King Maker (King Maker 3)

“Are we clear?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, sounding as small and fearful as I could.

I was afraid, but I hadn’t yet thrown in the towel. Maybe not this moment, but I would wait for an opportunity.

When he came over, I didn’t move a muscle. I really did need the bathroom. And there could be something I could use in there too. Though I doubted it. He seemed like a professional of sorts.

Once I was uncuffed, I tried rubbing at my aching wrists while quickly moving off the bed so the man couldn’t hover over me. He just laughed as I tried to stand. My arms shot with pain and I could barely get to my feet with my legs as strong as Jell-O.

I didn’t let that stop me. Somehow I managed what probably looked like a drunk walk to the bathroom and pushed to close the door.

Only a hand stopped it.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he said, shaking his head. “Door stays open.”

He made his point by shoving it hard, slamming it against the wall with my hand pinned between the two.

Down I went to my knees, cradling my injured hand against my body. I barely managed not to soil myself as excruciating pain and the need to vomit and pee all competed with my senses for domination.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

I shook my head as I held in my sobs, though unimpeded tears spilled from my eyes.

Thank God for small mercies as he didn’t stand there and watch my humiliation as I used my good hand to push myself up so I could pee.

The toilet paper roll was thin. I couldn’t waste the little there to line the dirty seat. My legs were barely able to support me. So I had to pray as I sat that potential dirty needles to drug me would be my only worry, assuming I survived.

For the second of relief I had in that moment, I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity. If only I hadn’t left Violet’s house, if I’d faced my choice, if—maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation.

Once that moment passed, I shoved those thoughts so deep into a closet, a therapist couldn’t penetrate if I lived another day.

Though my hand throbbed, my stomach growled, and my situation was grave, I washed my hands as I inspected the painful one.

Then, chin up, spine straight, I walked into the room and only barely gave the line of needles on the worn-out dresser a cursory glance.

He sat like a jailor in a chair wedged in front of the door.

Compliantly, I lay back on the bed. It wasn’t as though I was giving in. Based on everything I’d experienced so far, I would have one shot at freedom and I had to pick it wisely.

Given that the only ache between my legs was dull and from the night before, I had to trust that he was still working with whoever had contracted him.

I didn’t believe this was in any way personal to him. I was just a job and nothing more.

So I lay down and put my arms over my head, hoping to let him think he’d won as my hand pulsed with pain. I didn’t ask for any medication. For one, I doubted he would give it to me. Secondly, I didn’t think he had any. What was in those syringes wasn’t anything I wanted.

Red and green lights flash in succession over his face. A sign I couldn’t see bathing his face in eerily color that made him seem more monstrous as he grinned.

He rose, and just like before, he caught me off guard. I’d woken to no shoes. They’d probably been taken as a deterrent for my escape. He had no idea I’d practically grown up without shoes in the summertime. Then the needle sank into the top of my toe.

But that wasn’t my concern. What had he given me was the biggest question I held as I did my breath.

Was it another sedative, or was it heroin?

Six

Many things came together in a short period of time. Matt and Turner came back as I was ushered into the van by Joe Gormley, a balding man with a stern but likable face and the team leader.

Matt and Turner hurried out of the rental and followed.

“You’ve got something?” Matt asked as we were led into the truck. His team sat in front of a row of monitors, hard at work on various tasks.

“Actually, yes,” Gormley began.

“What have you got?” I asked.

“Good and bad news,” he said. “The bad news is the tread matches tires made for many economy model vehicles.” Inwardly I groaned, knowing we were looking for a needle in a haystack, though I expected as much. “The other bad news is in a small town like this, there aren’t many traffic cameras.”

Matt spoke up. “What about security cameras on the convenience store and bank?” He held up what looked like a VHS tape from the ’80s. “The bank said they were willing to help and this is from the convenience store.”