I stare at him as my brain scrambles to make sense of this. “Is this—”
He clamps his hand over my mouth, muting me. “Don’t say one more fucking word. You think you know it all,” he says, releasing me as he staggers to his feet, clutching the photos protectively to his chest. “But you don’t know shit.” He stumbles out of the room as I sit on the floor, numb and in a daze.
“You need to go,” Saint says, lifting me up by my upper arms. “We’ll clean up before the oldies get home.” He nudges me toward the door. “Theo.” He looks over his shoulder. “Grab the first aid kit and tend to Harlow and Galen.”
“I’ve got my own first aid kit. I can look after myself,” I mumble, still staring at the empty doorway.
“Of course, you do,” Saint says in an exasperated tone, grabbing my face and forcing my gaze to his. “If you breathe a word about this to your mom or my dad, they will be the last words you ever speak. Understood.”
“They would be the last people I tell anything to,” I blurt, too shellshocked to play the game.
He peers into my eyes, nodding as he sees the truth. “Go. And stay in your room.”
I walk on wobbly limbs toward the door, clutching on to the doorway as I cast a glance over my shoulder. “Why did my dad have those pictures of Galen’s mom?” I ask.
He stares at me as Caz starts cleaning up the mess and Theo gathers his things.
The connection between us kicks in, shooting electrical currents across the room, and it’s like being hit by a lightning bolt.
His brow creases, and for the first time, Saint Lennox looks less than assured. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
_______________
Their retaliation is swift and not entirely unexpected. However, I didn’t anticipate being dragged out of my bed in the middle of the night and thrown into the back seat of their car. I’m in my pajamas with no shoes, a rag stuffed in my mouth, and a bag over my head wedged between two of the assholes as we drive along a bumpy road in the dead of the night. They don’t talk, because the heavy metal blaring through the speakers is too loud to converse.
If they wanted to deliberately unhinge me, kidnapping me is their best chance of success. My nerves are frayed, and I sit stiffly in between them, wondering what fresh hell this is.
I don’t know how long we drive for, but it’s long enough to leave the town boundary. If I had to guess, we’re going to Prestwick, because that’s their main stomping ground.
The music cuts off when we come to an abrupt stop. I’m yanked out of the car unceremoniously, and I cry out against the gag in my mouth when my bare feet land on rough gravel. I stumble, almost tripping until someone grabs a fistful of my shirt, pulling me upright. A gun prods into my lower back as I’m marched forward, stumbling over the uneven path until my feet meet damp grass.
Without my vision, I put one foot in front of the other, walking blindly ahead, hoping I don’t faceplant a tree or run into any wildlife with big teeth. My balance is wonky, and I’m wobbling and swaying like I’m drunk or high. I urge my errant pulse to calm down while I concentrate on my surroundings, remembering what Diesel has taught me. The chill night air coasts over my prickly skin as we walk. It’s deathly quiet out here. The only sounds are the soft tread of our footsteps and the occasional hoot of an owl. I start counting my steps, trying to make sense of which direction we’re going in, but it’s challenging.
I have a pretty strong idea where I am. My money’s on Prestwick Forest, their usual burial ground, which does little to help my unease.
If they decide to kill me, no one will ever find my body out here.
Bits of fluff adhere to the inside of my mouth, and I gag, almost choking. A cold pair of hands pulls me back against a solid chest, and someone rolls the covering up to my nose, removing the cloth from my mouth. I splutter, coughing out bits of fuzz, before swallowing lungsful of crisp, clean, pine-smelling air.
“Keep moving,” Saint commands, his voice close to my ear, confirming it’s him I’ve been leaning against. He lets me go, keeping the gun prodded into my back as we forge ahead. Giant goose bumps sprout on my frosty skin, and I wrap my arms around my shivering form to try and keep warm.
I jump when some animal lets loose a bloodcurdling howl, a whimper escaping my mouth before I can stop it, and they all laugh.
The bastards.
Eventually, we come to a stop after it feels like we’ve been walking for miles. Cuts and blisters cover the soles of my feet and they ache. The covering is removed from my head, and hands sweep my tangled hair back off my face.
“Screw off.” I swat the hands away, smoothing my hair behind my ears and leveling a glare at Caz as he watches me with evident amusement. He’s firmly back on the anti-Harlow team, and I doubt my next seduction attempt will be as successful.
I look around, taking in the environment. We’re deep in a forest, and tall, ominous-looking trees hover over us as we trek across a grassy path. The moon is high in the sky, casting creepy shadows on the ground below.
“Tie her hands behind her back,” Saint instructs.
Galen steps forward, circling me with an evil grin, like a serial killer hunting his next victim. His face is mottled with cuts and bruises, and I take some small satisfaction from that fact. He takes enormous pleasure in yanking my arms back so tight they almost wrench from the sockets. That’s clearly a specialty of his, and he’s waiting for me to cry out, but I don’t make a sound. Not even when he ties the rope too tight and it feels like he’s cut off my circulation.
“On your knees,” Saint demands, and before I’ve had time to even consider complying, Galen thrusts his knee in my back, and I faceplant the ground. The muddy grass is cold and squishy under my cheek, but at least, I avoided eating a mouthful of it.
Saint yanks me up by my hair, fisting it around his hand and keeping me steady on my knees. He stands at my side, while the three stooges stand in front of me with their arms folded, wearing mutual inhumane expressions. They are all dressed warmly in hoodies, jeans, and boots, and a shudder works its way through me as I remember how fucking cold I am.
Saint removes a gun from the back waistband of his jeans. “Open your mouth.” His blue eyes pierce mine as he attempts to look deep into my soul.
My instinct is to tell him to go to hell, but my sense of self-preservation is stronger, so I open my mouth wide, keeping very still as he slides the muzzle past my lips.
“Suck on it,” he commands, and I’d arch a brow if I didn’t have a fucking gun in my mouth and I wasn’t concentrating so hard.
I do as he asks, licking all sides of the gun while keeping my gaze trained on his.
“Fuck, that’s—”
Saint whips his head around, and Caz breaks off mid-speech. When Saint turns back around, his gaze is like a heat-seeking missile as he watches me with dark intent. A knowing, proud smile slightly curves the corners of his mouth, and I don’t know if he realizes it, but he’s let the mask slip, and he’s broadcasting his feelings pretty loud.
I’m eye level with his crotch, and there’s no hiding the monster bulge tenting his jeans.
Where Caz is turned on at the sight of me sucking a gun, Saint is aroused because I’m obeying him.