he is heavy.”
Slingshot runs to my side and lifts me. Reaper throws my dead arm around his shoulders and my knees buckle, but I keep myself up. Fuck, being shot hurts. “Daphne?” I stumble over my own two feet over the fence on the ground.
“We can’t find her,” Skirt runs to my side, sweating. He has dried blood on his face, a bruise across his cheek, and his knuckles are purple from the brass. “I looked everywhere, Tongue. We searched high and low. Maximo is gone, along with his goons. The only people in the casino are the ones gambling.”
I’m going to kill Maximo for taking her and when I do?
I’m going to take my fucking time.
Bit by bit, cut by cut, piece by piece, he will know my wrath.
Holy Moly.
I feel drunk.
I sit up and smack my head against something hard and unforgiving. I blink, trying to gain some form of sight, but it’s dark.
Really damn dark.
My heart rate kicks up when I realize it isn’t my vision that’s the issue; it’s the space I’m in. I pat my hands along the carpet. It’s thin, cheap, and scratchy. A whimper escapes me, but I swallow my panic just in case someone can hear me.
Deep breaths. Everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.
I try to calm the blood rushing through my ears, but the only way to do that is to calm my heart. A tear leaks from the corner of my eye when I hear the bass of speakers pounding beside me from music. I know we are moving. And by the size of the space I’m in, I’m in a trunk.
I’m going to die.
“No, you aren’t going to die,” I whisper to myself. I have too much to live for now. Tongue’s face appears in my mind, menacing and intimidating, yet fiercely beautiful and loving. I need to get back to him.
I slide my palms along the curve of the trunk, trying to find a latch, or something that can get me out of here. I don’t feel anything. “Come on!” My eyes fill with hot tears and fall one after the other as I search for the taillights next. I remember watching a video in high school about being trapped in the trunk of a car. Something about taillights. I can’t remember. I know I can somehow loosen them or push them out to stick my hand out of the hole to flag down a car.
Why is it in stressful situations, I can’t seem to remember anything? I even took a few self-defense classes. Look at the good that did me. The lights went out in the underground garage and someone wrapped their arms around me and what did I do?
I blanked.
I couldn’t think of anything. All I knew was that it was dark, and someone was touching me. How useless could I be?
And now I’m in a trunk.
Just like my high school health teacher warned us about. I knew I should have paid for the few extra classes, but I wanted this classic first edition of Oliver Twist which cost an arm and a leg, so I didn’t take the classes. I got the book instead.
I’m starting to wonder about my priorities.
When I get out of here, the first thing I’m going to have Tongue do, is teach me how to think on my feet.
“Oh!” I say when I feel the taillight, but I can’t find how to push it out.
And that’s what I get for reading in health class while I should have been more focused on the video.
Squeaky brakes sound and the car comes to a stop.
Holy Moly.
This is happening.
Do I fake being asleep? Do I play dead? What do I do? What’s about to happen? I only have a few seconds of peace left before the person comes around and takes me out of the trunk. I need a weapon.
I wish I had the freaking knife Tongue wants to make me. I’d keep it strapped to my thigh, right where he cuts me and licks me, so I know he is always there. I rub my fingers over the thin scab along the cut between my legs, wishing he were here right now.
I love him.
God, I hope he is okay.
We have finally found each other after a life of being so lost, we can’t be pulled apart now, but that’s life isn’t it? Life can only be so good before it’s bad.
Balance.
I’ve never been good at balancing.
A door