vMayhem At Prescott High - C.M. Stunich Page 0,139
idea a try. No need to let my captor know I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.
There are two other options for getting out of a trunk. The first is the trunk release cable, but not all cars have that. Likely this is an older car, I think, wetting my dry lips. Probably something vintage, probably belonging to the Charter Crew.
Goddamn it. How did I let myself get so fucked?
I decide to try the last method, turning my body in the narrow space as panic threatens to overtake me. Don’t do it, Aaron. Don’t let your irrational phobia keep you from getting back to Bernadette. She’ll be so worried about you; she might get into trouble if you don’t hurry your ass up.
Whoever put me in here, they were clearly in a hurry because they didn’t bother to tie me up. Big mistake. Even though my right leg is fucking killing me, I put my feet together and kick at the backseat of the car with every ounce of strength I have in me.
Holy. Shit.
Pain explodes behind my eyelids, and I clench my teeth together against a scream. I don’t need my captor knowing I’m in so much goddamn pain. Sucking in a deep breath, I ready myself to kick the backseat again when I hear footsteps from outside along with a pair of voices.
I turn around, putting my feet towards the trunk. Depending on how many people are out there, I may be able to fight my way out of this. Or die trying, at the very least.
There’s the sound of a key in a lock, and then the trunk is opening and I’m left staring up at Kali Rose-Kennedy, Ophelia Mars, and Tom Muller with a shotgun in his hand.
“Aaron Fadler,” Ophelia murmurs, cocking her head to one side like a wolf observing its prey. It’s disturbing, how much like her Victor looks. Unlike Victor however, she has no heart and no soul. None at all. Looking into her dark eyes is like looking into a black hole, ready to crush you into a meaningless pulp and wipe you from existence.
She scares the fuck out of me.
“Ophelia,” I reply, as coolly and calmly as I can. This is not a good situation, but at least I’m out of the trunk, right? It’s dark out, so either I conked out for an entire day and into the next night, or it hasn’t been all that long since I was taken. “Fancy seeing you here.” My eyes swing over to Tom, wondering if I might be able to kick the shotgun from his hands before he shoots me. The thing is, I bet Ophelia and Kali both have weapons on them, too.
“Why did you bring him here?” Ophelia asks, turning to Kali. She’s staring down at me with mud-brown eyes and a lazy smile. I’ve never liked her. Never. We’ve been going to school with her almost as long as we’ve been going with Bernadette. I know for a fact that Kali’s had a hard life, that her dad was an alcoholic who beat her and her mom. Still, she’s a shitty, petty person whose trauma has manifested into something wicked. I just straight up don’t fucking like her.
“We can use him,” Kali explains, and it occurs to me then that she could very well be the person who hit me with their car, loaded me in the trunk, and brought me out here … wherever here is. There was a lot going on at the race; it’s possible that she was able to sneak away while I was having my ass kicked. Cal was too busy shooting people to pay attention. “Victor cares about him, just as much as he does Bernadette.” Kali scowls, the sound of my girl’s name like poison on her lips. “Mitch has definitely outlasted his usefulness, don’t you think? This will work much better.”
Ophelia just stares down at me with crow-black eyes, contemplating. The way she studies me, it seems like it never occurred to her that I—or any of the other boys—could be valuable in her fight against Victor. The reason she thinks that is because she doesn’t care about anyone or anything; she probably assumed her son didn’t either.
“He’s just a school friend; you should’ve killed him,” Ophelia says, and Tom scoots a bit closer, licking his lips, like he’s excited by the prospect of being able to blow my brains out with the shotgun.