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In a last-ditch effort, I relented, allowing him to press me up to the first step. When I placed my foot on the wooden riser, rather than moving forward, I bent my knees and pressed back, using my momentum to send No Neck off balance. Not expecting my move, he stumbled backward with a gruff yell. We both went down, but this time I landed on his chest, saving myself another round of gravel burn.
Rolling quickly to the side, I hopped up and ran, eyes on the fading line of smoke in the trees. Arms still bound at my wrists, my motion was sloppy, but I kept my legs pumping, making a beeline for the edge of the forest as fast as I could.
I could hear shouting behind me and Spaz dissolving into yet another round of hysterics, but I didn’t stop to look. I just kept running, the residual drugs in my system making me unstable as my vision swam.
My breathing was ragged, fear and lack of a regular cardio routine meaning that my lungs heaved like a bellows. Note to self: yoga is not a sufficient amount of cardiovascular training.
I was so focused on the trees that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late. I felt arms go around my chest as I was tackled hard, my chin smacking off the rough ground and sending a new wave of dizziness through me. As I hit the ground, I felt my phone go flying out of its hiding place in my bra and bouncing along the hard packed dirt in front of me. Blinking rapidly, I tried to break free, but the body pinning me to the ground was huge and solid, the smell of cigarettes telling me exactly who it was that had come after me.
I stared at the phone, my bound hands trapped beneath my pinned body, unable to reach for it.
To hide it.
Mr. Chill made a tsking sound, holding me down with one hand while the other reached out for my phone. Plucking it off the ground, he held it up, letting me see the cracked screen.
Fifteen-hundred-dollar piece of crap.
His scratchy voice in my ear filled me with dread.
“Listen to me, little girl, and listen well. From now on, you will do what you are told. You will shut up and not give me any more shit.” Mr. Chill ground out, his fist tight in my hair as he pressed my face into the dirt. I got he was trying to make a point, but seriously. “Should you decide not to follow my instructions, I will gladly leave you in the hands of my associates.” He dragged his nose up my neck, inhaling my scent like he was going to eat me. My stomach revolted, and it took everything I had not to gag. “You may have been raised in your Ivory Tower, but I know they would be all too happy to show you how things are done in our neighborhood.”
My whole body shook as he hauled me to my feet by my hair. I watched, my heart in my throat, as he dropped my phone to the ground and stomped on it over and over, his booted foot crunching it into pieces. When he was satisfied, he bent down, digging through the scrap that had been my only lifeline until he located the SIM card, which he then snapped in half.
Holding the shattered pieces of my only hope in front of my face, Mr. Chill chuckled as he let them fall to the ground like trash.
“You’d better get used to disappointment, girl. The next few days are going to be full of it.”
Not giving me the opportunity to run again, Mr. Chill swooped down and planted his shoulder hard into my stomach and I was unceremoniously flipped over his back like a sack of potatoes.
As he turned and strode back to Satan’s Ranger Station, I strained my eyes, searching the tree line for the smoke. The one sign that I was not alone out here.
Wherever the hell here was.
But there was one thing Mr. Chill didn’t know about me: I’d grown used to disappointment a long time ago.
