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I thrashed wildly, trying to shake off the sack, but it wouldn’t budge—those harpies from the bait shop must have tied it.Scratchy weave sucked into my mouth as I seethed, ravenous for air and freedom.
Who in Poseidon’s Deep hated me enough to do something like this? Oh, I had some idea. A certain pretty boy prince. I wanted to scream out his name, but I knew I’d have an aneurism if I let it slip from my lips.
But plotting how I was going to carve out his tail would have to wait. The most important thing was figuring out how to get away.Think, Claira.
I needed air, and having a fit was only going to exhaust what little I had faster. I jiggled my head once more, praying the bag would miraculously slip loose, but it held in place. Go figure.
My body stilled from fear, and I concentrated on slow, steady breaths. The car was speeding up, which meant they’d either just put me in the trunk, or they’d stopped somewhere and were continuing their journey again.
Crap. There was no telling where I’d end up. How the heck was I supposed to get back home?
Sweat plastered my hair to my face, the long strands working their way into my mouth with every desperate gasp I made for air. My hands were bound and positioned behind my back. Those two certainly had thought of everything.
The car swerved, and the tires landed on rumble strips, the rattling making me queasy. Whoever was at the wheel sure had no freaking clue how to drive. Another jerk, and the vibrations kept coming to the point where I had to wonder if they were using the strips as a guide to stay on the road.
By the time the car screeched to a halt, I was seasick for the very first time. If I hadn’t felt so damn miserable, I might have been impressed. I didn’t think it was possible for a mermaid to even get motion sickness.
Car doors opened and shut with athunk, and my pulse came to life. If the trunk popped open, that was it. It would be my best chance to escape. My feet weren’t tied. I could do it. Judging by the driver’s ineptitude, the two women could have very well been mermaids themselves, which meant I’d have an advantage on foot.
I was a freaking cheetah when it came to running. I’d practiced daily those first few years and even did track in high school. I could do it. I could get away from them.
The trunk popped, and I froze in the fetal position.
You’ve got this, Claira.
Hands came for me, and I let them.
“You think she passed out again? It’s been quiet back here for a while,” a feminine voice asked in a whisper. So it really had been those two.
“Hmm. You think?” Fingers gripped my neck and squeezed. Sharp nails bit into my skin through the sack, and I shrieked as the steely grip tensed, the fingers crushing my windpipe. “Oh, I think she’s awake.”
That same hand yanked me up by the throat, and I sputtered into the burlap.
“Aleena, don’t! You don’t want to make him angry,” the other voice whimpered.
The grip loosened around my neck, and I slumped forward. Another pair of hands pulled me out of the trunk, but I found it hard to focus on my plan.
“Him,” she’d said. Him.
Leander, that betta fish bastard!
They dragged me forward, causing my feet to fall behind me. That’s right—I needed to run! I ground my steel-toes into the asphalt, but arms clamped around my legs and lifted them, stringing me in the air between the two of them like a telephone wire.
Oh, heck no!
I started to thrash about, but needle-tipped nails dug into my ankles.
“No you don’t.” The woman in front of me laughed, and I flailed with a greater purpose. I wanted to whack her so hard that I slapped the lipstick right off her face.
Crafty, bowed fingers slid from my arms to my throat, and I hesitated. “There, that’s a good little mermaid. Any more of that, and I’ll drag you there by your neck.”
My body locked up, and the woman cackled again. I huffed into the burlap sack, letting them carry me off.
Something clinked in front of us, and I listened as a latch clicked loose. Metal ground against metal, the noise loud and continuous, like they had rolled a shed or a garage door up on its tracks. Fear shot through me, and my clenched fists trembled where they were tied behind my back.
Would they shove me somewhere and leave me bound and covered like this? My lungs couldn’t take much more. Every hard-won breath through the sack was torture already.
Two sets of heels clacked, the sound echoing as they carried me into the unknown structure. The blood drained from my head as bile slid up my throat. Fingernails retreated, and the surrounding hands departed, sending my body slamming onto cold concrete. The impact forced what little air I had left in my lungs out, and Gram’s clam chowder simmered in my belly, threatening to coat the inside of the burlap sack.
