But it’s possible he’d turn the gun on Jay, and I won’t risk his life in place of
my own, so I'll bide my time for now. Patrick is going to die. And very soon.
The engine rumbles to life, the metal vibrating beneath my ass. The vehicle surges forward, causing the three of us to sway heavily to the side, forcing Patrick further against me.
We look at each other, and slowly, he slides a few inches away.
That’s what I fucking thought.
Now that the mouth breather has removed itself from my neck, I can actually
think.
But it only takes seconds for my thoughts to nosedive, the deadened space I
forced my mind into fading away, and that black rage resurfacing.
They took my little mouse.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bow my head, fighting to regain control over my
temper. The fragile layer of resolve containing my anxiety and murderous rage is
cracking. My panicked thoughts are too heavy, and just like a person standing on
thin ice, it’s eventually going to break beneath the pressure.
But I can’t let it. Not yet.
I need to focus on getting us out, and it’s hard enough with my body
screaming at me.
There’s the option of attacking and killing Patrick, but that won’t stop the vehicle, especially if they hear me attempting to escape. The only alternative would be shooting the gun off until I hit the driver, which could send us careening into traffic and killing us all. Or Jay and I could attempt to drop and roll out of the back, except my body is too battered to withstand that.
Exhaling through my nose, I lift my head to find Jay already staring at me, brows knitted with concern. His black hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and he’s shaking like a leaf. He’s definitely not fit for a mercenary life.
Fuck, that’s it.
Jay’s panic and my agony have made us both forget a very valuable tool.
There are Bluetooth chips still in our ears. They’re tiny and transparent, an illegal device that isn’t noticeable unless you’re really looking for it. So unnoticeable, that Claire hadn’t even thought to check.
The device in our ears is activated by a tiny button or a voice command. But
that means Jay or I have to use the word call.
I train my gaze on Patrick. “So, am I going to get my one call when we get
there?”
He grunts. “Funny.”
Silence.
Fuck, it probably got damaged by the explosion. Explains why my men haven’t attempted to get a hold of me themselves. I cast a look to Jay, and he nods, a drop of sweat flinging off the tip of his nose.
“Come on, man, my grandma is sick. She’s probably wondering where I am.”
I face Jay again. “Didn’t you promise your brother that you'd take him to Chuck
E. Cheese tonight?”
Jay works to keep his face neutral, but that’s another reason he stays behind
the screen. Kid can’t act worth shit.
“Yeah, uh… I should probably uh, call Baron and tell him I can’t make it.”
Make it a little more obvious, Jay, dear lord.
Baron isn't actually Jay's brother, but another of my men that could help us.
A little satisfied smirk tilts Jay’s lips, but he smothers it. The call must’ve been successful, which means Baron will be listening in and hopefully track us once he realizes something is wrong.
Jay continues after a few moments, “It’s probably important he knows that we’re being held hostage, right?”
Oh my God.
“I’d prefer he never know what happened to you and live the rest of his life
wondering,” Patrick retorts, oblivious to Jay’s terrible acting.
Then, he turns to me. “You can keep playing your games, but you won’t be
laughing soon.”
“How soon?” I counter.
I can’t see his face, but I can feel the confusion radiating from the black hole
in his hood.
“My grandma is waiting.”
His fist clenching is my only warning before he sends it soaring into my cheek.
My head snaps to the side, and pain blooms across my entire skull. The punch
would be tolerable on a typical day, but considering that I just suffered through
an explosion, it feels like another bomb has been let off inside my head.
My instincts flare, and my fists clench with the need to hit him back. The beast inside my chest is thrashing and raging, and that precarious control slips a little more.
Addie. It’s for Addie.
Just barely, I manage to refrain. I need to give our men time to get to us, though I know it won’t take long.
“Jesus, a man can’t call his fucking grandma? Asshole.”
He shakes out his shoulders and turns away, and I scoot further down the bench. He can think it’s because I’m scared, but in reality, I’m two seconds away from ending his life prematurely.
While we wait, I work to decompress, keeping the boiling anger in check.
That lasts a whopping ten minutes before I’m getting thrown for the second time
today.
Something heavy crashes into the van from behind, sending Patrick and me
flying off the bench and into the wall that separates the front from the back.
Jay is jerked to the side, but the seatbelt keeps the lucky son of a bitch anchored.
I groan, pain flaring in several different parts of my body as I roll onto my back and try to breathe. I can’t even tell which parts hurt anymore—fucking everything hurts.
Claire yells from the front seat, spitting demands at the driver to get the vehicle under control. The van continues to swerve side-to-side, the driver unable to regain control.
Another hit and the van lurches to the side and crashes into something solid.
Patrick collides into me, colorful words spilling from my mouth as we slide towards Jay. My back slams into the wall as we come to a halt, the behemoth smashed up against me. My ears ring from the impact, and it takes several seconds to get my eyes to focus. Patrick may be disproportionate as hell, but he’s still really fucking heavy.
“Jay, tell me it’s who I think it is,” I grit out, taking advantage of the chaos
and wrapping my arm around Patrick’s neck in a steel-tight grip. His hands fly to
my arm, clawing at me as I gradually crush his windpipe. He struggles, and I clench my jaw as I fight to keep him still.
I’m weak, in an insurmountable amount of pain, and my muscles are
loosening.