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25
SAVANNAH
CINDERELLA’S DEAD - EMELINE
I came aroundin the truck.
Consciousness wasn’t like an on and off switch but a slow, grating awakening that involved a headache that was worse than the hangover from a three-night bender Star, Camden, and I had enjoyed when we were kids in Vegas.
I knewthiswasn’t Vegas, was well aware that Camden was in L.A. right now getting his ass handed to him in a private casino and that Star was only the fuck knew where in Russia.
Someone had T-boned us.
The airbags—something had gone wrong. I could feel the burns on my throat and cheeks.
We’d been kidnapped.
Fucking kidnapped.
I remembered the locks clicking as the car doors opened from the outside and we were dragged out onto the road. I’d passed out when my head had collided with the asphalt.
Goddammit, that’s why my skull ached like a motherfucker!
Aware that I couldn’t groan, that I couldn’t even rub my forehead, that I couldn’t do anything, I tried to stay as still as was possible within my current position, but the urge to see if I was with Aidan or not was overwhelming.
As was the need to vomit.
Was Aidan alive? Dead?
He’d been quiet in the aftermath of the crash. Too quiet. I remembered that much. Had he passed out from the pain of whatever the air bags did to him, or did he have internal injuries from the crash? Was he dying as I lay here trying not to move?
Everything was fixable, but you couldn’t fix death. So he wasn’t allowed to be dead. It just wasn’t happening.
My lips trembled at the thought.
We had so much to do!
So many things still to accomplish together.
He couldnotbe dead. I refused to believe it.
Point blank.
He was dead only when someone forced me to stare into a set of blank eyes that didn’t crinkle at the corners when he looked at me.
They always crinkled.
Even when I’d done something to piss him off.
It was as if, deep down, something about me always made his soul smile.
I bit my lip to stop that train of thought—it’d get me nowhere fast and would only lead to sobbing that’d let our kidnappers know that I was awake.
Instead, I did something useful—I took stock of my situation.
Something covered me, something like a blanket but it didn’t warm me through. A tarp? Could be. It had shifted off my face with movement from the road.
My hands were taped together, my feet too—tight enough that it dug into my flesh. Not in the nice way that happened when Aidan was mad at me, either.
