I don’t nod or shake my head. Narrowing my eyes, I mentally tell him to go fuck himself.
Unfortunately, I’m not telepathic and he doesn’t get the message, because he climbs onto the bed and removes the fabric from my mouth. “Are you going to be a good girl now?”
“Fuck you.” I snap my teeth at his hand, almost getting his finger in the process.
Expecting him to be mad, I flinch a little because I’m sure he’s going to retaliate with violence. But he doesn’t. Instead, he laughs.
I’m so taken off-guard by his reaction that he has time to slip the gag back into place without risking injury.
“She’s Ivan’s daughter, all right,” he announces to the other guys before leaving to join them up front.
He’s totally unaffected by my behavior. I can hear him talking and chuckling with the other Russian guy. I didn’t catch his name, but I’ve been calling him Shades in my mind because he hasn’t taken his sunglasses off this whole time.
Maybe Nico and Shades don’t want to hurt me. Either that, or they’ve been ordered not to. They could’ve, but they haven’t. All the bumps and bruises I’ve acquired are due to my own refusal to be subdued.
The American one, on the other hand… I don’t like him. His name is Donovan. It seems like his job is just to drive, but every now and then, I swear he glowers at me in the rearview mirror. I’ve been a pain in his ass, and I’ve done damage to his RV.
Good.
Before the day is through, I hope to make all three of these goons regret taking on the task of retrieving me.
Wiggling like a worm, I scoot toward the end of the bed and look out the door. Preston’s still on the floor with no signs of waking. I’m worried he’s cold and uncomfortable. The least they could do is give him a blanket.
Honestly, I’m more concerned about him than myself.
I might have Ivan’s protection, but Preston doesn’t. He’s going to be in trouble, and it’s all my fault. If I’d just gone to my father in the first place, none of this would be happening.
The RV takes a slow turn, and then we come to a stop in a parking lot. Through the windshield, I can see streetlights and lit-up signs for stores and restaurants.
Now that everything is still, I’m aware of how sick I feel. Whether it’s motion sickness, withdrawals, or the fact that I haven’t eaten in hours, I’m not sure.
So when Nico comes back with a sack of burgers and fries, my mouth waters and my stomach makes audible noises at the smell.
Then there’s a painful twist somewhere in my abdomen.
Never mind.
It’s not hunger.
I’m going to throw up.
Making urgent noises behind the gag, I shake my head at Nico.
“Don’t bite me,” he says, carefully pulling the fabric out of my mouth.
I promptly puke on his shiny black shoes.
Stepping back, he barks out a few harsh-sounding words. I don’t know that they mean, but I’m guessing he’s cussing up a storm.
“More trouble than they’re worth,” Donovan calls from the driver’s seat. His voice is a bit nasally because of his messed-up nose. Preston did a number on his face. There’s a lot of swelling and bruising.
I heave a few more times, spitting what I can onto the floor, but when it’s clear my stomach has nothing left but bile, my body finally stops rejecting what little fluids I have in me.
Still disgruntled about his shoes, Nico grabs a bottle of water from the little fridge in the kitchen. He brings it to me and holds it out.
My throat burns from throwing up, and my mouth is a desert thanks to the gag, but I refuse to take the water.
I want it. I could grab it with my tied-up hands, but it feels wrong to accept anything from the enemy. I might be harming myself in the process, but declining his help is the only form of protest I have at the moment.
“Come on,” Nico insists softly before glancing at Preston. “He would want you to, you know? If he were awake, he’d tell you to drink something.”
He’s right. I can see it now—Preston waking up to find me dehydrated and vomiting. Pissed that I didn’t take better care of myself when I had the chance.
Wrapping my shaking fingers around the plastic, I take the bottle and lean up to sip it.
Nico’s shoulders slump as if he’s relieved. “There you go. We’ll be there soon.”
The RV gets going again.
In the next twenty minutes or so, I slowly finish the water while watching Preston for any signs of waking. When we pull up in front of a downtown street lined with concrete buildings, his foot moves.
My eyes dart to the bad guys. They’re not watching him. If he could just have a few more minutes, he might come out of it and I can talk to him. Look into his eyes. Hold his hand.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get more time to wake up because Donovan shuts off the RV. He and Shades get up from their seats and go over to Preston. Lifting him by the shoulders and ankles, they haul him out the door.
“Where are you taking him?” I shout after them.
Panicked about losing sight of Preston, I squirm farther off the bed. I might land in my own puke, but I don’t care at this point.
Nico approaches with a knife. “Do you want to be a good girl and walk, or am I going to have to throw you over my shoulder?”
If agreeing to be good will get me out of here faster so I can stay with Preston, I’ll do it. “Walk. I’ll walk.”
Seeming satisfied with my compliance, Nico cuts the zip ties from my ankles. He leaves the cloth bindings on my wrists and helps me stand. I’m stiff and achy, but I loosen up the more I move.
When Nico and I make it out of the RV, I study my new surroundings as I step onto the curb.
I’m not sure what this part of town looks like during the day, but at night it’s pretty creepy. Decrepit brick buildings line both sides of the street, and a lot of them look unoccupied. There’s trash littered on the sidewalks. Several of the streetlamps are burned out, so entire sections of street are cloaked in shadows.
The guys carrying Preston are across the street, and they’re heading to a closed shop. Old vacuums are lined up inside the dark windows, and there’s a sign that says, Jesus saved you. We’ll save your vacuum.
What the fuck? I thought we’d be going to a fancy office or a warehouse. Anything mafia-ish. This is just bizarre.
It’s probably a front. If someone is dealing with illegal shit, a vacuum repair shop would be a good way to disguise it.
Preston almost gets dropped on his head when Donovan struggles with getting the glass door open.
“If they’d let me help, I could make sure Preston doesn’t get hurt more than he already is,” I tell Nico, yanking my arm from his grip.
Ignoring me, he fusses over my messy appearance. He removes a leaf remnant from my hair and straightens my clothing. Wanting to make me look presentable, I assume.
Batting his hands away, I march forward, determined to be close to Preston. But an arm hooks around my waist before I can get very far. Not more than a second later, a vehicle speeds past the RV, just a couple feet from me. It’s so close, the whoosh of wind makes my hair fly around my face.
Then I notice the vehicle is familiar. It’s our van, and it’s being parked here. There must’ve been a fourth man in the group to retrieve our stuff. Probably to erase any evidence that we were at the cabin.