23. Shot In The Dark （Talia）

23

SHOT IN THE DARK (TALIA)

Minutes Earlier

I don't think I'm dead.

But everything is black.

Pitch-black.

So black that if I couldn't feel my eyelids moving, I wouldn't know my eyes were open at all. This is what death must feel like, this lightless darkness that swallows everything.

But if I'm dead, I don't think my head would hurt so much.

I don't think it would rattle my bones every time I'm jolted around.

My arms and legs definitely wouldn't be this sore.

Plus, I don't think being dead involves getting locked in the trunk of someone's car .

I can hear the engine, the shift in tone as it changes speed, the whizzing of tires over asphalt.

There's a faint whiff of gasoline and oil, too, that subtle hint that clings to even the cleanest car.

I think there's carpet under me.

When the momentum throws me around, I touch round things that feel like wheel caps. My arms and legs are tied behind my back.

Nope, I'm not dead.

But if Xavier Arrendell has me tied up in his trunk, that's going to change pretty fast.

Okay.

Don't panic.

If I panic, I'll just trigger an asthma attack, and passing out earlier killed any chance I had to run. If I get a second chance, I can't miss it.

I close my eyes—not that it makes much difference—and focus on counting. Measuring my breaths. Controlling my fear.

It's more than just fending off an attack at this point.

It's a calming ritual. It's—

I freeze as my fingertips brush something against my back.

Something with a textured weave, something that feels like—

The nylon strap of my bag?

Oh.

Oh, crap, if Xavier didn't take my phone out, if he didn't mess with it…

I might be able to signal Micah .

Hope blooms in my chest.

Grunting with exertion, I wiggle backward, fighting the way the car bounces me around and trying to dig my feet in to brace myself.

I fumble blindly. My wrists are tied but my fingers can still move. I manage to snag a fold of fabric, dragging the bag closer.

With my teeth clenched, I feel around until I find the zipper, then tug, lose my grip, swear, catch it, tug, lose it again, nearly scream, try again and then—

There!

The zipper opens.

Just enough for me to plunge my fists inside.

No time for finesse.

I don't know how long I have before Mr. Congeniality decides to stop and take care of his annoying Talia Grey problem.

My pulse kicks up as I rummage around, feeling for the edge of my phone.

Got it !

I'm not someone who prays, but you'd better believe I do it right now.

Pray that the app screen stays active for situations like this.

Pray that Xavier didn't do anything to shut it down.

I mash my fingertips against the screen, begging, pleading —oh, thank God!

A low beep.

Barely there, the sound purposefully muted so it won't alert whoever might be listening to someone seeking help.

But it's there .

If I'm lucky, maybe that's enough.

Maybe Micah will save me one last time.

Even if he doesn't love me, I know he'd never leave me to die.

I just hope there's time.

Who knows how much longer this drive is.

Time doesn't have much meaning in this blind killing darkness. My head throbs with adrenaline.

And I feel every movement when the bouncy road changes, like we're moving over a different kind of pavement now.

It slows, turns, then stops.

I brace myself, biting the inside of my cheek, assessing my pathetic options.

What can I do? Headbutt whoever opens the trunk?

But nobody does.

My chest tightens.

I hear voices, other engines in the distance, but no one even bangs on the trunk, let alone opens it.

What's happening? What's he doing?

Is it even Xavier who brought me here or just some minion doing his dirty work?

My mind runs away with me, wondering if someone can suffocate to death in a car trunk. Is that what they're going to do? Use my asthma against me, so that even if a healthy person might survive a long time in a car trunk, I'll asphyxiate and die?

Or did Xavier hand me over to the Jacobins to finish the job?

Ugh.

Vicious images flash through my head, all the horrific things they could do to me. I don't even want to think about what Culver Jacobin almost did to Delilah Graves.

But I can't help myself.

Especially when there are worse things a gang of men can do to a woman while she's still alive…

No! No, that's not going to happen.

Micah's going to show up and put a stop to this any second.

And if he doesn't… well, I'll find a way out.

I'll save myself.

Even if I have to use my teeth , I'll give them a fight.

Right now, though, I need my arms and legs free.

Curling my fingers, I stretch them as far as I can, feeling at the ropes around my wrists. Feels like nylon, like the kind of emergency cords you find in car kits.

Not good.

That kind of nylon knots tight, and even two free hands would have trouble getting it untied.

Oh, but I try.

Even though my knuckles hurt and it aches to reach, pulling on the tendons in my wrists and making the rope bite my skin, I feel along the wrapped cords until I find the knot.

Crap!

There goes my manicure.

I'm picking at the closest knot with my fingernails and getting nowhere.

I just can't pull it free, but I can feel something else.

Oh .

Subtle fraying.

That happens with nylon sometimes, doesn't it?

You can pick and pick until the fibers come loose.

If they're going to ignore me, maybe I can use this precious time to tear the cord apart.

Still counting under my breath, I work frantically, fuzzy threads brushing against my wrists and tickling the sides of my palms.

Slowly, one fiber at a time, I tease one bit free.

Then another, making a mess of the weave.

I don't think I'll be able to fully unravel the cord, but I don't need to.

I just need to unravel it so the knots aren't so tight, and I can work them loose.

I work at it for what feels like an eternity.

Until my fingers are nothing but pain.

Until my fingertips burn and I can feel the blisters forming.

Until my arms and wrists are so sore I could sob, but I won't.

Until I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to bite back the pain, knowing if they hear me, it's over.

Bit by bit, I rip that cord apart until my fingernails are ragged, and then I use that to snag even more of the nylon weave and pull a few more threads free.

Pain is nothing.

I've known it my entire life.

Just like I knew the pain of Micah's touch, teaching me that sometimes pain can be a beautiful thing.

And sometimes pain has purpose.

Pain gets my adrenaline going, makes me breathe, pushes me to try harder, fight on. And just as I test the knots and think maybe I've found a little slack, there's a ker-CHUNK of the trunk popping open.

I'm paralyzed.

I almost yell out No ! I was so close—so close, if I'd just had my hands free I could've—

It doesn't matter.

The trunk swings open.

After a breathless moment of pure terror, I'm blinded by dim starlight and a few distant red and orange running lights.

There's no mistaking Xavier Arrendell, looking down at me with cold contempt, the faint ocean-scented breeze ruffling his hair in blond arcs.

"You really are a clueless bitch," he says flatly.

Then he grabs me by the arm, hauling me up with a brute strength that nearly dislocates my arm.

I refuse to scream.

And as he drags me up to kneel on the edge of the trunk with the metal biting into my calves?

I draw back and spit right in his face.

He remains unmoved.

Glacial stone.

If I hoped to catch him off guard and run or something, my hopes are dashed.

"Feeling better now?" Xavier snarls. "Do it again, if you'd like. I won't deny a woman her dying wish."

I take half a second to catch my breath and look around.

It's bleak, almost desolate here.

A broad concrete loading dock with a couple piers spearing out into the flat black expanse of ocean, the rocky gravel beach stretching to either side, a lonely lane sloping up to the empty highway.

The Jacobins' trucks are lined up along the dock, and there's a massive black-painted freighter dotted with orange and red lights at port. Dozens of people are busy off-loading crates from the trucks onto the crane that lifts the cargo onto the deck. There are tall area lights up on poles, but they're off, leaving the place gloomy and black.

Off to one side, Eustace and Ephraim Jacobin supervise, standing with Chief Bowden.

Jesus, it's all true.

Not that I ever had much doubt.

Everything was true, and it's the most awful sinking feeling.

What's worse?

Even if I got loose from Xavier, somebody else would tackle me before I got far.

Crap .

"What's the point of killing me?" I ask. "It won't change anything. The police have the camera. They have everything and all you're going to do is add to the charges against you. So you might as well just let me go."

Xavier's smile is frigid. Cruel. Nasty. Knowing.

"And how will they charge me with the murder of a woman who's simply disappeared?" he whispers. "Once you've been stuffed into a barrel, darling, you'll sink fast. If you're lucky, maybe I'll shoot you first." He jerks me closer, into a face full of teeth. "Or maybe I'll simply seal you in so you can find out what happens faster—suffocation or drowning as the water slowly seeps in."

I stare back in frozen horror.

"…Micah was right about you," I whisper. "You're sick. Everyone in your family. I can't believe I ever pitied you!"

"When did I ask for your pity? If anything," he sneers, "I pity you . Falling in love with that pathetic cop?" He smirks. "Oh, you thought I didn't notice?"

"I don't care if you did."

"So defiant ." Icy, amused words. "Your little love affair is why you're going to die, Miss Grey. Do you really think Officer Ainsley cares now that he got what he used you for? Love is always a mistake. Never make yourself vulnerable. They'll only use it to hurt you."

That hits a little too close to home.

So close I can only stare at him with my entire body feeling hollowed out.

Is he right?

I don't know.

But I know Micah's coming.

The sick doubt running through me feels like nothing compared to the revulsion as Xavier leers. "People are only good for money or pleasure, when you take love out of the equation," he says, fingers digging into my arm. "I thought, perhaps, before I dispose of you, I could use you. And since you are rather short on money…"

His meaning sinks in as he grips my chin with harsh fingers, tilting my face up to his. I bare my teeth.

Holy hell, I'll bite his nose off before I let him touch me. I'll—

Xavier jerks back then.

There's a thundering boom, metallic and echoing over the night.

Everyone on the dock freezes in place.

I lift my head sharply, turning toward the sound. Past a group of shipping containers, I think—I hope—I catch a glimpse of white.

Micah .

Hope leaps in my heart.

Xavier hisses through his teeth.

"We'll finish this later. After I paint your white knight red," he snarls—then catches me by my hair.

This time, I can't hold back my scream as he drags me out of the car fully by my roots, slamming me to the pavement as he raises his voice in a ringing shout.

"Come out, come out, little white wolf!" he roars. "Come the hell out or little red riding dick won't last much longer."