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“Where the hell are you taking me?” I shout, my voice pushing against the confines of the bag, my unseeing eyes staring into the dark. But when no one replies or acknowledges me in any way, I clamp my lips shut and set to work trying to loosen the rope that’s binding my wrists.
After a never-ending drive around a series of bends and curves, the car stops, the engine dies, my hands are still bound, and I’m back outside, where the wind has its way with me once again.
“At least give her a blanket,” someone says. And though it’s hard to hear above the gust, when I replay the words in my head, I’m certain it was Jago.
Just then, a spray of water kicks up, leaving me partially drenched, and that’s when I unleash the full extent of my fury. I have no intention of dying of hypothermia just because Elodie decided to get her revenge.
My hands may be tied. And yes, there’s a bag over my head. But I can still kick with the best of them.
“Ow!” Elodie cries as the pointed toe of my pump meets her shin. “You little fu—”
It’s the last thing I remember before I black out.
