Chapter Eleven

I jerk awake,my head bouncing and hitting the hard floor of the van. Another pothole. I think. Wherever we're going, the road is full of them.

Fort…something…? Everything's fuzzy. Like my ears are full of cotton. My brain too. Strange scents surround me. Sweet. Sweaty. Someone puked.

My heart races. Was it me? They gave me something. Koyla. Koyla's dead. Ry killed him. I'm not back there. Not chained to that pipe. Not high.

I wheeze, the panic so strong, I'm about to lose myself to it.

"Wren."

The deep voice shocks me enough to open my eyes. Dax. He's on his side across from me.

"Breathe," he says. His voice is thick, and he groans as he stretches his legs.

A dark shadow moves between us. "Quiet!" one of the men who took me shouts. He punctuates his order with a swift kick to Dax's torso.

"She's…panicking…asshole," he manages. "What…do you think…is gonna happen if she's not okay when Ryker…shows up?"

I dig my fingers into my palms until I can't stand the pain any longer. It helps. Enough for me to take an unsteady breath. Nausea rolls through me. Pressure tightens a band around my stomach, building from just under my ribs and moving down like a wave.

No. Not here. Not like this. I try to feel between my legs, but my limbs are so heavy. My water hasn't broken. Not yet. At least…I don't think so.

The walls pulse all around me like some sort of demented fun house. Darkness creeps along the edges of my vision, and my head tingles.

The disgusting strawberry drink threatens to come back up. I should have known what was happening. Should have told the nurse to leave until Ry figured out how to open that fire door.

They still would have taken you.

But…I could have screamed. Maybe someone would have heard me. I don't remember much after they grabbed me. Snatches. The elevator doors closing. A blanket. Then a whiff of fresh air before I landed on this hard floor.

I have to do something. Find a way to get myself out of this mess. Dax and Rip too.

"I'm going to be sick," I moan and try to curl into a ball. "I need water…"

The guy who kicked Dax mutters something under his breath, but he unzips a large duffel bag and retrieves a bottle, then tosses it at my feet.

I could reach it, but if they think I'm more out of it than I am, maybe they'll let down their guard? "Help me…"

"You are an idiot, Mashaal," the man in the front passenger seat says sharply. "And we are not monsters. Sit down."

Mashaal sinks down at the back of the van, while the other man makes his way over to me. "I am sorry for this, Mrs. McCabe. We do not wish to hurt you." He helps me sit up, twists the cap off the bottle, and holds it to my lips.

It's warm, but it helps banish the sickly sweet remnants of strawberry and drugs. "Who are you?" I whisper when he reseals the bottle and sets it next to me.

"My name is Ramin. My brother, Jalal, is driving. Mashaal is my cousin, and his brother Hadi is following us. We have been looking for your husband for many years."

"Why?"

Ramin settles down, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees. "Because ten years ago, the United States Special Forces bombed the apartment building we lived in." He pulls up the sleeve of his dark brown tunic to reveal terrible burn scars all the way up to his elbow. "Many people died that day. Others…suffered."

"We didn't bomb the building," Dax says, and Mashaal springs up and punches him in the face. His head snaps back and hits the wall of the van.

"Please…" I cradle my belly, hoping my daughter will kick and let me know whatever they gave me isn't hurting her. "Don't do this. If you let us go?—"

His expression hardens. That was the wrong thing to say. My legs shake as I pull them up to try to protect my baby, but he doesn't strike me. "You, we will release. But McCabe and those two," he cuts his gaze to Dax and Ripper, "will die."

Tears spill over onto my cheeks. He can't let me go. "I know your names. And your faces. You're going to kill me too, aren't you?"

He's almost tender as he reaches out and lays his palm on my belly. "No. I give you my word. When McCabe, Holloway, and Richards are dead, we will leave this world knowing we have brought honor to our families. It does not matter that you can identify us. Because we will be in Jannah."

I want to squirm away from his touch. "What's…Jannah?"

"Heaven."

* * *

I don't knowhow long we've been driving. But at least ten or fifteen minutes have passed since Raman gave me water. Dax hasn't moved since Mashaal punched him. Ripper is staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy, and shaking. I wish I could help him. But another cramp—this one much stronger—rolls through me, and I drop my head to my knees.

Is this labor? I wish I knew for sure. Though, would Ramin be able to tell that it's not? If I act like I'm about to give birth, would he take me to the hospital now? Or would he even care?

I don't trust him to actually let me go. If I cause trouble, he could hurt me. Or kill me before Ryker can get to wherever the heck we're going. I need to see him one more time. To tell him I love him. To tell him this isn't his fault. If he can't find a way to rescue me—Dax and Rip too—he'll never forgive himself.

Reaching for the bottle of water, I try to remember what the books told me. Early labor can last for hours. Even a day. I was only two centimeters earlier. I can't be much more than that now. Right?

"How much longer?" I ask, and let my head fall back against the side of the van. Let them think I'm not doing very well. I need them to underestimate me if I have any hope of getting out of this. "Gonna need…to pee soon."

Ramin turns and frowns at me. "Forty-five minutes. We cannot stop. I am sorry."

Well, that sucks. But he leans closer to the driver and tells him to go faster, then starts texting someone. What I wouldn't give to get my hands on his phone.

"Wherever…we're going…" I say, purposely slurring my words and closing my eyes, "there better be a bathroom. You…have no idea…how often…pregnant women need to pee."

* * *

By the timethe van coasts to a stop, everything hurts. My contractions—and I'm sure they are contractions now—are fifteen minutes apart. How much longer do I have? Four hours? Less?

I lied earlier about needing to pee, but when Ramin lifts me to my feet, I regret drinking that entire bottle of water.

"Please let me go," I whimper as the side door to the van slides open and a beam of sunlight slices into the dim interior. "You don't need me anymore."

"Your husband will not give himself up if we do not show him proof of life," Ramin says. He's almost apologetic. "Mashaal, if Holloway or Richards move, shoot them in the kneecaps. Hadi, Malik, and Wadid will help you secure them in the bunker. I need Jalal to help me with Mrs. McCabe."

"Don't separate us!" I cry. "Please!"

We haven't been allowed to talk. I'm not sure Ripper's even lucid. But they're my only connection to anything right now, and I'm terrified of what's going to happen to them and to me.

"You do not want to see what comes next," Ramin says softly. "I swear to you, as long as your husband gives himself up to us, by the end of today, this will all be nothing but an unpleasant memory."

Jalal takes one arm, Ramin the other, and they muscle me out of the van.

"Dax! Ripper!"

"Tell Evianna…" Dax says, but then Mashaal whips him across the face with his pistol.

Panic tightens in my chest. I can't see them anymore. Or hear them. Only the wind whipping around us. This used to be a parking lot, but huge clumps of grass and weeds are growing up through cracks in the asphalt.

My legs are wobbly, but Ramin and Jalal keep me upright as we make our way through rusty metal gates. Within a minute, we're surrounded by cracked, mossy concrete, the massive structures in eerie disrepair.

Down a long set of stairs, they pause outside a narrow opening. "Take her to the toilet, then lock her in the second bunker," Ramin says. "Bring her food, water, and a blanket. She should not be made to suffer." He turns to me. "I am sorry for this. But you will be home soon. Do not worry."

Jalal pushes me into the shadowy passageway before I can respond. It's so narrow, he can't stay at my side, but instead makes me shuffle ahead of him. It's a maze. A right turn, then a left, then another left. The overhead lights flicker and buzz, and though I've never believed in ghosts, I'm sure this place is haunted.

"How much farther?" I ask, slumping against the wall when I can't hold myself up any longer.

"Not far," he says softly. He's smaller than Ramin. Weaker.

If I have any hope of escaping, I have to do it before we get to the bunker. Before I'm "locked up" somewhere no one will ever find me.

I twist around, ball my hand into a fist, and slam it into Jalal's balls. He goes down with a high-pitched shriek. I take off down the passageway as quickly as I can—which isn't very fast given my size and how badly I have to pee. But two more turns, and I see daylight. I want to cry when I burst out of the tiny space. To my left, bunker after bunker after bunker. All with heavy metal doors. To my right, a massive concrete theater at least two hundred feet across. The only way out looks to be a rusty ladder at the far end. I have to try.

But before I make it more than ten steps, another contraction, this one so much more painful than any of the others, sends me to my knees with a wail.

Jalal grabs my arm and yanks me up, rage in his brown eyes. "Did you think you could get away?" he snaps. "There is nowhere to go." He twists my arm behind my back, and I cry out. "I did not wish to hurt you, but you left me no choice."

Panic holds my chest in a vise. I start to hyperventilate as he forces me into the bunker. It's cold in here. A long metal conduit with two lights runs across the space, but only one of them works.

Liquid drips down my legs and soaks into my socks. Oh, God. My water just broke. Darkness creeps along the fringes of my vision.

"Help…me," I wheeze.

"No." He releases my arm, and seconds later, slams the door and locks me in.

I sink down to my hands and knees, rocking back and forth and sobbing. I'm alone. In active labor. With no way out.