“Not always. Look at the Coles.”
“Exactly. When it’s important, they subcontract. So why the hell are they subcontracting out for this skinny girl? She’s not even that hot.”
The other guy glances back at me. “I don’t know. Without those glasses…”
He licks his lips, as if he’s imagining what I’d look like without my horn-rimmed round lenses, and I glare back at him, though I realize my glare doesn’t look half as dangerous as I wish it would, especially with the glasses that are currently askew on my face.
Thankfully, he turns his eyes back to the road, but the other guy now reaches back and removes them.
“Ew, cross-eyed freak,” he laughs.
I turn my not-so-dangerous glare to him, though I can barely make him out through the veil of fuzziness that now surrounds me.
I’m notthatcross-eyed anymore. Still, I should probably be thankful that he’s finding me a little freaky. Maybe it means—
“I’ve fucked a lot worse,” he adds.
“I’ll say,” chuckles the other one. “I’ll always remember the sixty-year-old humpbacked chick you brought back once.”
“Not sure she could be qualified as a chick,” snorts the first dickhead. “More like a monster.”
He leans back, chewing loudly on his gum. “Wonder what they want with her.”
“Well, stop wondering, and get us sandwiches there. We never ate dinner, and it’s after two. I’m fucking starving.”
The guy driving pulls up and the other one jumps out. I eye the gas station thoughtfully, wondering if I could manage to get help. But between the locked doors, my gagged and bound state, and the fact that we’re on a deserted road, there doesn’t seem to be much hope of that.
Before I’ve even had time to foment the beginning of a plan, dickhead number one is back with two sandwiches. At the smell of the meat, my stomach growls hungrily, even though I’m also nauseous.
It makes the two assholes laugh, and I hate myself for being embarrassed in front of the two men who are probably… going to kill me? And, unless I can quickly convince them that I would be an even worse fuck than the sixty-year-old humpbacked woman, maybe do some other shit to me first?
I blink back stinging tears at the thought. I can’t go back to that dark place. I just can’t. I’m not sure I could survive a second rape.
Though I guess I wouldn’t, anyway.
I sniff loudly, desperately wishing Quill would find me. What the hell is wrong with me for wishing that? The last time I wished for his help, he aimed a gun at me. I know he didn’t kill me. Maybe he didn’t plan to, either. But he was pretty fucking convincing.
And yes, I guess I do believe that he didn’t order his friends torape me. But he did shut me down when I broached the subject by telling meit wasn’t a good time for him.
And of course, I apologized.
Seriously, what kind of a cruel heartless boy am I aching for?
Meanwhile, the two men upfront are chewing on their sandwiches and talking amongst themselves. I guess Logan is right, and I’m a terrible detective, because if I were any better, I wouldn’t be lost in my thoughts and so zoned out.
I force myself to be present once more, even though I wish I could stay in the comfort of my own mind.
“Weird that they didn’t pay us to kill her. Don’t they want her dead?”
“Definitely,” says dickhead number two. “But maybe they’re planning to kill her themselves.”
“They’re not the type to get their hands dirty.”
“They sure have gotten soft since the mafia days,” laughs dickhead number one.
“Not soft, just careful. And you’d be too, if you were sitting at the head of an empire. But anyway, Mr. Wells told me he’s planning on being the one to plant the bullet in her brain.”
I sit up, my eyes wide. More confirmation that Damien Wells, the CEO of Devil, wants me dead. So these two guys are out doing his bidding.