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I gulped and nodded, and the woman ushered me out.
It is all so strange. Nothing matches up to what I know about kidnapping. I mean, sure, they took me pretty easily, and they obviously know what they’re doing in that realm. But I’ve never read a book, or a seen an interview with a kidnapped person who was treated so friendly, as Andre put it. And to be fair to him, the breakfast was spectacular. Sure, he’s a sociopath, but he was nothing but respectful to me while I was in his presence. His staff was, too.
As kidnappings go, this could have been a lot worse. But then again, I’m in a trunk, and he might have let me believe I’m going home, so I didn’t get hysterical. Guys hate that. But if they’re not going to kill me in the trunk, then why put down blankets and pillows? The whole thing boggles me.
It was night out when I woke up, so it’s late now. Maybe I should have been counting the seconds to calculate the distance to where they are taking me, but does it matter? They’re taking me there regardless of whether I know where I am. More than that, I’m not sure where I was at Andre’s anyway.
Guess I’m just trying to think of something to do. I hate not being able to do anything. All I know is, when the trunk opens, I am hitting whoever is there. The woman. The Big Guy. I don’t give a fuck. They did this to me. They might not be in charge, but they are just as guilty as Andre, and I’m angry about all of this. They deserve my wrath as much as he does.
The car sounds change—we’re on a bridge. Oh shit. What if … what if they’re just going to dump the car in a river or the bay or something? Fuck. I turn around and kick at what I think might be the lever. My boot scrapes against the sharp end, but I keep kicking, hoping to pop the trunk. I kick again and again and it’s useless, but I don’t care. I can’t drown. Not like Claire. She had her weighted vest to pull her down. I have a whole fucking car around me. Oh my god?—
Just then, the car stops.
I freeze up, trying to listen for anything. Any indication that the car is in neutral and about to me shoved into the water. The doors don’t open. They’d get out first. Even with the doors not opening, there’s the scratch of footsteps on concrete, coming close. Then one of the car’s doors opens.
The trunk opens, too, and I still can’t see a damn thing. But I hear the woman from behind me say , “Get her out.”
How can I get out if I can’t see? But then the Big Guy roughly picks me up and sets me to my feet. With both my hands still tied together, I ball my fists and hit him. Again and again, I hit him. But he catches my hands, and murmurs, “Stop, June. I have you.”
I know that voice.
The car’s tires squeal behind me as it pulls away, and the blindfold is lifted. Anderson stands in front of me, and my mind resets. It’s night still, and bright underneath the street lamps of some bridge I don’t know.
But all I really see is Anderson. My voice shakes, “Are … are you really here?”
He smiles and cups my cheek. “I’m here. I have you. You’re safe now.”
My body goes embarrassingly limp, and he catches me. Scratch that—I’ll be embarrassed tomorrow. For now, I’ll let him hold me up. It’s all I want in the world.
Chapter 43
JUNE
After I can stand up straight again, Anderson asks, “Where would you like to go? My place? Your place? A hotel?”
“Where are we?”
“New York City. This is the Hell Gate Bridge.”
“Oh.” I look around, trying to find anything familiar. But I don’t know the city well enough. “I’ve only been to Manhattan.”
“It’s close to here.”
“If it’s not too much to ask?—"
“Name it,” his voice is firm, like he’s straining to speak.
I’m too worried about him to ask for the favor. “Are you okay?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Pretty sure I was supposed to ask you that.” But then he buttons down his expression into something colder. “June, do I need to get you to a hospital?”
“No—"
“Did they hurt you?” His voice is barely contained rage.
I shake my head, as much to tell him as to remind myself. “Mostly just scared the hell out of me.”
“Why is there blood on your coat, June?”
