Wanted (Amanda Lance) - By Amanda Lance Page 0,11

human form. They even seemed to scope into the widow’s peak of his military-style haircut. I gulped and thought of Robbie. Would my big brother have heard by now that I was missing?

As soon as the man left the room, the tension seemed to break, and someone sighed. I cautiously turned and saw someone lighting a cigarette.

“He needs to relax.”

“Really? I think his Charles Bronson impersonation is getting pretty good.”

Now that I could see them easily, I hardly felt comforted by the appearance of any of these strangers. One man who had come from the second SUV was leaning against the door frame. Like Wallace, he was muscular and rigid. But the main thing I noticed were the abstract scars on his forearms and wrists. Like lines on the pavement, they crossed and jagged on his raven skin. Next to him was a lanky-looking man with dark hair and the shadow of facial hair to match.

Although, he might have been average looking, it was difficult not to miss the absence of his left index finger and the tip of his right thumb. In front of them stood Polo, a shorter man with reddish hair and a large smile.

I looked up at my abductor—the one they had called Charlie. His face was flushed with fresh rage. Not understanding the source, the anger frightened me. Yet it was the way the rage so visibly coursed through him: his pupils dilated, his fists clenched. He seemed nearly as monstrous as Wallace. Then all at once, the terror I had felt blooming inside me reached a head when Polo flounced over and waved his hand in my face.

“Hi, my name is Polo. That’s Yuri and Reid!” He gestured to the men in the doorway, but it was difficult to pay attention as I flinched back so hard my wrists hit the radiator again and I cringed as the pain flooded my nerves.

With the same kind of discipline one might show a puppy, Charlie slapped his hand away and glared at him with a stern look that suggested future bodily harm if he continued.

The man with the dark hair, however, laughed. “Bad Polo! That’s a very bad Polo!” he said. He too had some sort of dulled accent I couldn’t quite place.

“What?” Polo asked. He seemed genuinely confused. While the sudden movement had startled me, it gave me a unique moment to take a fleeting look at the bunch and observe them. While the man named Yuri lit another cigarette, the dark-haired man rubbed the space between his brows and tried to ignore Polo, who was all but dancing around him.

“What guys? I don’t get it. Did I miss it again? What did I do?”

My breath came in and out easily now for the first time since I had left the truck stop. Charlie lifted himself onto what was probably the platform for a wood stove and took a phone from his pocket. I saw the bags under his eyes and the distinct look of worry.

“What time is Ben supposed to be here?” Yuri asked.

“Soon enough,” he snapped back.

It occurred to me then … the complete lack of organization with only the anticipation of violence. These men weren’t kidnappers, they were only thieves. Any provocation they might have to hurt me would be directly related to what I had seen—or what I might have seen.

So there was still a possibility I might live through this. But what about Wallace? He could have easily done me in with little effort on his part. And yet this Charlie person had put forth the effort to stop him, and he had also told me I wouldn’t be hurt. But who was he? Why should I believe him? He had taken me against my will!

What if preventing me from getting my block knocked off was all part of some elaborate ruse to gain my trust and get me to develop Stockholm Syndrome or something? I closed my eyes and began rummaging through all the case studies I had read in those abnormal psychology textbooks. My mind even sorted through those terrible made-for-television movies and tried to remember the statistics for human trafficking and…

I counted to ten and then backwards twice more before the thoughts went away. As terrible as it was, the sophistication behind some elaborate trickery like that wouldn’t be very cost effective and would require too much effort for guys like these.

Just then, the squealing of tires broke up my thoughts. The guys jumped out of the

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