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I gasp, all I’m capable of, while my brain tries to force its way through the fogginess in my head. But to no avail. The alcohol has fully hit my system—hard and fast—just like the brute leisurely driving away from my house.
No screeching tires or speeding, like I’d normally associate with a kidnapping. This man is way too chill for my taste, which might be even worse.
There’s a partition between the front and the back, but it’s down enough for me to glare at the burly man behind the wheel. “Where are you taking me?”
He glances at me in the rearview mirror. At least, I think he is since his eyes hide behind his aviators.
“To Phoenix.”
Although I’m not surprised about the answer, adrenaline still shoots through my system. “I need you to let me go, please.”
He shifts his focus back to the road. “Can’t do that, Princess.”
I try again, pleading and begging, but he ignores me.
With every passing second, the overwhelming sense of dread grows.
I need to get out of here.
I’m not having Phoenix steamroller all over me like this.
He can’t do that. I won’t let him.
With each turn, hole, or bump we hit, my stomach complains, and my nausea grows to terrifying heights.
I don’t drink often, not liking the lack of control, but I usually handle my alcohol better than this.
A normal person would also make sure to eat something before you take shots like someone whose life isn’t blowing to shit.
Ugh.
How could I forget I’d barely eaten anything substantial in the last twenty-four hours?
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I stiffen.
Of course, I forgot I had it on me.
I pull it out quickly, excited to be able to call someone for help.
But the moment I see the name on the screen, a new wave of nausea hits me.
I click on the notification to open the message.
Freddy
I heard congratulations are in order. You’ll be a good fiancée and wife, won’t you, pet?
I stare and stare, and stare some more until the phone becomes blurry in my hands.
Freddy
We don’t want your friend’s career to end before it ever begins, do we?
A photo comes through. Ruby on stage during one of her rehearsals from last week.
My stomach gives a warning, wordlessly telling me that no one should drink several shots on a stomach that’s not just empty but also upset.
I have to agree. That was a really bad idea.