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First, let’s try to solve this with money.
“Where are we going?” I call out, engaging with my kidnappers for the first time.
“You don’t need to know,” the driver calls back.
“Can you at least tell me how much longer it will be? My arm is sore, and my hand is falling asleep,” I add, truthfully.
The passenger chuckles. “You don’t know what sore is. I don’t envy you. I’ve never seen my boss as angry as he is at you.”
Great. I push down the temptation to panic again and change tactics.
“You’ve obviously done some research on me. You have to know who my father is and how rich my whole family is. Name your price. Whatever old man Luciano is paying you, I can double it. You just need to get me to safety.”
“Lady, are you nuts? There is no place on this planet that would be safe if I let you buy me off. No, I think I’ll stay loyal and keep my head.”
It doesn’t surprise me that they don’t take my bait, but I had to give it a try. While my next idea is less appealing, I know it needs to be done. I start with putting my free hand into my long, messy hair and giving a yank. I’ve often wondered how I’m not bald by now since at any given time I can pull long strands of hair out of my head. Today, I’m grateful because I keep pulling and spreading the thin blonde locks all around the back of the van.
Next, despite being thirsty, I pool enough spit to coat my fingers several times—each time wiping the invisible wetness around where I’m restrained, making sure to leave traces on the walls, the floor, and even the bar I’m attached to.
I’m tempted to let that be enough, but I’m determined that even if Z and Dex can’t find me in time to save my life, the least I’m going to do is leave enough of a DNA trail behind that they, and the police, will be able to pin my murder on the Lucianos. That determination helps me be brave enough to drag my forearm across a screw that was sticking out of the side of the van, scraping skin as I do. I let the thin red line of my blood pool just a few drops before smearing little droplets around, trying not to make it obvious.
Once I’m done, part of me feels better, but then reality reminds me that if it comes down to Z finding my DNA, it will mean he’s too late. And while there is some comfort in the idea of Z and Dex eliminating the Luciano family as revenge, the fact remains—I’ll still be dead.
With nothing better to do, my mind races to envision the salacious headlines that were going to dominate the evening news after they find my body. At least I pray they find my body—I don’t want to just disappear. I’d like to think my friends will miss me, but I know Z will never forgive himself, especially if he can’t find me to at least put my body to rest. It won’t have anything to do with how he does or doesn’t feel about me personally—his professional reputation is on the line.
The funny thing is, I’m as guilty as the next person for getting caught up in the scandal of the day on social media. Having an online presence like mine, this story will blow up for sure. Will Mom and Dad even miss me? We’ve seen so little of each other recently, I doubt it. A sadness washes over me at the thought of never seeing them again. I have so much I haven’t done yet. I’m not even close to being ready to die.
And I know I have these last few days with Z to thank for knowing that more than ever. Looking back, I can see I’d let my life get caught up in the day-to-day grind so much that I’d forgotten to actually slow down and enjoy living my life. It took almost dying as JV attacked me to wake me up. Then in the days at the cabin, my busy life had come to a screeching halt, allowing me time to think… reflect…
To fall in love.
If I’m going to die soon, I need to admit it… at least to myself. As fearful as I was while we were on the run together, I can’t think of a better way to spend my last days on this earth than by being holed up with Z, away from life’s distractions… talking, laughing, fucking… making love.
Tears cloud my vision as I think about all the Lucianos will be robbing me of when they kill me. While I have no guarantees of what a future with Z might look like, the ache of knowing we’ll never even have a chance to figure it out hurts. The only thing that hurts worse is knowing how much my death will fuck Z up. Even if he doesn’t love me the way I love him, there is no doubt in my mind that he will blame himself for the rest of his life for not keeping me safe. I wish there was some way I could let him know that I don’t blame him. None of this is his fault.
