Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,59
tears as I picture Lady racing through the fields. I’m on her back again. The wind cools my burning skin. I’ve opted to ride her without a saddle. My thighs clench around the beast under me as I encourage her to go faster.
Noel’s large black stallion races beside me, and I meet my brother’s gaze. He grins as he shoots ahead. I want to call him out on cheating. He’s all saddled up. I nudge Lady, and she unleashes her true power, racing after Noel. It’s my turn to grin at him. My laughter floats behind me and through the clear blue sky.
The van under me jolts, and my eyes snap open. The memory disappears until only wisps of the freedom I once experienced lingers. I want it to cling to me like smoke, but it doesn’t, and I can’t breathe in the back of the dark van.
I’m up and crawling to the front. My aching hands work along the paneling. There’s always a way to get into the front. I’m pulling and prodding. A stream of light, the size of a pin-prick, floats in, and I pause, blink, wondering if that is a mirage in the desert. The sounds of a radio playing snap me out of my state, and the stream of light disappears as I push my finger through and hook it before dragging it back. The heavy plastic cuts into my finger, but I don’t stop. The panel cracks, and I finally pull back my finger. The hole is slightly bigger. Lying on my belly, I press my mouth to the hole and scream at the top of my lungs: the van jolts, and a man curses. I’m fired backward as the van stops abruptly.
“Shut the fuck up.” A voice has hope blossoming inside me.
I’m crawling to the hole. “Please let me go. No one has to know. I’m begging you.”
Something heavy hits the divide before we start to move again. I don’t scream again, but I work on the hole, cutting each finger, but I don’t stop; it’s freedom. It’s keeping my mind occupied. The hole widens until I’m able to get two fingers in.
The van stops again, and I brace myself against the paneling. Light pours in and burns my eyes as I face it. A different man, this one wearing a rainbow-colored beanie hat, fires a cigarette to his left before climbing in toward me.
I kick out and scream. He’s stronger than his thin frame suggests as he drags me from the van.
“Would you shut her up?” The driver moves into my line of sight with a raised hand—a reminder of how good his backhand is. I shrivel up, and the slap doesn’t come. The doors of the van slam shut, and I’m moving across an empty lot.
My feet burn but are cushioned by long stems of grass. I’m trying to look around, I’m trying to take it in, but my mind is jumping and clinging to silly things, like the bike that’s lying on the grass. It looks new. It looks like it belongs to a kid.
The smell of cigarette smoke from the guy wearing the beanie hat gives me comfort. My stomach twists as I think of Shay. Why would he do this to me?
It shouldn't hurt this badly, but his betrayal distracts every part of me as I’m entering a room with no memory of the building.
The flooring under me is a soft gray carpet; a half-circle reception desk with a silver chrome on the front hides a woman. The top of her head is the only thing I can see. She looks up and smiles at the guy holding me; the smile falters as her gaze dances to me.
She’s standing now, large loopy earrings moving as she comes from behind the desk.
“Could you not have brought her in the back door?” She’s wearing a dark red top with the shoulders cut out. Diamonds stitched into the edges.
“Help me.” I swallow the bit of saliva that I have left. My voice is low. I don’t think she heard me.
“This is the back door.” Beanie guy releases me.
“The other back door.” The woman approaches me and grips my shoulders. “She looks strong.” She pats my arms and gives me a little shake. Her dark eyes roam across my body.
“They’re getting skinnier, but I can work with that.”
“She’s not here for that.”
The woman shrugs and returns to the desk.
I’m paralyzed as I watch her sit back down, her head disappearing.