Page 54 of Stolen Rebel

My throat closes, and my hands shake. But it’s momentary. There’s an odd satisfaction curling its way around my insides reminding me that Brian currently has no idea where I am. So his “don’t make me” threat lands a little hollower than it usually does.

I swallow a laugh. How is it possible I feel safer as a kidnapping victim than I do when I’m in my tiny apartment in London? What does that say about Brian? Or rather, what does it say about Liam?

Me

Sorry. I was sick. Slept.

I’m okay.

The reply comes so fast, it’s like he was waiting with the phone in his hand and staring at the screen.

Carol

You’re late.

I swallow hard. Technically, I’m not late. Technically, he shifted the goalpost, pulling a switch on what we’d agreed. But with Brian, it’s easier to just say sorry and take the blame than it is to stand up to him.

Me

I know. I’m sorry.

It won’t happen again.

My heart gallops as I stare at the screen, willing for him to send me a calm, reasonable response.

Carol

What did you have for dinner?

My skin goes cold.

Me

Soup.

From the shop.

Carol

Which shop?

I close my eyes, willing myself to keep breathing, to stay calm. The bathroom floor is cool beneath my legs, but it doesn’t help. I’m hyperventilating.

Me

Tesco.

Carol

What kind?

My nails dig into my palm.

Me

Chicken.

There’s a pause so long and tense I forget to breathe. My pulse starts hammering in my ears and temples.