The storage door rose with a squeal. Cold air whistled through, chilling the sweat on Karl’s face. Despite the torching pain in his knees, he shivered in the unheated room.
Light leaked in. Pale, but bright enough to blind him after God knew how many hours of darkness. Beyond the rising door, he saw three sets of legs. Two were fidgeting, as if they had to use the toilet. Karl knew the feeling. He’d considered wetting himself for hours but refused for fear his pants would freeze to his legs.
As more light filled the room, the forks and spoons glimmered around him in a messy steel pile. He reached behind him for the steak knife. He tucked two numb fingers under it and worked it into his grasp. He hadn’t been able to saw through his ankle bindings—not with his knees protesting—but maybe he could defend himself. It was a big maybe, though. His palms were sore and sweaty. His grip on the handle felt anything but secure. With trembling fingers, he tucked the knife partway up his sleeve for safekeeping.
The door rose higher, letting in the sunlight. Daytime.
He pressed his palms together, the blade cold against his forearm.
The overhead door stopped with a clank. Candace entered, strain written into her face. The other two stood behind. She surveyed the mess on the floor before she kicked the pile of silverware. Utensils clattered everywhere.
“Whatever knife you’ve got, drop it,” she said, standing over him. “If you so much as cut the air I’m breathing, you’re dead.”
“No knife,” Karl said, wiggling his fingers for her. “Listen, I gotta use the bathroom. Can’t keep holding it in.”
“Your daughter staked out my place last night,” she said, ignoring his plea. “Then she left your house after I explicitly warned her not to. Whatever she’s planning, you’re paying the price for it.” She looked over her shoulder at a man standing tall, his back turned. “Narducci’s husband volunteered to drive you out of the zone.”
“Wait, if you do this, how—” Karl flinched as his knees burned anew. “How am I supposed to explain my missing knees?”
“That’s on you.” Candace squatted over him. Her eyes, which had offered many comforting looks through the years, now gleamed with a dull, unshakable grayness. “Think hard. If you can’t come up with something convincing, we can’t keep you around.”
Panic jolted inside him. She’d just suggested murdering him. After everything he’d done for the Traders. After all their time together.
“You’d never,” he said, panting. He raised his voice so the others could hear. “For crying out loud, we been making love for six years.”
“You two? Ugh.” The voice belonged to Bill Werner. Unbelievable. Ever since Werner had brought up Karl’s talk with Adler, it seemed he’d fallen into her good graces. “Candace, really? You and Karl?”
“It happened, yes.” Candace met Karl’s eyes. “But it wasn’t love. Bodily needs, at most. You were available, and I couldn’t risk involving myself with someone outside the group.”
“You don’t mean that,” Karl said, his face blazing hotter than his knees. “You don’t!”
“I sure do.” She turned to Mr. Narducci. “Pop your trunk.”
Karl saw his opening and rolled toward Candace. Silverware rattled as he flipped onto his chest, then onto his other side. In position, he slid the knife from his sleeve, clutched the handle, and thrust it backward.
His cuffed wrists ached, but only for a moment. What followed was the satisfying hitch of the blade sinking through flesh. Candace wailed before she dropped on her rump. Silverware rattled everywhere. He rolled onto his back, lying head-to-toe beside her. She clutched her ankle, growling. Karl saw her blood flow over a spoon.
He tried to sit up.
Candace threw her fist. Her knuckles cracked along his forehead, and then the back of his head thudded against cold concrete. His ears rang, his vision blurred.
Hands gripped him beneath each armpit and lifted him to his feet. Karl wobbled on his bound ankles. Candace shouted something but he couldn’t make out her words. Sounded like she told them to stop.
Relief whooshed through his chest.
But only for a second.
The two men steered him toward Candace. Karl couldn’t hear what she said next. His eyes started to focus. He thought he saw something flash in Candace’s hand.
Then her arm shot forward.
Something sharp pierced his neck.
Five miles out Rosita woke up, groaning.
Ash fought the urge to turn and look. Snow was falling in shredded white curtains, and she needed to focus as the storm intensified. The wiper blades shrieked with every pass, as if the vehicle were crying out in pain. It certainly wasn’t in any shape to handle the slick interstate. As the bald tires continuously skidded, Ash wanted to shriek.
“We should pull over,” Cheeto said from the passenger seat.
“Not yet.” She tightened her grip on the wheel.
Another mile passed. Rosita cried out, thumping the floor.
From the back, Trent delivered updates. Apparently the woman’s eyes now looked like they were boiling in their sockets.
Even with the heater blasting, Ash shivered. She jerked the steering wheel, and the van slid into the next lane, drawing a honk from the truck behind them.
Enough with this shit. She pulled over. The van crunched past the rumble strips and stopped along the shoulder. Interstate traffic blitzed by. She grabbed her phone and dialed Candace. As it rang, she looked over at Cheeto. He gazed outside, thumb clicking anxiously at his lighter.
The call went to voicemail. Ash dialed again. That call got blocked. Great.
“Trent, get Rosita’s cell. I’ll call Candace from hers.”
In the back Trent wrestled Rosita against a drum case. He lifted her phone and tossed it forward. Ash caught it and asked Rosita for the PIN. When the woman didn’t answer, Ash threatened to drive another mile. The threat worked. She entered the code and dialed Candace. Rosita yelled without words.
“Quiet her down!” Ash said, jamming the phone to her ear.
Candace answered on the third ring.
“I’m busy here, Rose,” Candace said. “What do you need?”
“She needs you to release my father.”
“Ash? Un-fucking-believable. I’m hanging up.”
“You hang up, Rosita goes blind. I have her in the van. We’re approaching Clarks Summit.”
“Bullshit.”
“Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll put her on speaker.”
Ash stretched the phone back. She nodded for Trent to take his hand off Rosita’s mouth. When he did, the woman shrieked. Within seconds a raw voice roared through the speaker—not Candace but Bill Werner.
“Rose! Rose, get outta there!”
“She can’t,” Ash said calmly. “Not unless my dad—”
“You stupid skank! Let my wife go!”
“Let’s try this instead. You send my father home—alone—and have him call me. Once he’s safe, I’ll release her.”
Ash hung up and took a deep breath. The phone rang multiple times, but she ignored it.
In the passenger’s seat, Cheeto forced a smile. “I can live with that deal. Get your dad back, give Rosita back. Everybody wins.”