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I nodded, feeling my eyes bulging as he squeezed my windpipe off. I was only trying to stall for time, but what if I only pissed him off and made him kill me quicker? Shit. Oh shit, I couldn’t breathe!
But he finally let go of my throat and I gasped for air as he demanded, “Talk.”
“You’re right,” I finally said, my voice raspy from being choked. “But they do.” I nodded back toward the floor, this time at the Winstons. “They have a lot of money. And they’ll pay up for him. He wasn’t wrong about that. But only if they’re alive and able to pay the ransom.”
Buck frowned, and I could tell his alcohol-befuddled brain was struggling to follow the logic of what I was saying.
“They’re rich,” I said, offering what I hoped were the magic words. “I mean, really, really rich. You stumbled into a jackpot and didn’t even know it.”
He reached for his gun again and raised it back toward me. “You better not be trying to trick me.”
I shook my head vigorously. “You saw the wedding they were paying for and the clothes they wear. Check the label on her jacket. It’s Chanel, and not a knock off. All you have to do is go drop them somewhere with instructions on how to pay you. And they’ve been unconscious the whole time so they won’t know how to trace you back here. Just think,” I said, rushing now that I saw he was considering my words. “You could get everything you always deserved and then be over the border to Mexico before anyone even realized what was going on. You’ll live like a king there.”
He was imagining the life I was picturing for him; I could see it on his face. Then he looked back down at the floor at the two older folks, then to Jeremiah.
“What if they don’t pay?”
“They’ll pay.”
He glared back at me. “What if they don’t?”
I swallowed. “Then you do whatever you were already planning to do with us.”
He smiled at that. A slow, cruel smile. “Who says I won’t even if they do pay?”
I let him see the tremble in my lip, and it wasn’t just for show. He might be drunk and not too bright, but he was also unstable and violent. He was completely unpredictable and I had no idea what he might do next, if he’d listen to what I was suggesting or slug me in the stomach again.
But then, as the seconds ticked interminably by, he finally shoved his gun back into the holster at his side and leaned down. He grabbed Mrs. Winston roughly by her arms and kicked the door to the shed open. He started dragging her out the same way he’d dragged her in. I winced at how painful it looked but she was still completely knocked out, limp as a stuffed doll as her body bumped ruthlessly over the wooden step at the door’s threshold.
I stared at Jeremiah, willing him to move, to twitch—anything—but he stayed as still as stone for the five minutes it took Buck to get Mrs. Winston to the car and come back for Mr. Winston.
Mr. Winston wasn’t quite as inert as his wife, though. Was he starting to wake up from the tranquilizer? He groaned and his eyelids fluttered when he hit the same sharp wooden step at the doorway. Buck paused, but when Mr. Winston immediately fell silent again, he continued to drag the slight man over the punishing, uneven ground.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to start squirming and immediately start fighting my bonds. But no. Be patient. Just be patient. He’s almost gone.
I waited to hear the engine in Buck’s shitty little truck start up, straining to listen. I was straining so hard to hear faraway sounds that when the door to the cabin slammed open again, I jolted in surprise.
It was still just Buck, naturally. He had his fat roll of duct tape in hand, naturally. He leaned down and yanked Jeremiah’s hands behind his back, rolling him roughly onto his stomach in the process. Around and around he rolled the tape until Jeremiah’s wrists were secure behind his back. Buck did the same thing to Jeremiah’s ankles. Only once he’d used a significant amount of tape did he stand up and wipe his brow. He turned and glared at me, the only expression his face seemed capable of making.
“Don’t move a single fucking muscle. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded obediently, but that didn’t stop him from coming toward me with the duct tape roll in hand. He ripped off a piece and resecured it over my mouth before turning and walking out the door.
A little while later, I finally heard the sound of a truck starting and driving away.
Only then did I slump in my bonds and breathe out for what felt like the first time in hours.
“Ereiah,” I tried to scream Jeremiah’s name through the stupid tape on my mouth, wriggling and writhing against the bonds at my wrist and ankles. Of course he didn’t look up. Mr. Winston had been dosed several hours ago and only now had he started to stir.
Buck had tied tape around my chest and arms too, but if I could just get my wrists free… The tape was tied so tightly, I couldn’t even twist my arm in the tight loop of tape. Dammit. All the twisting just made it feel tighter. I swore into the gag at my mouth.
Over and over and over, I fought against my bindings, and swore, and fought some more… and swore some more. The whole time, I felt a ticking clock over my head. How far away would Buck go to dump out the Winstons. He’d go far if he was smart. Then again, it was Buck we were talking about.
Then again, he had managed to stay under the radar all this time. Dammit, why hadn’t I been paying attention to my creep radar when it came to Buck? I’d always felt there was something slightly… off about him. But if Reece and Jeremiah trusted him, so could I. Or so went my logic whenever my spidey senses tingled about Buck. Whenever I bothered thinking about him, which frankly, I just hadn’t bothered to do very often.
But apparently, the whole time he’d been obsessing about me.
Because, oh my God, was it him who’d been sabotaging the fences all last year before the tornado, back when I’d still been living at the ranch? And my car? The sugar in the tank? It had to be him. How long had he been planning this and what exactly was this?
