Page 133 of Executing Malice

His face, a stone mask of pleasure, smirks. “Scream all you want, sweetheart. No one is going to hear you.”

Without another word, the lid is slammed down, and I’m plunged into absolute darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LEILA

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The road is uneven wherever he’s taking me.

It jostles and rattles the frame with every sharp dip. The shoulder holding my weight begins to ache. My arm is asleep. I don’t know how long we’ve been driving for, but he was right, not a soul heard me screaming and kicking.

What’s more, the asshole hasn’t even bothered to put the radio on, so I know he can hear me. Hear every name I call him, every plea to let me out. He heard me break down in tears and when I vowed to bite his dick off. He just chose to ignore them all.

I will kill him.

That’s a promise.

The second he opens this trunk, I’m going to kick him in the balls.

But the drive is so far. It seems like hours and I’m beginning to think we’re leaving Jefferson. There’s air, thankfully, but it’s definitely thin. Even with the cool air outside, the cramped space is muggy and stifling. It’s not unbearable yet, but I can feel myself drifting. My eyelids slip and I doze.

I don’t think it’s for long.

We’re not moving when I open them again. Everything is still and quiet.

“Dante?” My voice cracks, scratchy from screaming and sleep.

I lift a fist to bang on the hood, but the thing pops open. Clean, sweet air rushes into my coffin and I gasp. My body jerks upright and I stare ... into nothing.

Miles of endless darkness. Silence. There is nothing but the faint hiss of wind through the branches and the odd chirp of a cricket.

My heart thumps in my chest, frantic, but not fully convinced yet that he would desert me.

Gingerly, I feel my way along the edges of the trunk and ease myself out. I flinch at the first brush of grass against my injured feet. As my stiff limbs unfurl and circulate blood.

“Dante?” I call again.

Nothing.

Just the pounding in my chest as I hazard a step forward.

My toe hits the corner of something solid. I crouch, fingers extended, grappling in the dark as I skim the smooth surface of a box.

The box on his bed, I realize with a weird, misplaced sense of excitement.

I tear off the top and fumble inside.

Wads of fabric spill through my fingers. The inconsistency has me drawing it out, surprised by the weight until something metal clatters back inside the box.

I reach for it and give a cry of delight when my hand closes around the smooth shaft of a flashlight.

I flick the beam on, and the sudden burst of white cuts through the suffocating dark. The trees leap back from me, their bark gnarled and twisted, shadows stretching long like they’re reaching for my ankles. My pulse kicks, sharp and frantic, but beneath it all is a zap of excitement that has me questioning my sanity.

“Okay,” I breathe slowly to myself, calming my nerves while turning my attention to the box.

A small bundle of clothes lies at my feet. White and pristine against the dirt. There isn’t nearly enough to cover anything, but it’s better than being naked, I suppose.