Page 34

34

Ella

A loud knock makes me jump, and the muffin in my hand goes flying across the counter, skittering to the floor. “For the love…” I pick up the muffin and set it on the counter before I go to answer the door, figuring it’s one of the guys.

But as soon as I pull the door open, I freeze.

A uniformed cop stands on the porch. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, so I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them boring into me. “Gisella Easton?”

“Yes?” I grip the door harder to disguise my shaking hands.

The first thought that comes to my mind is that something happened to Jack. But then I realize that it would be one of the guys coming to tell me, not the police.

“I have an arrest warrant for you. You need to come with me now,” he informs me .

Shock rockets through my system. I take a small step back. “Can I call my attorney?” I don’t actually have Chris’s number, but I can call Jack.

“You can call him at the jail.”

“Well, can I grab my phone? I need his number.” My chest heaves as I barely get the question out, sweat lining my back.

“No, ma’am. I can’t allow you to do that.” When I take another step back, his hand moves to his utility belt. “If you make any more moves, I’ll interpret that as resisting and will have to resort to using force.”

Chills wrack my entire body. My skin crawls as he steps up to me and grabs my arm. Before I can take another breath, he twists it behind my back, and I’m secured in cuffs. He kicks the flip-flops that are sitting by the door toward me. My body trembles so badly that it takes a few times to slide them onto my feet. As soon as I do, he drags me from the house and walks me to his car.

He pulls open the door, and both of us turn when a shout comes from across the street. The police officer freezes next to me. Under his breath, he mutters, “Fuck.”

I glance at him in confusion.

A man I don’t recognize, but he’s wearing a logoed Nash Security shirt, jogs across the street. He whips off his sunglasses, his eyes jumping between me and the police officer. “What are you doing with her?”

The police officer scoffs. “I think it is pretty obvious.” His voice drips with condensation.

The man looks at me. “Miss Easton?”

I’m not sure what he expects me to say. I know exactly what he does. “Call Jack. If he doesn’t answer, Nate or Ian.” I give one last pleading look as I’m pushed into the back of the cop car .

My pulse races as reality sets in, a tear slipping down my cheek as we turn out of Jack’s neighborhood. I had gotten so wrapped up in how happy I was with Jack, I allowed myself to forget how quickly happiness can get ripped away from you.

I continue to stare out the window. The police officer is humming from the front seat, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves.

We drive through the city, then we get off the interstate.

And keep driving.

Sweat forms on my skin, dripping down my back despite the overpowering AC. My breathing becomes labored. Something isn’t right.

“Um, sir? Where are you taking me?” I ask, voice high-pitched and panicked.

My eyes find the driver. I can only see his profile. An unsettling grin slips onto his face.

“You’ll see soon enough, sweetheart.”

That’s enough to drop my stomach to my feet.

This cannot be good. I need a plan. Because there’s no way we’re going to the jail.

It’s bad when jail would be preferable to wherever we’re headed.

As nonchalantly as I can, I start looking for…something. Anything that might help me get away. I glance around the back seat and then out the window. We’re heading farther into the country. Dizziness starts swimming in my head. The farther we get away from people, the harder saving myself is going to be. Even if I get away, my hands are handcuffed behind my back. I’ve never tried, but I feel like running fast enough to evade anyone will be nearly impossible like this. Not to mention in flip-flops.

My body sways as we turn into the parking lot of a nearly abandoned strip mall. There are two cars at the far end and one parked on the opposite side. We’re driving toward the singular vehicle, and my heart gallops, knowing nothing good is about to happen. I can see someone in the driver’s seat, but I can’t make out anything distinguishing past the slightly tinted windows.

We stop next to the car. I shift in the seat, trying to slow my breathing to keep the terror from becoming uncontrollable. I need to stay as focused as possible. A low whimper pulls from my lungs when I hear the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered as the police officer turns in his seat.

“Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to get out of this car and not make a fucking scene. And you’re going to walk over to that car.” He waves the gun in the direction of the car next to us. “You’re going to get in the trunk, or I’m going to shoot you. It’ll hurt like hell, but it won’t be to kill. I’ll leave that to my friend over there.”

My chest heaves.

“Understood?”

All I can manage is a shaky nod.

He holds up his gun and turns it over, as if admiring it. “And don’t worry, this isn’t my department-issued firearm, so it can never be traced back to me.”

“Oh, goody,” I mumble sarcastically.

He glares at me before pushing his door open and stepping out. Pulling me out of the car on my unsteady legs, he drags me toward the trunk that pops open as we approach. I glance at the cars on the other side of the parking lot, wishing there was a way to get out of this. Maybe I could scream and get someone’s attention…

“They aren’t going to help you.” His exhale makes the hair next to my ear flutter as his body heat seeps into my back. “No one is going to help you. Now get your ass in the trunk.”

I climb in gingerly. Shifting my head so I can memorize his face, I lie on my side, just in case I manage to get out of this situation. Despair fills me when his sunglasses are still in place and disguise a lot of his features. He looks young, though. Maybe a little older than Tyler.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulls something out of his back pocket.

“No!” I twist my face from side to side to avoid the cloth in his hand. I’ve seen enough movies to know what that means.

“You dumb bitch. Stop fucking moving.” His other hand grabs my hair, making me whimper as he holds my head still. Pain radiates through my scalp. As the cloth is pressed against my nose and mouth, I hold my breath. Tears drip down the side of my face into my hair as my lungs burn. Hopelessness takes over my fight, my body giving up on me. His face contorts into a menacing look as my lungs demand air, and I suck in big gulps of poison.

Until nothing.