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The driver turns out of the lot onto the street. “Uh, don’t you need to know where I’m going?” I ask with a laugh. Maybe he’s dropping the other guy off first.
He clears his throat but says nothing.
“Hey. I live in the other direction.” I tap his shoulder.
“Sit back.” He hits a button and the lights over the middle console illuminate, showing the black Glock sitting there. Out of my reach, but completely within his. “Just sit back.”
“Wait… No…” I reach for the handle of the door. He’s not going that fast, I’m sure I can jump out. “No!” I yank on the door handle.
Nothing happens.
“Please! No!” I smack at the window and tug harder.
“Sit the fuck back!” the driver yells and I sink into the leather seat. He reaches over to the passenger seat and pulls a small bottle of water out. Wiggling his arm between the seats, he hands it to me.
“Drink that.”
“What is it?”
“Drink it.”
“No. What is it?”
He grunts. “Drink it or I’ll knock you the fuck out the hard way.” He picks up the gun and gestures it toward me.
The figure behind me climbs between the seats of the second row and plops into the seat beside me. He’s holding his own gun in his hand and points it at me.
“He said to drink it, so drink it.” He gestures with the gun toward the water bottle.
“Okay… okay…” I unscrew the top of the water—it wasn’t sealed—and down the water.
“See, it’s not so hard listening to directions.” He takes the empty bottle from me and tosses it up to the front seat. “Now, just relax.”
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. My stomach lurches, my mind whirls.
“She talks too much,” the driver mutters.
“She’ll be asleep soon.”
I lean my head back against the headrest to stop the spinning. Roman. I need Roman.
“I… Daddy…”
A car horn blasts, and there’s nothing.
Roman
I will haveher little ass so sore by the time I’m done with her, she won’t be able to sit for a week. Eventhinkingabout sitting will make her squirm.
I’m barely able to tamp down my temper as I hit the gas, making it through the last intersection before I get to her apartment. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll be there.
My phone rings as soon as I pull into a parking spot.
“Billie.” I don’t bother looking at the caller ID.
“No.” It’s Maxim. “She’s not at your house.”
“I told you she wouldn’t go there. If she was trying to get away from me, she went home. I just got here.” I climb out of the car and look up at the building for her apartment windows. A light is on. Good. She had the sense to come here and not go off on some halfcocked rage-filled night.
