The Wrong Path - By Vivian Marie Aubin du Paris Page 0,33
might be involved and she didn’t even know if she could trust him for sure. “And I can’t tell Trevor,” she finished with a shaky sob. “He’s already worried enough about me, and he’s got the homecoming game coming up. I don’t want to waste his time on stupid things like this.”
Will moved so that just one arm was wrapped around her shoulders. “Come on,” he said, gently pulling her to the double doors. She let him lead her outside to the empty parking lot, where his lone black convertible sat in the front row with its top down. He took her bag and set it in the back before opening the passenger door. She all-but fell in, trying to wipe away her tears and smeared makeup with her fingertips.
Will slid into the driver’s seat, but paused before putting the key in the ignition. “Are you sure you want to come with me?” he asked. She lifted her eyes to his, not sure she had heard him correctly. At her look, he went on. “You said yourself that you’re not sure you can trust me. I could be taking you to a warehouse for my friends to chop off all your hair and give you tattoos you don’t want.”
She felt her blood run cold. “Are you going to?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat.
He arched an eyebrow. “I might. It’s your last chance to get out before I start driving you to your fate, though.”
Her heart drummed against her ribs as they stared at each other. She thought back to all of the nice things Will had done for her, and wondered if it could all be part of some elaborate scheme to gain her trust for revenge. If it was, she was sure Trevor and his mother would kill him. But more importantly, she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that Will would be so cruel.
She leaned back in the seat. “I guess we’ll find out,” she said softly, pulling down the visor to look at herself in the mirror. If she was going to be tortured, she at least wanted to go in with her head held high, and that meant without runny mascara.
Will didn’t say a word as he stuck the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking spot. The cool wind felt good against her flushed cheeks, and she closed her eyes as he drove, resting her head against the headrest. The music, loud enough to be heard over the wind, but not so obnoxiously loud she felt bad for disturbing the people around them, drifted through the speakers and further calmed her frazzled nerves.
She roused herself from the half-sleep when Will killed the engine, embarrassed she had dozed off. She sat up quickly, then blinked as she looked around the car, stunned at her surroundings. They were in the middle of a flat dirt field, an old, weathered barn to the right of the car. About two hundred yards ahead of them spanned a forest that was as wide as she could see. Bewildered, she looked over and met Will’s eyes.
“Where are we?” she asked, confused.
He grinned. “Torture chamber,” he told her, a devilish light in his eyes. She watched as he pulled the key from the ignition and lifted himself out of the car, over the door. “Come on,” he insisted.
She studied the flat dirt surface and large barn warily, but did as she was told, slowly climbing out of the car.
“Leave it,” he told her, seeing her purse in her hand. “You won’t need it, and no one’s going to come here.”
She felt a smile creep up on her lips, despite her nervousness. “Another secret spot?” she asked.
His response was to lightly push her toward the barn. It was large and dark brown, and though old, it looked as if it was well maintained. She watched as he stuck a small key from his key ring into a hanging lock, then hooked the lock through the bolt. He gave the left door a push and it fell open, a rush of cool, dry air with a hint of mustiness enveloping them. He pushed the other door open, which clattered against the side of the barn.
She peered in hesitantly as he strode in. It was dark on the inside, but she could see some cabinets to one wall, a set of standing shelves about eight feet high near them. In the corner was an old couch, a few blankets