The impact sends pain shooting through my shoulder, and the side of my face slams hard against the pickup bed, but I can barely register it through the panic. I try to wriggle, to kick, to do anything, but I’m bound too tightly. The truck bed smells of oil and something else, something sour that makes my stomach heave.
The truck bed creaks as my captor climbs in. Something presses against my back, a boot, maybe, holding me down as hands pat over my body. Searching for something.
My purse. My phone. They’re looking for ways to identify me, ways I could call for help. But they’re still in the car, where I dropped them when I was attacked.
The boot leaves my back, and I hear movement again. The truck rocks slightly as my captor jumps down, then slams the tailgate shut. Moments later, the driver’s door opens and closes. The engine starts with a growl that vibrates through the metal beneath me.
We begin to move; the motion making me slide across the truck bed. I curl into myself as best I can, trying to brace against the cold metal. The wind whips at the bag over my head; the thin fabric of my dress offering no protection against the freezing night air rushing past.
I can’t see where we’re going. Can’t call for help. Can’t even move. All I can do is lie here, bound and gagged, terror washing over me in waves.
Roman, I think, a silent prayer to a husband who didn’t show up when I needed him. Roman, please find me.
Will he ever get my messages? Will he look for me? Will he find me before it’s too late?
Or have I become just one more thing he’s willing to sacrifice for the club?
The truck speeds up, carrying me away from my car, away from any chance of rescue, into the unknown darkness.
7
Chapter 7
Kayla
The truck lurches to a stop, throwing me once again against the cold metal bed. My body is a map of pain; hands and feet numb from being bound, knees raw from sliding across the ridged surface, body chilled from the freezing wind. But I’m alive. The realization offers no comfort as the engine cuts off, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing inside the suffocating bag over my head. This is it. Whatever happens next, I am all alone. Roman isn’t coming to save me. No one is coming to save me.
The driver’s door slams, followed by footsteps crunching on what sounds like gravel. My heart hammers against my ribs as the footsteps circle around to the back of the truck. Metal groans as the tailgate drops, sending vibrations through the truck bed beneath me.
More footsteps. A second set. Two voices. One is gruff, low, indistinguishable. The other is strangely pleasant; smooth and articulate with an edge of amusement.
“Why,” asks the pleasant voice from somewhere above me, “is she in the truck bed?”
I strain to hear the response, but it’s too muffled, too low.
“She could have fallen out,” the pleasant voice continues, sounding almost disappointed. “Then it would have been you picking pieces of her up off the side of the road.” A pause. “Haven’t I taught you anything, Moose?”
Again, I can’t hear the response, just a gruff rumble.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get her inside. And get that stupid thing off your face.” The pleasant voice has hardened slightly now. “You look like you’re about to go rob a bank.”
Rough hands grab my ankles and yank. I slide across the truck bed, unable to brace myself with my bound hands, and then I’m falling. For a terrifying moment, I’m suspended in air, and then I slam into something solid. The impact forces the little air I have out of my lungs, and I choke against the gag in my mouth.
I’m hoisted up and over, my stomach pressing uncomfortably into what must be my kidnapper’s shoulder. Blood rushes to my head as I dangle upside down, making me dizzy. Each step jostles me, sending fresh waves of pain through my already battered body.
“Careful with her,” the same pleasant voice says, sounding almost amused. “We don’t want to damage our guest before we’ve even had a chance to chat.”
Guest. The word makes bile rise in my throat. This isn’t a social call. This is my worst nightmare coming to life.
We move from gravel to something smoother, concrete or asphalt. The sounds change too, growing hollow, as if we’veentered a large, empty space. My kidnapper’s footsteps echo slightly. We’re inside somewhere.
Without warning, I’m swung off his shoulder and dropped. I hit the ground hard; the concrete cold beneath me. The impact knocks what little breath I have from my lungs, and I lie there, struggling to breathe through the cloth stuffed in my mouth.
“What the hell, Moose?” The pleasant voice again, now tinged with annoyance. “Untie her and help her into a chair. She’s not a sack of potatoes.”
Silence. No movement.
“For God’s sake,” the voice says, closer now. “Do I have to do everything myself?”