Blyssful Lies (The Blyss Trilogy 2)

There’s no way in hell I can do what Travis wants me to do and relax. I’m barely able to make a perceptible nod, so I blink, using my eyes to acknowledge him. Being trapped the way I am, I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. My chest and mouth are being crushed by a big-ass bulldozer named Travis.

His body shifts again, and in one stealthy movement, his left hand grabs the edge of the blanket and covers us. I’m still as a statue as I try desperately to focus on catching my breath. I close my eyes tight just as he turns his head back around in my direction. I struggle with the concept of mind over matter—the mind being I’m scared shitless, and the matter is I’m claustrophobic, and to top it all off, there’s a gun at my head. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if this is my demise, I sure as hell don’t want to stare it straight on.

With my eyes closed, every fiber of my being goes on high alert. I jolt, startled by hearing the sound of pouring rain intensify as if someone has opened the driver’s side door. I feel a gust of wind filter in, snaking its way over my face, and I realize someone actually has opened the door. They must’ve picked the lock on the door or something, because if know Travis, he’d have me under a lock and key. My breath hitches as a whole new sort of panic sets in. As soon as the intruder breaches the door’s opening, I can feel his body movements shift the car about as he slips into the seat in front of me. The invader seems smooth and self-assured, as if he’s the owner of this vehicle. The car door slams shut with a loud bang, and suddenly I’m accosted by a strong smell, a stench so rancid I want to gag, but can’t. Strong, thick cigarette smoke mingles with wet rain. It’s so thick the nicotine tar has lined the inside of my nose, and I feel my body shudder in revulsion.

The smell is so nasty I’m pretty sure I quit breathing. It’s amazing what one can pick up when they don’t have their sense of sight. I’m trying to imagine what he’s doing by the noise he’s making and how he’s shifting his body weight around. I hear a zipper opening, and tools clang against each other. What the hell is he doing?

I’m so high on adrenaline I don’t even feel Travis’ body move as he lifts himself slightly off mine. Before I know it, I hear something akin to a muffled pop, not just once, but several times. I have never heard a silencer on a gun go off before, but seeing as my eyes are slammed shut, I have a feeling that’s exactly what I heard. Holy shit!

I feel my body shake uncontrollably, wondering who got shot. My question is answered when Travis’ weight fully lifts off me. Curiosity gets the better of me and I open my eyes. I glance over Travis, making sure I don’t see red blotches on him, and when I don’t, I thank my lucky stars he’s okay.

Travis moves his hands in universal sign language, giving me the signal to stay down. No problem there, buddy. Seeing as my limbs are still quaking, I hadn’t planned on moving; I’ve rendered myself immobile. He’s sitting fully upright now. I watch him as he scopes his surroundings like a prairie dog, lifting his head out of his hidey-hole and doing a full three-sixty sweep. I’m not sure how much or how far he can see, since the rain is still coming down hard.

He then leans his mighty body over the front seat. I can’t see what he’s doing, but it looks as if he’s fiddling with the dead guy. My God, I realize a real dead man is only inches away from me. I’ve never seen or been this close to a murder scene before, one shot in cold blood no less, right before my very eyes. My heart rate picks up, and I think I’m going to puke. Claustrophobia begins to set in, and I begin feeling hot and sweaty. The car seats are closing in on me as I gasp for air that doesn’t refill my lungs, and I want out, now.

Travis pulls a large backpack up and over the seat, and I watch panic stricken as he works quickly with purpose. He shoves some unknown items into the pack, and all I can presume is it’s some of the dead man’s stuff. Slipping his arms through the straps of the backpack, he hoists it over his shoulders, putting it on. Wasting no time, he promptly opens the rear passenger door and steps out into the pouring rain, gun in hand. I think I’m in shock, because once Travis opened the car door, I could barely register the change in sound from the interior of the car to the heavy rain as it pummeled to the ground.