The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Slowly, feeling returns to the rest of me, that needling sensation fading. Either that, or the fear is so palpable I’m just adapting.

But why is there a spot near my hip that’s burning like a rat crawled under my shirt and started biting? Did they throw me around so hard I picked up a splinter or—

Wait.

That stupid nettle.

That stupid, miraculous, holy-crap-I-might-have-a-hail-Mary nettle!

It’s still poking out of my back pocket, grazing my belly.

It’s not a switchblade, but it’s technically a weapon of the silliest kind.

Now, I just have to wait for an opportunity to use it.

Easing my vision back to the front, I try to see if I can make out any landmarks or signs from the road. We aren’t on the interstate.

This is a narrow two-lane road. And pretty rough from the way the truck keeps bouncing.

The only signs we pass in the dull light of the headlights are mile markers, and they don’t tell me a shitting thing.

From the conversation, we’re heading to Washington. But I don’t know how long I was out, or how long we’ve been on this road.

I see headlights coming toward us, distant glowing dots.

Is there a way I can signal?

Think, think!

But any move I make has to be a killshot. If I let them know I’m awake, I’ll be in a world of hurt.

Carson already choked me until I blacked out. He won’t think twice about doing it again—or worse.

The other vehicle, a low riding car, zooms right past us into the night.

Shit. I have to think of something ASAP.

Maybe there’s a fire extinguisher back here, something heavy enough to dent a cranium or two.

Cautiously, I ease the makeshift hood up a bit higher to look around, but it’s just too dark.

Seriously annoying.

Holding my breath, I lift my bare foot, trying to feel for anything I haven’t noticed. But I freeze when the driver speaks again.

“You sure she’s still out?” Muddy Boots asks. “It’s been a while. Maybe we better pull over and check.”

“Will you quit worrying?” Carson growls. “We’ll hear her if she wakes up. She fought like a puma earlier.”

“The way that pig came flying out of nowhere, I thought it was going to chew your leg off while you carried her to the truck,” his partner says with a low chuckle.

“It did bite me, the piece of swine shit. My leg is still throbbing where it tore my pants. I’m very lucky it didn’t pull a few drops of blood for evidence,” Carson snarls. “Only wish I’d had a chance to shoot it.”

There’s a low crunching noise.

“Hey, what kind of peanuts are those? Smells like shoe polish,” Muddy Boots grumbles. “Listen, we’re in for a long haul. I gotta stop for real food and a cup of coffee soon, never mind checking the tires. These backroads are choppy as hell on a truck this big. Never gonna make it through the night if we don’t. Plus, we can check on the girl.”

Despite my paralyzing fear, I grin, telepathically beaming a silent thank you to Hercules for his valiant efforts to defend me.