusty chrome bumper, I pushed, flopping like a fish out of water as I tried to sit up.
After the third time my hands slipped off the bumper, Spaz still cackling like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, another set of hands gripped my arms, hauling me up and out of the trunk in one smooth motion. It was No Neck, and even with his scowl firmly in place, he still took a moment to ensure I was steady on my feet before he let me go, stepping back behind the other two and crossing his arms again.
“Thanks, big guy,” I quipped to the silent man, flashing him a smile that he most definitely didn’t return. But, if nothing else, I figured the hateful glare he was sending Spaz’s way might just work in my favor at some point.
Kidnapping politics 101: try to get one of the lackeys on your side.
I mean, I would imagine that would be the lesson, if such a class was offered. Maybe I should teach one? Heiress classes. Things like what to do if your family money has landed you in a huge steaming pile of trouble. Next week, we’ll cover how to run a successful social media campaign.
Ugh. Crap. What the heck was that? Maybe I was oxygen deprived from being in that trunk. My brain was going loopy.
Greasy reached over, finally having enough of Spaz’s antics, and slapped him on the back of the head. Hard.
“Ow! Fuck, dude. What the hell?”
“Enough of that shit. Let’s get this bitch inside. You guys took forever to get here, and I’m starving.”
“Not my fault you’re too stupid to feed yourself,” Spaz whined petulantly, taking his embarrassment out on me as he once again gripped my upper arm and shoved me backwards.
Not prepared for his push, my sneakers slipped in the gravel, and I went down hard, landing on my butt and then rolling over to my side, groaning in pain as fire shot up my spine.
Spaz burst into another round of hysterics, bending at the waist as his laughter took over once again. I curled up on my side, finally taking a moment to assess my surroundings as I listened to Greasy and Spaz argue over who was going to haul me up again.
Laying on my side, I glanced around, trying to get a feel for where we were. It appeared as though we were in a heavily wooded area, the thick evergreen trees surrounding us in all directions. The sun was still pretty high, the bright orb nearly touching the tops of the trees, the sky beyond the trees lit in a pale baby blue and gold. As I stared at the treetops, wishing fervently that I was anywhere but here, I noticed something; dancing above the tree line, standing out against the brightly lit sky, was a thin column of smoke.
I had never been one for outdoor activities, but considering we were in the woods, I could easily assume that there were campers nearby. And of course, where there was smoke, there was fire.
And where there was fire, you could reasonably expect to find someone sitting at said fire roasting something on a stick.
I mean, I guessed.
My single personal experience with camping had been with Stone when I was really little, and that was more just us sitting around the fire behind the farmhouse than it was actual camping, but I definitely remembered roasting things.
The sound of heavy footsteps in the gravel approached from behind me, but I didn’t take my eyes off that little column of smoke. The beacon of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out in these woods that didn’t want to harm me. Doing my best to memorize the direction, I kept my eyes on it as I was again hauled to my feet. I knew it was No Neck without even looking because he was both strong and surprisingly gentle.
I lost sight of my hope smoke when he turned me around and started frog marching me toward what can only be described as a scene from a horror movie.
There, in the clearing, stood a shack. That really was the best way to describe it. Short and squat, the building was made of raw wood paneling with a small deck out front. A faded sign nailed to the railing marked it as Black Bear Ranger Station. The windows were dirty and grimy, and there were weeds growing tall around the stairs.
“Uh, listen,” I start, trying to reason with No Neck. He seemed the least prone to psychotic outbursts. “As much as I appreciate your hospitality, I am really not dressed for camping.” He didn’t make a sound, continuing to push me across the gravel lot and toward the stairs that certainly wouldn’t lead anywhere good. “So, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just call an Uber, and we can go our separate ways, okay?”
He huffed out a deep breath through his nose, fingers tightening where he held me at the back of my neck.
Well, so much for that option.
Even though No Neck was as big as a tank, I still tried to get away, twisting left and right in his iron grip, but his hand was like a vice; there was no escaping it. No matter how I fought, he drew me steadily closer to the stairs leading to what was probably now a murder house. Seriously, the place looked like at least one person had died there.
I was desperate to not add my name to that list.
