Chapter 31 - Katie

I must have fallen asleep or drifted back into unconsciousness because the next thing I knew, I was in a shack. Plank wood walls, no windows, but a rusty metal door barred shut. The ceiling looked to be ancient sheet metal. It was literally just a shed, but where we'd ended up, I had no idea.

I was still handcuffed but grateful they hadn't put the bag back over my head. That was the only thing I was thankful for, because my stomach was still churning, and my head throbbed. That probably meant a concussion, which also explained the dozing off. How else could I sleep when I could be killed at any time?

The two men sat at a rickety card table, with a bottle of cheap whiskey between them. Next to the door was a low plastic table that held a battery-operated lamp, the car keys, and another bottle of booze. Were they already celebrating this mission of theirs being over? If so, why was I still alive? It was a tiny glimmer of hope, and I clung to it.

Hunched over their half-full glasses, they were speaking to each other but too low to hear, even in the tiny place, and even so, I wouldn't have understood them. Except for when they were talking to me, they mostly spoke in some other language I didn't recognize.

The only languages I was even a little familiar with were from hearing Aleks speaking on the phone in Russian a few times, my sparse recollection of high school Spanish, and my latest attempt at learning Portuguese. None of the words I heard now resembled any of those languages. I still tried to make anything out, maybe the name of the town we'd arrived in, or a name I could use later.

They still didn't seem to care about hiding their identities in any way, not even hats or hoodies to hide their hair color. I took in every detail so I could make sure a sketch artist got an accurate drawing.

I had to believe I was going to be able to do that, get out of here somehow, or the tears would start, and they'd notice I was awake. As it was, I lay as still as possible, trying to ignore my stomach, turning over from the dank smell of the place.

Staring at them and wishing their heads would spontaneously combust didn't work, and one of them eventually turned to check on me. I quickly shut my eyes and went limp, but he only chuckled at my attempt to seem out of it.

"I know you're awake. Just stay quiet, and there won't be any problems."

No, they didn't care at all that I was mentally cataloging every detail of their faces. I wasn't making it home. They were probably only keeping me alive while they waited for the torture specialist to arrive.

I'd never see Aleks's handsome face again, or hear his gruff voice that always ended up tender. Never see Jenna graduate and start the life she deserved. Never know the outcome of Aunt Marjorie's treatment, or get to celebrate with her when she was pronounced healthy again.

"I guess you know who my husband is," I said, desperate enough to try bargaining. They looked at each other, whiskey glasses paused halfway to their lips, and both burst out laughing at that for some reason. I tried again anyway, easing myself to a sitting position against the rough wall. "I'm sure he'll cooperate with you and give you whatever you want to let me go."

The one who killed Sergei knocked back his drink and slammed the glass down before rising. It only took two steps to be at my side, bending over me. His breath stank and was hot on my face as he snarled at me, locking his fingers tight around my jaw so that I couldn't recoil from him.

"We told you to be quiet. That means no talking."

He had the same dead-eyed stare as when I'd watched him slice open Sergei's throat, and my mouth went dry. I couldn't have gotten another word out even if I wanted to, and his cold glare was very persuasive in making me shut up.

"Are you going to stay quiet now?" he asked, reaching to squeeze my wrist.

A bolt of pain shot up to my elbow, reminding me of when one of them had kicked Sergei's gun out of my hand. Everything that happened in the elevator up to the point he killed my bodyguard was a blur, but that part seemed to happen in slow motion. He twisted my bad wrist, and I gritted my teeth so as not to make a noise.

"One more sound out of you, and we'll tie you up like a pig on a spit instead of just these handcuffs."

I finally managed to nod and let out a silent breath of pain when he let go of my face and slammed my hands back down into my lap. My wrist throbbed in time with my head, and I slumped back down. I tried to figure out if sitting up or lying down made my stomach less upset. Both were about the same, but my head hurt less lying in a fetal position, even though it made me feel uncomfortably aware of how helpless I was.

One stomp to the skull, and I'd be dead. They wouldn't even need to dirty up a knife this time. I was consumed with what was going to happen next, certain it wasn't going to be good. It would have been better to think about something more positive than possibly being tortured while I was on speaker phone to Aleks so he'd hear every agonized scream, but I couldn't stop.

The one guy couldn't stop fiddling with his phone, messing around with a puzzle game for a few minutes while the murdering one put his head down on his arms to rest. After getting bored with the game, he checked his emails and text messages before putting the phone down. A minute or two later, he'd pick it up again and start the loop all over.

I couldn't look away from the constant, restless motion of his hands, and it started making me dizzy. My stomach flipped over and started to churn, much more urgently than the mild nausea I'd been fighting since I woke up in the car.

Pressing my hands against my middle, I tried to ignore it, honing in on the guy's brightly colored game on his screen, but soon, my stomach was turning inside out.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. His head whipped around, but the meaner one didn't lift his head. "I'm going to be sick again," I said.

He muttered something but stood up, dragging me by my collar to the door. He dropped his phone on the small table next to the lamp, and after raising the bar, he tossed me outside onto a gravel drive. I was surprised it was still daytime, and the sun made me blink as my bad wrist collapsed underneath me. I swiveled to the side so my shoulder hit the sharp little rocks instead of my face.

A second later, he yanked me up by the back of my shirt and helped me balance while I heaved. There wasn't much left to come out, and there was nothing but a long dirt road connecting the driveway. I couldn't turn my head enough to see behind the shed without appearing suspicious, and the miles of empty desert in front of me didn't give me any helpful clue as to where they'd taken me.

Something like a third of California was desert, and without knowing how long we'd driven or what direction we were going, it was a futile attempt unless there was a visible road sign.

My captor shook me as I let my head drop. Even with despair creeping over me, I wondered if I could outrun him if I found a way to get him to let go.

"You done?" he grunted, hauling me up.

I elbowed him in the gut as hard as I could, expecting him to double over so I could make my break for the road. I was even leaning forward, ready to bolt. But he didn't even flinch or loosen his grip; he just shook me again and looked disappointed.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"You're lucky it was me you tried it with," was all he said as he dumped me back in my corner.

Okay, so maybe one of them wasn't a ruthless killer. I could only see the whiskey bottles, but maybe they had water in the car. I very quietly asked since I was parched and my mouth was disgusting from being sick.

The "nice" one slapped me and told me to shut up. Grabbing his phone off the squat table next to the door, he plopped into his folding chair and started up his routine of scrolling and swiping. I watched him for another few minutes, trying not to think about how thirsty I was, and realized I'd had a full view of his phone this whole time.

An idea came over me that filled me with renewed hope and fresh energy. I waited for him to get bored of the game and set the phone down, and when he picked it up again a few minutes later, I followed the trail of his finger as he unlocked it.

Clamping my lips shut to keep my excitement under wraps, I moaned softly. His head turned to his partner, still resting, then whipped around to glare at me. I had to remember he wasn't nice just because he wasn't as openly cruel as the killer. It was very likely they'd both done their fair share of dispatching people from this world. But I had to try. As long as there was breath left in me, I wanted to see Aleks again.

"Are you serious?" he hissed.

I nodded vigorously, holding my stomach. "Yeah, it's awful."

The other one's head shot up. "Damn it, just leave her outside for a while, she's not going anywhere. I'm sick of the commotion while I'm trying to sleep."

Oh, this was good. I held my breath as the screen addicted one lumbered up and grabbed me by my shirt again. As he dragged me toward the door, once again, he dropped his phone on the little table. I bit back any sound, my eyes on the mean one, who gave me a filthy look before dropping his head back on his arms. I pretended to stumble as the man holding onto me lifted the bar on the door, and holding my cuffed hands close together, I swept his phone between my palms.

A clock started ticking in my head. I had mere seconds to make my attempt. I silently thanked my old-fashioned aunt for making Jenna and me memorize at least two important phone numbers in case we lost our phones. I knew three. Hers, Jenna's, and most recently, I'd memorized Aleks's number.

The man took his cohort's advice and shoved me against the side of the shack. I immediately feigned puking noises as he stepped back inside. The clock still ticked wildly in my head, so I swiped the code to unlock the phone. My wrist throbbed, and my hands felt useless in the cuffs, but I tapped in the number and held it close to my ear.

It rang only once, and I stopped fake retching as soon as I heard my husband's tense greeting. He didn't know the number, but he probably answered every call in hopes that it would be about me. As scared as I was, a smile bloomed on my face.

"Aleks, it's me," I whispered.

Then I heard a loud curse from inside the shed. Ending the call, I somehow deleted the record before dropping the phone just as both of them barreled out. My hands shook like autumn leaves in a windstorm as they rounded on me.

The mean one kicked it off my lap. "What the fuck did you do?" he shouted, spit flying in my face. I shook harder at the rage twisting his features.

The other one dove for his phone. "It's fine. It's still locked. There's no way she got anything out."

"Did you fucking call anyone?" the mean one said, shaking my shoulder.

"I couldn't," I said, nearly puking for real again. "I didn't have time." It was almost the truth since I'd barely said anything before they realized what I'd done.

"Look, there's nothing." He held it out with a shrug. "She couldn't even get it unlocked. It was just a stupid, useless attempt."

I nodded, wincing as the mean one raised his hand as if he meant to hit me. The other one clapped his hand on his shoulder, calming him down.

"Turn it off, just in case," he snapped, heading back inside.

Now the other one really looked pissed at me because I'd robbed him of his way of passing the time. I really hoped he wouldn't think of other ways to amuse himself that might involve me. I cringed away from him as he got close to my face, trying not to gag at the sour whiskey breath.

"You don't have any more chances with me, understand? If you're going to be sick, you can choke on it. If there's even another peep out of you, I'm not stopping him again."

I ended up back in my corner and huddled in a ball, disappointed I hadn't been able to tell Aleks I was in the desert or describe the shack or the kidnappers at all. At least I got to hear his voice one more time. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the last, but I'd put them on high alert. There'd be no more attempts from me. I didn't doubt that they were fed up with me, and things would get a lot worse if I so much as clinked the handcuffs in my lap.

The mean one seemed to want to leave, gesturing angrily toward the door. But the other one showed that his phone was off, therefore untrackable. He glanced at me with bitterness and said in English, "It's only a few more hours anyway."

My heart nearly stopped, but I stayed perfectly still and silent, not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd scared me. But he had. A hell of a lot more than I already was.

A few more hours until what?

I curled up in a ball and got as comfortable as I could with a pounding head and aching wrist, a roiling stomach, and the inability to make the slightest noise of complaint. I somehow eventually drifted off to sleep again, despite my fear and pain.