Wanted (Amanda Lance) - By Amanda Lance Page 0,87

pushed me back down and laughed. As I landed, the air was knocked from me. I was sure my lungs were broken, deflated balloons that could never inflate again. I was confident I was going to die from that single act alone. I felt the tears on my face; the salt they produced stung something on my mouth.

“Can’t believe this crap!” He delivered a kick to my side. “‘Cause of you I’m out of a job. And if Walden thinks he isn’t going to pay me for this gig, he’s got another thing coming.”

“Stop, please!”

He laughed and pulled me by the hair once more across the maze of containers and past the first deck of webs. He was yelling about something, calling me names that were lost in the wind and the sound of the blood rushing to my ears. I shut my eyes and turned off my head. I tried to scream again, yet the sound didn’t come. I envisioned Charlie, but his image was fuzzy against the pounding of my skull. The most ominous feeling of dread fell over me that no one would be coming to save me.

No one was coming to rescue me this time.

“I was just going to snap this pretty little neck. But given the way that hillbilly looks at you, I’m going to make sure to finish you off nice and slow.” His laugh rang in my ears, echoing against the metal containers. I looked away from him then, his face an easel of bruises and scabs that Charlie had painted. “The best part,” he ranted on, “is that I’m going to make him watch. Too bad Walden’s old lady and kid aren’t here.”

I fell from his hand and heard the jingling of chains as they fell from somewhere close by. I tried to scream again, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me inside the confessional. I screamed until my throat felt like roaring acid, then tried to shout it out, the tears getting stuck in my throat. Yet for all my efforts, the sounds caused no effects.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to go get your boyfriend right now.” The sour of his breath came to me. And just then it was easy to imagine him in the dark, just waiting and planning for the perfect time to strike. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish I had done you in right the first time. No way I’m getting shoved out ‘cause of some stupid little bitch!”

No, no, no, no. Whether I called out loud or whether the words remained in my head is unclear. Ironically, the most helpful element was the dark, which prevented me from seeing any blood or other stains of body fluid which I knew had to be caked on those surfaces. Instead, my head was stuck on more current events, like my worrisome Dad and that wonderfully handsome jerk above, who I prayed would be okay.

I could deal with dying. I had figured that was going to happen before my time with Charlie was through, but despite everything, I couldn’t stand the idea of him being hurt. I knew now what was worse; I could live a life without Charlie. If I went home and couldn’t find him later, I could at least envision him happy somewhere in the world. But if he was dead, then there would be nothing left to wish for, no hope.

Standing up, I tried leveraging myself against the door. There wasn’t enough light in the booth to see anything but shadows, and even through the heavy faucet of tears, I could smell the rust of the rainwater. Still, I tried not to think of Charlie. Keeping my focus allowed me not to panic. I could feel how tender my face was without having to look at it—the swelling of my lip with my bleeding gum.

The wind continued to throw itself against the sides of the container’s walls. The confessional began to creak as a particularly harsh gust of wind came through the bellows of the hold’s ceiling. I glanced up just as the invisible enemy rocked the entire booth on its back. Immediately I tried to kneel forward. The pain on my ankle was severe—I had forgotten myself and put all of my weight there.

No, no, no. I pushed and pushed some more, but the hatch from the outside refused me completely. Rain poured in from the intricate patterns on the door. And though I leaned on my toes

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