And honestly?
Things couldn’t really get much worse than being tied up in a pop-up camper with masked assholes who thought they’d kidnapped someone else.
I leaned forward and grabbed the bottle with my bound hands.The cap was barely on.That helped a little.
I twisted it open carefully, and the plastic crackled loudly in the silence.I was clumsy with my wrists tied together, but I managed to twist the cap off.
I lifted it and took a cautious sip.The water was lukewarm, stale in that way bottled water got when it sat in a hot car too long.
It tasted like nothing.
No bitterness.No chemical aftertaste.No immediate burning in my throat.
I took another sip, longer this time, and then another.
The relief was immediate, and my throat unclenched as the water slid down.I drank more, ignoring the voice in my head whispering that it could be drugged.
If it was, I’d deal with it.
Right now, dehydration was going to make my concussion symptoms worse, and I couldn’t afford that.
I finished the bottle.
The plastic crumpled slightly in my hands when I squeezed it, and the sound made me jump.
God, I was jumpy.
I set it down and waited for anything to happen.Dizziness worsening, my limbs going numb, or my thoughts fogging more than they already were.
Nothing.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t drugged.
Or maybe whatever they put in it would hit later.
I wasn’t going to spiral over maybes.I needed facts.
Fact: I was alive.
Fact: They thought I was Star.
Fact: I was tied up in a camper and needed to figure out how to get out.
I forced myself to focus on the third fact—getting out.
I crawled toward the door and moved slowly in case there was someone outside.My knees protested against the hard floor.My wrists ached where the rope rubbed every time I shifted.
The door was one of those flimsy camper doors with a cheap lock and thin frame.
I reached it and pressed my shoulder against it, testing it carefully.
It didn’t budge.
I leaned harder.
Still nothing.
Not even a creak.