“Race you,” I called as I ran towards my car.
“King’s right, you really are a dork!” he called at my back.
I laughed as I slid into Betty Sue and peeled out of the police station in a move that was not very smart (given my proximity to police) but also was totally badass biker.
I was determined to beat Zeus back to the compound but I noticed that poor Betty Sue was basically out of gas, so I made a quick stop at Evergreen Gas Station on the way there. William’s name lit the screen of my cell phone in the passenger seat as I swung out of the car. Pumping my own gas was one of the bizarre things that I loved to do now that I was no longer with William, who had always insisted on the full service stations. It was kind of ironic that he was calling just as I was doing it.
I was humming along to “Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked” by Cage the Elephant ringtone as it blasted through my epic new car speakers but stopped when my voicemail connected to the Bluetooth and William’s voice came through.
“Cressida, call me immediately. You don’t understand what you’ve done and I’m willing to forgive you. That biker has clearly brainwashed you or something because you keep ignoring me. I’m sorry, my darling, but I need to get you to me soon. My lawyer says it isn’t looking good, so I’ve decided that you and I are going to go away. You were always badgering me about Costa Rica and it has a no extradition treaty. Trust me, you’ll love it there. Forgive me, but this was the only way I could think of to get you away from those biker bastards.”
I was frowning at my cell phone through the open window when I was suddenly pushed up against the side of my car.
I froze, reminded of Marcus pushing me up against the wall in the back alley.
And just like then, lips descended to my ear, but this time they whispered, “William says he’s sorry.”
Then a crippling pain exploded in my head and I didn’t remember anything anymore.
The pain woke me up.
It seared through the center of my palms like concentrated wildfire. Before I was even fully conscious, I tried to move my hands away from the heat but they were stuck deep in the flames. My eyes flew open and even though my vision was blurry, I could make out the sight of one of my hands affixed to the wooden arms of the chair I sat in. It was nailed there with a thick metal spike that you’d find on a construction site. My mind dissociated from the pain enough to note that it was at least three inches thick and quite long. And it went right through the middle of my hand. Same thing with my other hand.
Someone had knocked me out, dragged me to some kind of warehouse and nailed me to a wooden chair.
A sob rose in my throat but I swallowed it down, focusing on the hellacious burn to keep my mind sharp. I took stock of my body, noting the drumbeat of pain at the back of my skull from where the man had clocked me with something hard, the soreness at my wrists and ankles from where they were wrapped tightly in damp rope. There was dirt across my entire left side, which made me think they’d dragged me across the ground before placing me in the chair. Worst of all, my jeans were undone and my underwear was pulled uncomfortably tight over my sex. Someone had checked me out down there while I was passed out.
Another sob crawled up my throat. I thought I might throw up all over myself.
“Comfortable?”
My head snapped back, hitting the exact same place that I’d been struck, and stars exploded in front of my eyes. Through the black spots and colorful flurries, I made out a short, stocky Hispanic man. He stood in front of me, swathed in shadows like a grim reaper.
“No,” I croaked, noticing that my mouth tasted like ash and blood.
His pockmarked face creased in a bland smile. “What a shame.”
Something made a noise behind me. Fear saturated me, yellow and acrid like being doused in urine. I couldn’t turn my head enough because my torso was tied to the chair, but I knew someone lingered at my back.
“Aren’t you going to ask who I am?” the man in front of me asked, taking a step closer. “Yell ‘why me’ or start crying? I have to admit, it’s my favorite part of this whole thing.”
“The whole abducting innocent women thing?” I asked, dredging up the sass that lay deep inside me, under the fear and the pain, lower even than my sense of self-preservation.