Chapter 49

Devon stalked away from the van, anger seething inside. This part of the plan had been the one thing he’d disagreed with. The jerk wanted him to find some tiny cabin out in the middle of the uninhabited areas of California.

There weren’t many uninhabited areas, but there were enough that the man he was dealing with had found a secluded cabin where the exchange would take place. He shouldn’t have agreed to this stupidity. They should have done the exchange in Los Angeles. Weird shit happened all the time in LA, and no one would have paid any attention to them passing a woman from the back of a van to the trunk of a car.

Now Devon was lost because the instructions had been too vague. He went back over the instructions, pissed that he couldn’t figure out where to go.

“Fuck!” As the sound of his scream died out, he looked around, making sure he really was alone. He was.

He was going to have to backtrack and figure out where he’d made the wrong turn. Had he actually made a wrong turn? Maybe he was on the right track. If he wasn’t, he could drive around out here for hours and get lost.

It was best for him to turn around and backtrack. Then he could figure out what had happened and where he’d gone wrong.

Back in the van, he checked on his cargo, seeing that it seemed like she’d been crying. He wanted to make her pay for everything she’d done. A part of him wanted to humiliate her even more and strip her down, fucking her right here. But he was running late since he’d gotten lost from the stupid directions that had been given to him. He didn’t have time. Not even enough time to take out his frustrations on her. This fucking sucked.

He pushed away the desire to hurt her and got behind the wheel, pointing the van back the way he’d come. Somehow, he made it back to the freeway and stopped. He pulled out the directions and studied the map.

Why the fuck hadn’t the man just given him the exact address? Instead, he’d said for Devon to drive ten minutes from this spot, going at fifty-five miles an hour. Like that was possible on the freeway. Why not just say what exit to take? People on the freeways here either drove eighty or thirty. There was no way to drive exactly fifty-five miles an hour.

He opened his calculator application, cursing the jerk as he tried to figure out how to do the math problem. This was like those awful word problems he’d fucking hated in school. He didn’t even know how to form the problem.

A car going fifty-five miles an hour in ten minutes would travel how far? What did he need to do to make it a math problem? Was it fifty-five divided by ten? That wasn’t right.

He closed his eyes, pissed that he couldn’t figure it out. Why didn’t he remember how to do this?

“Fuck!” The sound reverberated in the van, and he saw Nichole jump. He wanted to go back and scream at her, berate her enough to make himself feel better.

No, it wasn’t fifty-five divided by ten. It was fifty-five divided by sixty. That got him a number under one, but then he remembered to multiply it by ten.

The answer was basically nine. Why the fuck hadn’t the guy said for him to go nine miles and take the exit? He wanted to beat the jerk.

The guy was giving him a couple of million dollars. That would go a long way toward his survival. Also, this man would make Nichole’s life hell for years. She would be starved, beaten, abused, and tortured until the man got bored with her, and then he would sell her to a brothel. She would never have happiness again. Her life would be ruined, and that was worth whatever headache he had to suffer because the man he was selling her to was a twat.

When he got the money, he would be satisfied. She had caused his family enough problems, and it was time to take her down. She would suffer, and he would party. That was the way it should be.