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Holy fuck. My heart tries to pound its way out of my chest, and I let out a long, low breath as I try to calm down. He still doesn’t know that I know, presumably, and if I start freaking out now, then he’s absolutely going to realize that something’s up with me.
Something’s wrong, I text Cyril, not knowing what else to do.I think I need help.
His response is dripping in sarcasm. Do we not know how mailboxes work, Wendy Darling?
Fuck him for being funny at a time like this, when I’m working incredibly hard at not letting my hands shake more than they already are.
Did you call me an Uber?
His reply comes instantly.No.
Then I think I’m being kidnapped. I have to take a long breath as I say it, and when I look up, it’s obvious that we’re not going towards my destination at all. In fact, it looks to me like we’re going the completeoppositeway.
What? He texts me twice, the first with that one word and the second with just ?? as its contents.Are you joking? He says, the third text flying in right after the second.
I’m not joking.
Where are you?
In a FUCKING CAR.
With my heart in my throat and my stomach twisting itself into knots, I don’t have the wherewithal to do more than look out the window blindly. While I can tell that I’m not going the right way, I don’t know much more than that.
Quickly I send my location to Cyril, even though I know in a second I won’t be here anymore.
When I look up again, I see that the driver is looking at me in the mirror, the smile gone from his face.
“I think we should talk,” he says, his voice level. “About Cyril Chancellor and his boys.”
I’m absolutely not in the right car.
“I don’t know who you mean,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Or why you’d want to talk to me at all.”
“They’redangerous, Arista.” How the hell does he know my name? How did he know when to pick me up?
“Yeah, so? Maybe I’m dangerous too, huh?” I sit back, trying to remain flippant.
“You’re not like them. I know they’ve threatened you. And we know what they’ve done, marking you astheirs.” The tattoo on the back of my neck prickles like it’s being touched, even though it’s under my hair and not visible to this man.
“I asked for it.”
“Did you?” He sounds incredulous. “We’re just trying tohelp you, Arista.” I hate that he keeps saying my name. I hate the way it sounds as it oozes out of his mouth, and I hate that this is even happening.
God, I want to go back home. I want to hit reset on this entire day, and the thought makes me want tocry.
But I’m not going to cry. I’m going to get out of this car, one way or another.
“Where are we going? This sure as shit isn’t my Uber route,” I say, still sounding as flippant as I can even though everything in me is sounding the alarm.
“My boss wants to talk to you. I know how that sounds, but it’s not a threat. We’re trying tohelpyou.” His tone is pleading, as ifI’mthe one who’s acting crazy or out of my mind instead of him.
But I’m the one being kidnapped. I have every right to freak out.
Sucking in another deep breath, I take stock of my surroundings. I’m absolutely sure I don’t want to go see whoever his boss is. I don’t want to be anywhere near whatever mess that’ll be.
I also realize, with the scant spare brainpower that I have, that the calls for the past couple of weeks have probablynotbeen from Cyril. They’ve been from whoever this guy works for, presumably. And that’s something else I need to tell Cy about when I get out of here.
When,notif,because I refuse to consider an alternative ending to this other than escape. No matter what I have to do.
