Page 132 of Savage Surrender

Footsteps on gravel grow closer, and something strikes the damaged side door from outside. Then a metal canister bounces through the opening, and gray-white smoke jets from both ends.

“Everyone out!” Ezra exclaims.

Owen grabs for the canister to throw it back outside, and the first breath folds him over coughing before his fingers reach it. My eyes flood.

Tristan yanks his shirt over his mouth and tries to reach the door, but a man in a dark mask fills the opening. Tristan drives his shoulder into him, and both of them disappear from view.

Owen follows.

The impact of his body against someone outside shakes the van. A shout cuts off. Another man grabs the doorframe, and I hit his wrist hard enough to feel something give. My second strike misses, and he catches my arm and pulls. I wrench against his grip, but the floor shifts under my feet.

Ezra is still pinned.

As my mind goes hazy, I catch a glimpse of Owen outside fighting three men. One catches him across the eye with a fist. Blood spills from his mouth as they drag him out of sight. I don’t see Tristan.

Cold presses into my cheek. Rough fabric covers my face and catches against my mouth when I breathe. My wrists are bound behind me.

“Where’s the girl?”

28

BIANCA

The taco shell breaks before it reaches my mouth, dropping beef and lettuce onto Freddie’s leg. I think this is my eighth or ninth taco.

“You’re making me nervous,” Freddie says when I suck down the Dr Pepper so fast I choke. “Do you want me to get another taco ready for you?”

I nod, and he unwraps another, carefully distributing sauce across the top.

There were thirty when we left the drive-through. We’re down to five.

I’m still hungry.

We’ve moved from drowning straight into famine.

The highway has flattened into a long stretch of wet gray pavement. Every dark SUV and van catches my attention. Every flash of blue in the distance makes my stomach tighten.

Food isn’t enough to distract me from what’s missing.

I press my fingers to each of their marks, where the ache seems to be collecting.

“I would know if...if they died, right?”

“Yes, baby. We’d know.” Freddie’s palm moves slowly up my back. “Mason will find them.”

Megan changes the station again. A woman has been singing brightly about dancing all night, which is a stupid thing to sing about when four people are missing. The next station has a man selling mattresses. Then a traffic report. Then a song about two lovers getting one brief chance before one of them dies.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” she mutters and changes it again.

I reach between the front seats and tap her phone where it sits in the cup holder. The screen wakes under my finger.

Nothing from Ezra. Nothing from Weller, Tristan, or Owen. Nothing from Mason since his last message telling us he was working on it and to keep going to Winston.

Megan hums along with a song she can’t possibly have heard before. She’s off-key and only manages four notes before starting over.

“Are there any more tacos in the bag?” she asks.

“You said the last one was your last one.”