AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I didn’t realize anything was wrong until the director started shouting about the direction of the wind.
Cooper spoke into his radio. “Me and Happy Holiday are standing by for instructions.”
“Oh! Is that my special code name?” I asked. “Like how Amirah Pratt isApple Pie?That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted…”
I trailed off as the cloud of dust rolled over us. It didn’t look like much when it was coming, but now that we were in the middle of it, I could barely see my hand in front of me. I clenched my eyes shut and held my sleeve over my mouth.
“Visibility is decreased,” Cooper said. He was gripping my arm firmly. “Extricating Happy Holiday south to…”
He began coughing, but pulled me through the dust cloud. I opened my eyes a tiny sliver, hoping that my sunglasses would provide protection, but even that let in enough dust particles to immediately sting. I tripped over something on the ground—a power cable, I think—and Cooper lost his grip on me, but his fingers found me again moments later. I used my spare hand to wave in front of me, feeling for anything that we might suddenly slam into. Cooper was pulling me along faster and faster, and I knew we were going to run into something.
“Steps,” his voice commanded, muffled and raspy from the dust. A second later my foot felt a step going up, then another one. The steps to the trailer.
The door slammed closed. I took a testing breath and found it relatively clean. It also smelleddelicious. Amirah Pratt—the real Amirah Pratt, not the Dollar General version that I was pretending to be—must have ordered food.
Tears ran from my eyes and helped clear the dust. Soon I was able to make out shapes, then my surroundings. The sunglasseshadprotected me from some of the dust.
I wasn’t in Amirah’s trailer. There was a flat-top grill in front of me, and a bag of corn tortillas open on the counter next to it. More objects came into view as I blinked: chopped tomatoes, shredded cheddar cheese, a tub of guacamole.
The food truck,I realized.I’m in the food truck.
“Cooper, this isn’t…”
I trailed off as I realized the man gripping my arm wasn’t Cooper. He was dressed like him in a full suit, but he had long, greasy hair that looked wet, but wasn’t. He was wearing a filtration mask over his face. He pulled it off, revealing red skin underneath and clear blue eyes.
His smile was foul, and it made my stomach crawl.
I opened my mouth to scream, but he was too quick. He plastered his palm over my lips, and my scream came out as a muffled moan.
“Amirah,” he breathed, his voice raspy like rocks scraping down a hill. “My beloved Amirah. Finally, we can betogether.”
I screamed again, and his hand tightened over my mouth.
“It’s me, Oscar!” he said, as if I should know him. “Please don’t fight me. It will be so much easier if you let it happen.”
I didn’t let it happen. I screamed into his palm and thrashed in his grip, kicking at his shins, but it was no use.
Oscar shoved me into a chair next to the grill and tied my hands behind me. As my brain started to become un-stupid, I remembered why his eyes were important. The shooter at the hotel, the one who had aimed the gun at me in the stairwell, had yellow, bloodshot eyes. This man’s eyes were totally different. That meant there were multiple different goons working for Cardannon, just like Rogan had speculated.
“I know you work for Heimdall!” I shouted the moment he uncovered my mouth. “Everyone knows!”
Oscar frowned at me. “Heimdall? The guy from the Thor movies?”
“Don’t play stupid! You work for Jimmy Cardannon. Rogan is going to catch you!”
He shoved a cloth into my mouth, ending my monologue.
There were no windows back here, except for the fold-down window which would become the serving counter when it was open, but it wasn’t see-through.
Suddenly, the back door opened and a man jumped inside. I felt a surge of hope that it was one of my men coming to save me, but then I saw that it was someone I didn’t recognize. Unlike Oscar, this man held no foul smile, and fury raged in his eyes.
Eyes that were yellow and bloodshot.
It’s him.
“What are you wearing?” he growled in a British accent. No, not British—Australian, I think.
“It’s what she was wearing earlier,” Oscar said. “We saw her on the TV, Ernesto. Remember?”
