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“Oh, that totally sucks. Which route did you take? The D1 or V2?” I ask, knowing damn well neither of these exist—Boston doesn’t use letters for their routes.
A thin line forms between her brows. “Definitely the D1. Was that not right?”
Unease settles over my shoulders, and I take a tentative step back. The stranger catches the movement and shakes her head.
“No use doing that. You’re not going anywhere, Misty.”
Tires squeal from around the corner, a van pulling up to the curb, its large side door sliding open to reveal a man I’ve never seen before holding a gun right at my face.
Every survival episode has taught me not to get into the vehicle. That nothing good comes at the second location, so I do what feels insane and run.
I only make it three strides before a firm arm bands around my stomach, the force knocking my breath away. I heave to get air into my lungs just as a cloth is wrapped over my mouth.
The world goes black.
My body rocks like it’s riding a wave, the motion making my mouth fill with saliva as I try to hold down my already twisting stomach. The screech of brakes cuts through my blinding headache. The world slowly filters in around me, but nothing that’s happening makes any sense. The last thing I remember is walking to meet up with the girls.
No…the last thing I remember is a too-wide smile and deep black hair. Fuck.
Fear crashes through me, and I struggle to keep my breathing even. The last thing I need right now is for them to figure out I’m not asleep.
I push through the pain in my head and try to get my bearings. I’m lying on something hard, but it’s not cold like metal. More like metal covered in some kind of scratchy fabric. Tears sting the back of my eyes, realizing I’m in the back of the van.
“Wake up,” a deep voice says and punctuates it with a kick to my sternum.
The air knocks from my lungs, and I gag as I try to inhale, coughing until acid fills my mouth.
“You’re awake. Good,” the man says, using his foot to roll me onto my back. There are no windows in the back, so the only light filters through the windshield, giving everything a muted gray tone.
“Fuck you.” I spit the bile pooling in my mouth in his direction, earning me another kick.
He waits until I recover to speak again. “Do you remember me?”
I scan his face, searching for recognition in every detail, and the realization hits me harder than any kick ever could. Anthony Ricci looks down at me with hate in his eyes, like I’m a disgusting bug that he can’t wait to crush.
“You didn’t think he’d tell me? Thomas was my favorite cousin, after all. Of course he told me all about his whore of an ex, who’d walk around like a fucking tease.” Anthony smiles, and it’s the most sadistic thing I’ve ever seen. There’s a pride emanating from him that makes my stomach flip. “He taught you a lesson, didn’t he? He taught you all about what happens to little unimportant sluts that go around being a tease. Tell me, how did you end up with Damon? Hmm? Did you spread those pretty legs for him? Did you give it up like the fucking whore you are?”
I open my mouth to call him an asshole, to tell him to fuck off and his cousin deserved everything he got, but nothing comes out.
“Nothing to say? Fear will do that to you. Awful, isn’t it? When you’re helpless?”
I grip my bracelet, the only thing grounding me. They won’t have noticed I’m missing yet, so all I have to do is stay alive. Damon’s coming. He promised.
Delicate fingers grasp my wrist and try to pull it toward them. I grip it tight to my chest, holding it to me with my other hand.
The lost girl from the street gives me a sweet, sickening smile. Any hope I had that she’d call the police is washed away by the realization she’d set me up.
Her nails dig into my wrist, and warm liquid drips down my fist, but I don’t let go, knowing this is my last lifeline.
Cool metal is pressed into my forehead, drawing my attention, and my eyes focus on a black gun handle, a thick finger wrapped around the trigger. “Give her your fucking hand.”
My chin quivers as I loosen my grip, letting her pull my arm toward her. She immediately tries to remove my bracelet. I grunt when the metal ridge is stopped by my bones.
The woman’s fingers are replaced by male hands, and I hiss out in pain when he tries to rip it off.
“It slides on, but it doesn’t slide off, asshole.” Serves him fucking right.
But the way his smile grows tells me I’ve made a terrible mistake. He holds my wrist so my pinky is against the van floor and my thumb is in the air.
