“Seat belt,” I order, not bothering to put mine on because I’m too busy starting the van and shoving the gearshift into drive.
I peel out through the yard, making deep tire tracks in the grass as I whip a U-turn. Gravel kicks up when I speed down the lane, forming a cloud of dust behind us.
In the rearview mirror, I see the men run out of the house. The one without the sunglasses bounds down the steps like he’s ready to chase us on foot.
“Brace yourself,” I say as the RV comes into view. “This is gonna be bumpy.”
There’s a wider gap between the road and the trees on the left side. I’ll have a better chance at scraping by if I go that way.
Slowing a bit, I veer off the lane and hope the ground isn’t too soft from the rain yesterday. If we get stuck in mud, we’re fucked.
We creep by the RV without any issues with our tires.
We’re almost in the clear when a third man steps out from behind the RV, putting himself right in my path. For a second, I consider running him over, but he holds up a fucking AK-47.
And points it right at Rosalie.
Gasping, her hands tighten on the armrests.
I slam on the brakes. We jerk to a stop literally two feet from the man. He doesn’t even flinch. Like a psycho, he keeps an almost bored expression on his face, as if he’s prepared to get hit by a car just for a chance to stop us.
“Preston?” Rosalie’s voice wavers. “Do we have a backup plan for this?”
No. I don’t. I was in such a hurry to get Rosalie away from here, I didn’t consider the possibility that there were more men hanging back.
Prowling, the armed man dressed in black slacks and a black Henley takes slow steps as he rounds the van and keeps his aim trained on my woman.
All it takes is a second to shoot someone. One second.
I could floor it, but he could hit us from behind or blow out our tires.
I’ve witnessed enough violence to know when someone will follow through with a threat. And the asshole in front of us will pull that trigger. There’s a cold determination in his brown eyes.
Unlike the other guys, this one has a short blond haircut that reminds me of a military style, and I realize we’re facing someone who’s trained with weapons and combat.
I hold my hands up in a show of surrender.
In hindsight, I wish I’d driven by on the other side of the RV. At least then Rosalie could bolt into the forest and have a fighting chance while I tackle him. With how close the vehicles are, she can’t open her door. She’s trapped in here.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I rasp.
“Is it over?” Sounding more scared than I’ve ever heard her, she grabs my arm. “Are we caught?”
Impatiently, the man motions with the gun, wanting us to get out.
I slowly lower my hand to the door handle and pull it while speaking quietly to Rosalie. “I can try to negotiate. Now’s the time for words. I’ll talk to these guys. Maybe they can be reasoned with.”
As we shuffle out, I make sure Rosalie’s partly behind me, but I keep my hands visible so I don’t look like a threat. “If you let me call Ivan, I can explain. Rosalie’s not well.”
The man’s jaw ticks. “If the girl’s sick, she should be with her dad.” American accent of the southern variety, which means he’s probably not one of Ivan’s tried and true goons.
“She doesn’t want to be with him.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Footsteps on gravel approach quickly from behind. Spinning, I see the guy from the porch.
He raises his gun, and I pin Rosalie against the van to protect her.
Without hesitation, he pulls the trigger.
I grunt as my shoulder gets punctured, and within a split second, I realize I haven’t been shot by a bullet. There’s a needle-like dart sticking into me.
A tranquilizer.
Another one is fired off, and it hits my thigh.
So much for talking it out.
“No!” Rosalie must think I’m about to die, because she shoves me back and puts her body in front of mine.
She takes the next dart. Her body jerks when it pierces her stomach, and from the ‘oh shit’ look on the man’s face, I’d say he knows he just made a big mistake.
“Rosie, baby.” Turning her to face me, I yank the needle from her abdomen.
Touching the spot, she whimpers.
“You crazy girl,” I scold her. Under any other circumstance, I’d never call Rosalie crazy. It’s a trigger word for her. But fuck. She was ready to take a bullet for me. Framing her face, I touch my forehead to hers before the sedative can takeover. “Why’d you do that? Why, baby, why?”
“He was shooting you.”
My arms are suddenly pulled behind me. Immediately, metal clicks around my wrists. Just because I can, I whip my head back and feel a crunch when my hard skull meets something soft.
While the American guy starts yelling in my ear about having a broken nose, the other man tackles Rosalie.
It feels like everything is happening in slow motion as I watch my worst nightmare.
Dropping to my knees, I’m helpless while Rosalie screams, scratches, kicks, and elbows.
I’ve seen her fight like this before.
In fact, I’ve been on the receiving end of it. I remember how she ran from me that first night. It’s kind of funny how she thought she could take me on in a chokehold. Unfortunately, she was no match for me, and she won’t win with this guy either.
My thoughts are fuzzy. My limbs are heavy. I’m going to lose consciousness soon. We both will.
I’m bigger than Rosalie, but I got double the dose she did. Would’ve been triple if she hadn’t gotten in front of me.
She’s being affected by the tranquilizer, too, but at a slower rate. Either that, or her will to struggle is stronger than mine.
She’s wild, bucking and biting as she fights a battle she knows she’ll lose.
My crazy girl. Never loved anything the way I loved her. Never been loved back with the same ferocity either.
And I failed her. I failed my beautiful, fragile, innocent wife.
I fall face first to the ground. The damp grass pads my landing.
Then everything goes dark.
The constant rumble of the RV is somewhat soothing as I lie bound on the bed in the back room. My hands are tied in front of me with white fabric, and my ankles have zip ties around them. There’s also a gag in my mouth.
It didn’t start out this way.
When I woke up a couple hours ago, I wasn’t restrained. Immediately, I got up and yelled profanities at the men. I demanded to be with Preston, and when I saw that he was uncomfortably passed out on the floor of the kitchen with his hands cuffed behind his back—and he had two more darts stuck in his leg to keep him unconscious—I threw a fit.
I broke some mugs and kicked a cabinet until it cracked.
The two Russian guys tried to calm me down, so I bit both of them. Apparently they felt threatened enough to tie me up.
I don’t know what time it is, but it’s dark out, which means we must be pretty far from where they took us.
The guy with the shorter beard—who I’ve learned is called Nico—appears in the open doorway. “We’re getting dinner.”
I glare at him.
“Do you want anything to eat? To drink?”