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But why?
“Where—” I lick my dry lips. My mouth may as well have cotton stuffed in it. I lift myself onto my elbows, slowly shifting myself into a sitting position. I’m on a couch in an old, decrepit motel room. A musty smell hangs heavy in the air. Mold and mildew creep up the walls. The carpet is so dark that I can’t tell if it’s stained or if it is supposed to look like someone vomited all over it.
I don’t even want to think about what’s on this couch.
“Where am I?” I ask, now that I can properly speak without feeling like the entire Nevada desert is in my mouth. My gaze draws away from the room and to the man sitting on the kitchen chair in front of me.
“The place where it all started.” He leers at me, his mouth tugged up into a sneer. What? Another glance around the room tells me nothing more than it did before.
“I don’t know what that means,” I tell him.
He smirks. “You will.” He tilts his head back and yells, "Boys!”
Taking the sparse moment when he is preoccupied, I dive off the couch and shove my foot down on his junk. He made it an easy target by having his legs played open. Jonah howls in pain. His sudden move to cup his jewels causes the chair to tip precariously and fall back on the carpet. Maybe it will come alive and swallow him whole.
That would be some luck.
“Fucking bitch,” he screams at me, his hand latching onto my pant leg as I scurry past him to get to the door. I manage to shake his grasp, but the loss of time costs me. The hotel door opens with a bang, and I find myself face-to-face with two Arnold Schwarzenegger lookalikes. They have matching sunglasses and black shirts. All they need is the accent with the tagline “Hasta La Vista” and they will be all set.
So that exit isn’t going to work.
Next.
Jumping over Jonah, I make a mad dash for the far window. I don’t dash fast enough. That or the Arnie twins somehow multiplied because I’m suddenly yanked by my hair and thrown against the opposite wall of the hotel room.
Yep, that’s going to leave a bruise.
I land in a heap on the floor, a groan falling from my lips.
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
“Fucking Castellanos bitch,” Jonah sneers down at me.
“Better than being a beady-eyed cum bucket,” I snort. “Are you the meat in that Arnie filling? Or the bottom of the ladder?”
He doesn’t respond, but his boot does come down on my head.
And then it’s lights out.
* * *
When I come to again,my mind is a groggy mess. It feels like the Hangover Part 2 is going on in my brain. My entire body aches. I let out a low groan as I pry my eyes open. I try to move my arms to ease the ache in my shoulders, but they're suspended above my head. My head rolls back, and I'm able to see the rope securing me to the ceiling of the motel room.
Soft voices whisper behind me in a language I've never heard before. The words are harsh and angry, and one of them is female.
I manage to lift my head back up, the simple movement sending shock waves of pain down my spine. Why did they take me? Why not just kill me when they have the chance? I struggle against my bonds, the rope biting harshly into the delicate skin of my wrist.
My toes barely graze against the carpeted floor. There's nothing for me to use to gain any purchase.
“You're awake again.” Jonah's ugly face comes back into view. He eyes me up and down and licks his lips lasciviously.
Yeah, no.
His hand reaches out and gently caresses the side of my head. “I'm sorry I have to do this,” he says regrettably. “I mean, we are technically family. Just not enough for me to care.”
Family?
“I don't know you,” I spit. “We're definitely not fucking family.”
