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“Like fucking what?” He counters angrily.
“Just take your hands off me and stay back.”
The skinny guy in the driver’s seat hangs his head out the window and smirks at me. “Afraid he’s going to have his way with you? No need to be afraid of that. Your boyfriend has already made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t pay for damaged goods. A dirty fuck with you ain’t worth the kind of money we’re getting paid to deliver you unblemished.”
I refuse to look at him, because he’s a piece of shit, both of them are. I’m so angry that Stan managed to get to me in the end, no matter how careful I was. I fold my arms over my stomach and ignore both of them.
Jerking open the passenger side of the van, he waits while I climb in. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’m terrified but fighting hard not to show it because the driver seems to be getting off on it. He puts a restraint around one leg and locks it to the bottom of the seat. I yelp when he gets it too tight. He takes a second to loosen it, but only slightly. “Is that better?”
I nod curtly and turn to stare out the window because I need to get my head together and figure out a way out of this mess.
The driver taunts me, “What’s wrong? Does the pretty little bitch have nothing to say?”
The tattooed guy gets into the front passenger seat and slams the door closed. “Leave the fucking girl alone and drive.”
Without another word, the smaller man complies. I can tell by his body language he’s scared of the bigger guy. I think they must be professionals because they’re careful about taking back roads, using restraints, and not blurting out each other’s names.
When the tattooed man glances back at me again, I worry that he won’t keep his hands to himself. He’s staring at my breasts, even as he tries to wrangle his lust under control. As we drive away, I look around, trying my best to figure out where we are at the moment. We’re so far out of town that I don’t recognize anything. The first van had the windows blacked out, but an hour or two ago my captors stopped at a service station to switch vehicles. This one is more like the kind of minibus that takes tourists on luxury camping vacations, but I know there’s nothing luxurious about what these bastards have planned for me. I’d pleaded to be allowed out to go to the restroom, partly because I really needed to go, and partly because I saw it as my only chance of escape—but they wouldn’t let me out of their sight. He only gave in just now, because I think he legitimately thought I was going to piss over the upholstery.
“You’re working for Stan, aren’t you? If he wanted me so badly, he should come himself.”
Mr. Tatts responds in a calm tone, “He had other things to attend to.”
Mr. Skin and Bones chimes in, “Don’t worry, you’ll be in his loving embrace shortly.”
We ride in silence as I ponder the day’s events. I don’t ask them who they are because it’s fairly clear that preserving their anonymity gives them one less reason to put a bullet in my head.
I’m just so angry and shocked that I sit in my seat with my arms wrapped around my waist and trembling. I quietly test the restraint on my ankle, wondering if might come loose easily, it’s not a zip tie which is something, but it’s firmly attached, so I can’t run even if the opportunity presents itself. I try and count my blessings, but there are precious few—I’m still alive, and they took that piece of tape from my mouth. That’s about it.
This can’t be happening to me. It’s blowing my mind that after everything I’ve been through, I’m going to end up right back where I started, in the clutches of my abusive ex-boyfriend.
Mr. Tatts notices me quietly freaking out and decides to give me a word of advice. “Look, life can be shitty, particularly to women. You’re gonna have to toughen up if you want to survive what’s coming. This boyfriend of yours is a nasty piece of work.”
“Yeah, I know. We’ve had this dance before. Can you two help me escape?” I stammer, promising, “I can pay you more than he is.”
He shoots me an irritated look. “It’s not always about the money. Men in my line of work don’t double-cross our employers. It’s simply not done.”
Mr. Skin and Bones adds, “We might be guns for hire, but we don’t turn on our clients.”
Mr. Tatts reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a cell phone. Within seconds he’s on the phone with said employer.
My brutish captor states, “Stanford Scott, your package is fifteen minutes from delivery.”
I can hear Stan’s voice reply, “I managed to secure the cash you wanted.” Or I think that’s what he said. Tatts turns his head sharply at the mention of cash and I can barely hear Stan’s half of the conversation after that.
“For future reference, you will have the cash in advance. You’ve wasted time we didn’t have making a cash run.” My abductor cuts the line and shoves the phone back into his pocket.
“So, what happens now?” I hate the way my voice sounds small and weak. I know all too well that when you act vulnerable around predators, they start seeing you as prey.
Without looking at me, Mr. Tatts replies, “We’re taking you to a predetermined location. Stan will be there with our money. We’ll make the trade, and you’ll be at his mercy after that.”
Mr. Skin and Bones cackles, “You’ll need to make all his fantasies come true or you’ll die screaming just like your friend.”
“Shut the fuck up. How many times do I have to tell you not to mention former jobs.”
Oh, my God. They’re talking about Gina. I can’t believe he came right out and admitted they were involved in her death.
“How do you know that’s what Stan wants from me?” I ask cautiously.
