Sparrow - L.J. Shen Page 0,99

unbuckled his safety belt and tossed two pieces of gum in his mouth. “Have you ever wondered how come you had so little sexual experience before you met Troy?”

“Wh-what?” I stuttered. I had no idea what he was talking about. I couldn’t feel my legs, and it was scaring the hell out of me.

He slammed his fist on the horn, and my heart jumped. Jesus.

When my head smacked the car roof, he let out a frantic laugh. “I asked if you ever wondered why guys stayed away from you before you married Troy.”

The question made no sense, but then Brock kidnapping me made no sense either. At least the longer we were talking, the more time I bought. There was then more chance that Troy would find out I never made it home and come looking for me. Although, I knew that there wasn’t much hope he’d find me. We were in the middle of nowhere and I didn’t have my phone on me. Brock, on the other hand, had a loaded gun. The odds were not in my favor.

“Yes,” I answered, finally. “Yes, I have wondered.”

“Well…” Brock leaned into his seat with a smug expression, like we were gossiping. “That’s because Troy threatened all of ’em. Every single guy who ever got slightly close to you or showed interest. He knew you were going to be his before you even hit puberty. Kept you a virgin all this time so he’d be the one to pop your cherry.”

“I didn’t know that.” I swallowed loudly, trying to look upset. In another lifetime, I’d be eager to ask more, but even though the revelation was shocking (if it were even true), I didn’t care about Troy’s manipulative ways right now.

“That was the point.” Brock laughed harder and pulled the empty syringes from my thighs.

At least I was able to feel my feet again.

He pushed his door open and walked around the car to open my door for me. Forever the gentleman. “He was a black shadow over your little head all this time. Guys wouldn’t even breath in your direction, they were so scared of Troy. Get out.”

I stumbled out of the car and fell headfirst. I watched as he pulled a shovel from the trunk, holding his pistol in the other hand. He carried the shovel and yanked me up from the mud by my arm, then spun me so that I had my back to him, just like before. Shoving the gun between my shoulder blades, he nudged me through a trail of long, half-naked trees. A thick carpet of red and orange leaves crunched under my dragging feet. The forest was beautiful, but the ugliest thing imaginable was about to happen to me.

I wanted to run. Knew I could run really fast, but not as fast as a bullet, and not with legs that felt like they had concrete blocks attached to them. I gained more control over my feet, but I doubted it would be soon enough to save me.

I wasn’t giving up, though. If I was going to die, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

It was freezing, and I was wearing nothing but my running gear. My teeth were chattering and my hair, a little damp from running earlier, was coated with a thin layer of ice.

We walked in silence. The crunching of the twigs and the occasional sleepy bird chirping a good morning were the only sounds reminding me that time didn’t stand still.

I felt bile rising in my throat, my head swirling like I was going to faint. I’d rarely considered how I was going to die, and never imagined it’d be like this. But right now, with the shovel and the gun, with Brock looking like he did, wrath and cruelty dancing in his eyes, the odds of me leaving here in one piece, or leaving here at all, were growing slim.

We stopped near a tree stump marked with a slash of white paint. There was a fresh grave underneath it, carefully covered in mud. Brock pushed the shovel into my hand and cocked his head toward the leaf-covered ground.

“Start digging.”

I looked down. The earth was soft from all the rain, but the shovel was damn heavy and my body and legs were still not working right, though getting better with each passing second. I knew exactly what he was asking. He was asking me to dig my own grave. Looking back up, I felt my tears pooling behind my eyes, but I