Page 2 of Tempest’s Torment

"I'm getting it every year from now on; we’re setting a new tradition."

My smile widens. That sounds like the perfect tradition. "Deal."

She relaxes back into her seat, and I feel myself relax too. I hate fighting with her. She’s not only my twin, she’s my best friend.

Bright headlights flash in my rearview mirror. I frown and adjust it slightly. They've been behind us since we turned off the main road, but I don't say anything yet. I take the next left, earlier than I need to, and the car behind makes the exact same turn.

Lucy notices my hands tighten on the wheel as I take another turn. "What?"

"Probably nothing," I say but the headlights stay with us.

She twists around in her seat. "Are they following us?"

"Maybe. Call Evan and see where he is."

She's already dialing; I hear it ring out. She tries again and again. "He's not answering."

My gut drops, but then the lights behind us flash blue.

"Oh thank God." Lucy exhales. "It's a cop."

I pull over. I shouldn't feel relieved, but I do. An unmarked car is better than the alternative I was building in my head.

The car stops behind us, one door opens, and I hear footsteps on the gravel shoulder.

I reach for my window button. But hesitate; something is wrong. I don’t know what, but something is wrong. I feel it in my gut.

The footsteps stop at Lucy's window, not mine, hers.

She looks out, and I watch her whole-body go rigid.

"Hi, sweetheart." Evan, voice gentle as anything. "Open the door."

Another man, one I don't know, stands at my door while Evan handles Lucy, pulling her out of her seat and presses a gun to her ribs while she tries to pull away from him.

"Keys," the other man says to me. His hand is already on the door handle. "Now." He’s broad-shouldered, tattooed, and looks like he could snap me in half, but it’s his eyes that have me obeying. They’re empty, like whatever happens next won’t cost him a second of sleep.

I give them the keys. I know better than trying to fight; it could be the last thing we do.

They put us in the back of the unmarked car, our wrists zip-tied in front of us, and Lucy's arm presses against mine. Evan drives while the other man sits in the passenger seat and he keeps turning to look back at us every few minutes but doesn’t speak again.

Lucy pulls in a shaky breath through her nose. I know that breathing; it’s what she does when she's trying not to cry. I press my arm harder against hers, letting her know that I’m right here. She leans heavier against me, a little squeak spilling from her lips.

We were deep enough into the woods that I lost any sense of direction about twenty minutes into the drive when Evan had dropped the other man off along a side road where another vehicle was parked. I haven’t seen him since, thank God.

It could have been another hour after that before the car comes to a stop beside a cabin. Evan parks, comes around, and opens our door like we're guests he's welcoming to his home.

Inside, a single lamp sits on a table, two wooden chairs face each other, and there’s rope on the floor. God, how long has he been planning this?

He pushes the gun deeper into Lucy’s side as he motions us to take the chairs. Once seated, he ties us to them, checking the knots twice—calm and methodical—and then he drags a third chair toward us and sits down.

My heart is racing. I hate this; I hate how vulnerable and weak I feel. There’s absolutely nothing I can do while he’s got the gun pointed at my sister. I know he’ll hurt her if I don’t comply with what he wants.

"I'm sorry about the car," he says. "I needed you to stop."

Neither of us say anything, we’re terrified, and I’ve no idea what’s going to happen or what he wants.

"This isn't what it looks like." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, talking like we're having a regular conversation, instead of him kidnapping us and holding us here against our will. "I just need you both to listen. That's all. I've been trying to talk to you for months, Lucy, and you won't listen at home."