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“So, what are we gonna do? Just put a bullet in her? Pass her around and send her to the cartel? Shit, I’ll bet the home boys would buy a white girl with an ass like that,” he says, laughing.
Asshole, I’m not a white girl.I’m a Latina.
“Nah,” the voice belonging to Ghost answers slowly. “We’re not gonna kill the bitch, not yet anyway. I’m thinking a ransom, except when those fuckers show up to pay to get their whore back, we use that opportunity to fuck them up.”
The other guy, Tiny, laughs maniacally. It’s an evil villain laugh, which I’m not sure is funny or terrifying. Honestly, I don’t want to know either fucking way. “Okay. So we’ll get the money and kill those assholes all at once? I like it.”
“Glad you approve,” Ghost says in a tone that in no way indicates he’s glad to have Tiny’s stamp of approval.
I’m listening to the conversation between these two scary strangers talking about money and murder, which is fuckingterrifying. But I don’t know whothose assholesorthose fuckersthey’re talking about are, and I don’t know anyone who could or would pay a ransom.
My dad’s retired, and Mom is a substitute teacher. That puts us all well below the pay-a-ransom rung on the socioeconomic ladder.
Because of my job, I have few real friends to speak of, aside from a few people in Riverbend I’ve known since I was a kid. Most of them work at one of the casinos in town or the hotels and restaurants that keep the town from going under.
It occurs to me that maybe this is just a case of mistaken identity. It’s clear they think I’m someone else, someone who means something to people with money. People who’d pay a steep price to get me back. I open my mouth to shout to the men on the other side of the door, to tell them they’ve made a huge mistake and need to let me go.
But then reality kicks in.Use your brain, Cassidy.What are the odds these guys mixed up two female truck drivers? Do they want me or the cargo?
The door flings open, filling the room with blinding sunlight that forces my eyes shut and makes tears stream down my face.
Okay, breathe, Cassidy. Just. Fucking. Breathe.
“Hey, man,” I shout. “You’ve got the wrong girl. What the fuck?” But then a flash of light goes off right in my face. I try again. “Listen to me.”
One of the guys says, “Shut the fuck up.” From the sound of his voice, I recognize him as Tiny. He holds the phone up again. “Smile pretty.”
I glare at the man rather than the phone, and he laughs.
“As long as they can see your face, I don’t give a shit.” I try to stand, but he puts a foot out, pushing me back down. “Just because I can’t kill you—yet—don’t mean that I won’t fuck you up, bitch.” He snaps a few more pictures before stepping back and slamming the door.
I didn’t see much in the way of details other than long dark hair, a mustache, and a bulging belly.Tiny, my ass.
Left alone with my thoughts in the darkness, I lean back against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. I stretch my legs out to feel around the cramped space. I didn’t get enough time to look around when the light spilled in, mostly because Tiny blocked it all out. The room seems to be more of a closet than an actual room, and it’s completely empty.
I sit here, trying not to freak out. Damn, I actually shot a guy. Self-defense or not, it’s messing with my head. I can’t help feeling scared out of my wits.
After what feels like forever, I try to pull myself together. If these jerks nabbed me by mistake, I’m still in deep shit. And if they did it on purpose, who’s gonna pay to get me back, a truck driver from out of state? Either way, I’m fucked.
“Come on, Cassidy, think,” I say out loud. My voice sounds weird in the quiet. Who are these guys? And why me?
In desperation, I shout, “Hey! Over here! I gotta pee!” Maybe someone will hear and give a damn. “Hello? Anyone?” I listen hard, hoping for some noise, anything.
But what really gets to me is the silence. It’s eerie, like I’ve been locked away to die. No sounds, no voices, nothing. The kindof silence that makes me feel like I might be left here to rot, forgotten. And that’s the scariest feeling in the world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Diesel
The missing truck and driver, along with the return, or rather the reappearance of the Bloodthirsty Devils, requires an emergency Church session.
Ace wears an expression of pure frustration when he storms into the Sanctuary and takes his seat. Brows pulled into a frown, he looks around the room, tallying up the brothers that showed.
Ace bangs the gavel and says, “All right, let’s get down to business,” scrubbing a hand over the anxiety on his face. “First order of business is Reggie Song.”
My brows tense. “Who the fuck is that?” Do we have a new enemy I don’t know shit about?
“Tig Heights mayor,” Wild Man confirms for the group. “He ran on a platform of reform, and he’s determined to make the Iron Reapers the centerpiece of that effort.”
