dropped to the floor.
“Where in Tennessee?”
John shook his head, tried to stand. “Take me with you.”
“Tell me the address.”
He pushed himself up, wincing from the pain in his shoulder. “Take me with you.”
“I’m only going to ask you one more time.” When he didn’t answer, Will took a step toward him.
“All right!” John screamed, holding up the only arm he could move. “Twenty-nine Elton Road. Ducktown, Tennessee.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Angie had vomited at some point, but the gag had kept most of it in her mouth. Judging by the acrid smell in the trunk she had managed to urinate on herself as well. Her head was pounding, and her body ached so badly she couldn’t move without moaning in pain. Her hands and feet were hogtied behind her. Even if she had been able to move, she had nowhere to go, no way of helping herself. She was completely powerless.
She tried to concentrate on breathing, keeping herself oriented so that she wasn’t sick again. This was hardly her first concussion, nor was it the worst, but the darkness in the trunk made it difficult to keep from panicking, and every time the car stopped for a traffic light or stop sign, she could not calm the fear that burned in her chest like acid.
The car slowed again, and she tensed, listening to the tires crunching against a gravel road. They were off the pavement now. Angie had no idea how long she’d been in the trunk. She hadn’t seen who had hit her on the back of the head, but she knew it was Michael. His laughter still rang in her ears. It was the same laugh he’d given the night of Ken’s party when he’d shoved her into the backseat of her car.
The girl.
There had been a girl tied to the pool table. Blood and bruises had riddled her small body. Jasmine. It had to be Jasmine.
The car rolled to a slow stop. Angie counted the seconds. At twelve, a door opened. The car shifted as weight lifted from the front seat. The door slammed. Footsteps crunched against gravel. The passenger side door opened, then closed hard as if it had been kicked shut.
Twenty seconds. Fifty. A hundred. Angie had given up counting by the time she heard the key scrape in the lock of the trunk.
She was blinded by sunlight. Angie squeezed her eyes tight against the pain. The fresh air was like heaven, and she opened her mouth wide around the gag, flared her nostrils, desperate to breathe it in.
A shadow blocked the sun. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Michael was smiling down at her, the ragged scratch Jasmine had made down his cheek three days before looking like war paint.
“Have a nice nap?”
She strained against the ropes.
“Settle down,” he cautioned.
Angie barked out a “fuck you,” around the gag.
He unsheathed a long hunting knife, warning her, “Don’t try anything,” as he sliced through the ropes behind her back.
She moaned with relief as she stretched her legs as much as she could. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but at least she could move.
“Get out of the car.”
Angie struggled to sit up. Michael slid the knife back into the sheath and pulled out his service weapon. He pointed it at her head and she stopped moving.
“Slowly,” he ordered. “Don’t think for a minute I won’t shoot you.”
The rope bit into her wrists as she pressed her palms flat against the floor of the trunk. After several attempts, she managed to push herself up. She threw her legs over the side of the open trunk. Groaning, she forced herself out, tottering as her feet hit the ground, but somehow keeping her balance.
She stood up straight, looking around, trying to get her bearings.
“That was pretty impressive,” he said. “I’d forgotten how limber you are.”
She wanted to rip his eyes out with her bare hands.
“Look around,” he told her. She saw rolling hills and snow-capped mountains looming behind a rustic-looking cabin. “You can scream all you want, but no one is going to hear you.”
He pulled down the gag and she gulped for air. Her nose felt broken, and when she spit on the ground, a clot of blood mixed with chunks of food from breakfast.
She screamed like a banshee.
Michael just stood there as she doubled over from the exertion, her lungs rattling in her chest. She yelled until there was no air left in her lungs, nothing in her mind except the sound of her own screams.
He asked, “Finished?”
She lunged