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“Now, now. Remember, if you want to go home alive, you have to shut the fuck up.”
“M–My hands—”
Gripping my chin, he gets in my face. “Like I said, ask Ethan.” Turning to the guy who cut me loose, he instructs, “Put her in the van. We’ll leave after I’ve had a piss.”
I don’t bother thinking about where they’re taking me now, as I’m in so much pain, I can barely breathe. The sun hits me for just a moment when I’m hauled out the door, then quickly shoved into the back of a black van.
I can’t take my eyes off my hands. “Where are you taking me?” I ask when the old guy joins us. In my peripheral vision, I can see him watching me, but I don’t look up. I’m too busy trying to process what the hell happened.
“Why? Why did you do this?” I sob as the van starts to move.
“Points have to be made.”
I’m a point? He disfigured me to make a point? What’s that supposed to mean? Nausea hits me, and I start to gag, but nothing comes up. There’s not a bit of skin that hasn’t been charred and mottled. When I woke up yesterday, I had two smooth, capable hands, and now they’re gone. I can’t bend my fingers without pain so excruciating, it could almost render me unconscious.
Hitting a pothole, I’m thrown to the left where I hit my elbow on a metal box, all because I can’t use my hands to protect myself. When the van comes to a stop, the old guy climbs out, leaving the door open. I can’t see anything but rough terrain and nothingness.
“Move, and this deal won’t go ahead, because I’ll kill you,” the guy who cut me loose orders.
Like I’m going to move. I can barely think straight, let alone run away, knowing I’d be caught.
A rumble I’ve come to recognise suddenly surrounds us, and I can finally hear my heart thumping over the blood rushing through my hands.
The rumbles fade, and the old guy pops his head inside the van. “Showtime.”
It’s meant to be a good thing, but with this guy, it can’t be anything but bad. He walks out of sight again, and I listen to him yelling at someone, like they’re far away.
The guy still seated in the van with me smirks while cracking his knuckles.
“Jimmy!” the old guy yells. “Bring the girl.”
I’m yanked out of the van and shoved toward the old guy, stumbling over my own feet, the jerk doing nothing to help keep me up.
The Lost Souls are standing across the top of a hill, and a fleeting flicker of hope surges through me that I might survive this after all.
One of the bikers steps away from the others, and then another comes to stand beside him. They talk between themselves, and then one of them walks into the middle of the “two sides” and stops. He lifts his shirt and slowly turns around, showing he has nothing on him. The old guy shoves me forward.
“Walk to that guy. Go no farther until he comes to me. If you take one step before he does, my man will shoot you dead. You hear me?”
I nod, willing to agree to anything if it means getting away from him.
“Go on, then.”
One step… another step… and then I’m running. Not wanting to be shot, I crash into the guy waiting in the middle. He’s warm and solid, and holds me by the arms as he stares down at me.
“He said he’ll shoot me if I run before you walk toward him.”
“The only person he wants to shoot is me. I’ll walk to him, and you’re going to run as fast as you can to that guy.” He points over to the man he was just talking to.
“Go now—run. And whatever you hear, don’t look back.”
Nudging me forward, I do as he says and brace myself for the shot as I take off. It feels like one of those nightmares where you’re running, but can’t stop stumbling. But I run, thinking that each time my foot hits the ground, I’m one step closer to safety.
Careening into the guy waiting for me, he helps me over to another van and shoves me inside.
Turning, he yells out, “Now!” Gunfire from all around me rings out. I can’t see what’s going on, but strangely, I’m not scared of it.
“Don’t move!” he orders me, and he too is gone.
