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He swore to God, her spirit fired.
This ricocheting of energy that bounced against the metal walls of the box.
He inhaled a shattered breath as he hauled her onto her bound feet from behind.
She thrashed, shouting, “Let us go. How can you do this?”
He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
Only he forced himself to comply for the moment, and he jumped off the back end of the truck and lifted her up to place her into the bed of the other.
She fought him the whole time.
Fought and fought.
A warrior scratching and clawing and kicking.
“Don’t fuckin’ fight me, you bitch.” He spat the abhorrent words, playing the same as Tyke and Kelp.
But Kane? He wanted to weep.
She gripped onto his arm, and her nails dug into the flesh.
Drawing blood.
Surprised, he jerked his arm back, and when he did, her fingers snagged on the bracelet he’d always worn, snapping the clasp that held it together.
Kane didn’t know what he wanted more—to snatch it out of her hand or promise that she would have the chance to return it to him later.
He stood there unable to do either.
Tyke laughed, completely oblivious to his turmoil. “Watch that one. She’s feisty.”
Then the bastard hopped up to stand on the bumper and pulled on the leather strap attached to the handle to drag the door closed. He latched and locked it then made a swooping motion with his hand overhead. “Let’s roll.”
Nausea burned in Kane’s guts, but he followed Tyke around the passenger side of the truck while Kelp headed to the driver’s.
Tyke climbed into the front seat of the cab, and Kane opened the back door and hopped in.
Antsy.
Itching.
Sweat drenched his skin as Kelp and Tyke slammed their doors shut and Kelp put it into gear.
The truck rattled as the diesel engine gained speed, the entire thing swaying and lurching as Kelp ground through the gears.
The sun was just going down as he took to the road.
They were in the industrial part of San Diego, their destination the docks in Los Angeles. Kane had thought it would be some kind of expensive, black-market weapons that they would be transporting when he was told he was being sent south for an important job.
One that he was warned not to fuck up.
Oh, the ways he planned on fucking this shit up.
They traveled for about ten minutes, through the heavy industrial area before they made it to a more commercialized one.
Streetlights flickered on and their headlights illuminated the road in front of them.