Page 91 of Delta

Holy shit, I killed the guy? With my fucking head? Nice one, Bryn. I feel pretty badass. Wait till Rush hears about that one.

Although now my head is sticky with hot, drying blood.\

Now that I'm not being thrown around the back of the car, I can properly consider my situation.

Clearly, that was a planned ambush. They knew exactly what they were doing. That little girl was just a poorly timed distraction—Rush couldn't have done anything else, and I wouldn't have wanted him to. But it did give Pugli's fucktards the chance to isolate me, which I think was the goal all along.

Being hogtied like this definitely makes things harder, but there'll still be an opportunity. I just have to stay calm and be ready to seize it and make the best of it. I have to steel myself against what I might endure, also. No matter what, I have to stay alive. Rush will come for me. Mom, Dad, my uncles…Pugli really doesn't have a clue what he's done.

Long minutes of this jackass driving like he's a stunt driver in a Tom Cruise movie. Which after several minutes of it, gets pretty tiring and boring.

But what can I do? Not a damn thing but tolerate it.

Eventually, he must feel like he put enough distance between us and my people, because he slows down and drives normally.

This lasts a long, long time. No clue how long, but my joints are sore and my shoulders hurt from the unnatural position, and my finger is on fucking fire. I can't believe my middle finger is missing a piece. No chance of reattachment, either.

I bark a laugh—I'm twinning with Uncle Puck, now. He'll get a kick outta that.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch. Nothing is funny."

"Huh Ooo, ish.”

"I said shut up, bitch.” The gun at my head again.

“Huh ooo, ish. Eye ee."

A disgusted sigh. "I don't know if you are worth the trouble. Maybe I leave you here, hey?"

I shrug. Fine by me.

The gun touches my knee. "Maybe I kneecap you first and then leave you."

Less fine.

I don't react, though.

We've stopped—I missed that, somehow. I hear and feel the earth-shaking roar of a jet taking off. Airport? They sound like civilian jetliners, so it's a public airport.

The door beside me opens, and hard hands haul me out of the car and set me on my feet. The gun presses into the back of my head. "I cut your feet loose, now. I will shoot out your brain, so do not be trying anything."

No promises, my guy.

I hear a knife blade snick open, and then the pressure binding my ankles and knees snaps away. I'm shoved forward.

"Walk." The hands guide me forward. "Stairs."

My feet clomp on steps; I hear jet engines whining nearby, which means I’m getting on a jet. Super.

I fight down the boiling ball of panic that rises in my throat. This changes nothing. They'll find me. They'll rescue me.

Stay calm. Stay alive.

Shaky, wobbly kneed and panting, I stumble forward—the noise from outside is hushed, and then goes muffled as the door closes.

"Anatoly, my god. No need to treat our guest like a savage." The voice is familiar, dark and smooth and dripping with arrogance and superiority.

"She kills Oskar with only her head, sir. While tied up as you see."