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Stunned, I stare at the man from the bus. Never in my entire life have I been hit. My pain and bullying came with words and avoidance from others. I can honestly say physical abuse is worse. Before I can lift my hand to my injured cheek, my hands are tied behind my back.
This entire situation feels surreal. How could something Derrick warned me about actually happen? It was fearmongering at best. He wanted me to stay compliant, and to follow rules.
Tears burn my eyes for doubting him.
I realize this has to do with the club. Derrick told me to make a choice after that first flight landed in Albuquerque. I had to choose their way of life or not show up in town with them. I figured it was grandstanding, that he wanted to look more important or more dangerous than he actually was. It kills me to have doubted him because look where I am.
There are so many horrible things that can happen to me. Although I try not to think of those things, it doesn’t stop my body from trembling uncontrollably.
I kick against my captor when one of them stuffs a dirty piece of fabric in my mouth. I gag, the fumes from whatever is on it making me instantly sick to my stomach.
The guy from the bus hits me again, his fist making contact a second time on the same spot he struck me before. Pain blooms, the ache radiating down my jaw and upward toward my eye. Before he can force a dark cloth bag over my head, I feel the trickle of blood down my cheek. Stupidly, I think no one will want to look at me with a scar on my face. I know the thought is beyond ridiculous because there’s a very real chance these men will hurt me badly and then kill me.
Darkness fills my vision, only the slight amount of light from the side of the store infiltrating the fabric over my head.
Despite knowing it’s going to earn me another strike, I kick at him when he reaches for my legs.
The sound of my own breath meets my ears, the humidity of the effort making my face damp.
I cry out, my scream muffled by the greasy rag in my mouth as a fist connects with my upper thigh.
“I swear if you don’t shut that bitch up,” one of them warns. From the proximity of the guy tying my ankles together, I have to assume it’s the second guy, the one who was somehow waiting for us here.
My brain tries to connect the dots, to try and figure out why I’m the target, but nothing makes sense.
If they’re connected to the club, why not come after me in Farmington?
Is it possible they were just looking for someone to nab, and I was their pick?
Guilt for blaming Derrick for what’s happening to me swims through my body.
“This isn’t going to work. We might as well just kill this bitch now.”
My sobs triple with the words.
“No,” the guy from the bus snaps. “It’ll work. Brielle has always been a sucker for the underdog. I’ll get my girl back and then we’ll kill the bitch.”
“Back?” the other man questions. “We were supposed to silence Brielle so she can’t testify.”
“Oh, she’ll never speak a word again by the time I’m done with her.”
Chapter 35
Oracle
It’s no surprise that I haven’t slept.
The trip down to Ecuador and back only took a day, but it feels like a lifetime since I had Beth in my arms.
It’s crazy how I can go from sleeping alone all my life to growing accustomed to having someone else’s warmth next to me while I sleep.
I couldn’t even look at my fucking bed when I got back into town. The closet door was open from when I had to grab my go-bag and leave for South America. There was still a gap of blank space where her clothes once hung.
I’m a sad fucking sort right now, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to throw my fucking phone across the room when it instantly connects to Beth’s voicemail rather than her answering.
I thought I could let her leave. I know it’s safer for her that she did, but I’m so fucking selfish. I want her back here. I need her in my arms. The distance doesn’t fucking matter. I’m not going to be able to function without knowing she’s safe.
If that takes putting her up in a house outside of Cerberus property and paying for bodyguards to keep her safe, then that may just be a step I have to take. I can’t have her hours and hours away.
I pull in yet another deep breath, a failing attempt to get my shit together. If she doesn’t want to be here, I can’t force that on her. But it’s getting harder and harder to ignore that voice in my head that is insisting I go after her and drag her right back here whether she’s in agreement or kicking and screaming, demanding to be released.
