Page 130 of Traces Of You

“What are you two fuckers yapping about in here?” Randy said when he returned.

“Just told her she’s not as sly as she thinks that we knew where she worked and have been waiting for her to leave.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m working today. They will worry I’m not back. Did you think of that?”

The guys looked at each other as if it didn’t occur to them. They were desperate and desperate people get sloppy. “No one is going to give a shit about a drifter,” Randy said. Though he didn’t look too confident about that statement.

“How long have I been here?” she asked. Reenie had no idea where she was or how long she’d been out. She’d have to feed on that information.

“It’s been a few hours,” Lyle said.

“Do you guys have fucking diarrhea of the mouth? Shut up!”

He was unraveling. She knew what that felt and looked like and it was her only shot. “What’s wrong, Randy? You know I’m right about your cousin, don’t you? Just let me go. I won’t say a word.”

“I can’t!” Randy shouted. He was pacing. As if he knew this was a big cluster fuck. “I’ve got orders. Until Stiles can figure it out with Oliver, you’re with us for a bit.”

“Why?” Bobby asked. “Just take care of her now and we can go.”

“Because someone is lying and we need them both alive to figure it out,” Randy said. He came at her with the knife, grabbed her arm and sliced her fast.

She screamed out in pain and gagged, some puke coming up that she emptied next to her.

“Who is going to clean up that mess?” Lyle asked, shrinking back from the blood pouring out of her arm.

“I don’t give a shit.” Randy looked at her. “There is more where that came from, so think long and hard what you want to say the next time I ask you questions.” The three men left her there alone after that statement.

Her chest was heaving, her sobs escaping, the pain excruciating.

If she didn’t get out of here, they were going to kill her.

She put her head back against the wall and tried to calm the sobs and think.

There had to be something she could do.

It hit her, the knife that Ford made her carry.

She tried to focus and see if she could feel it against her hip, but couldn’t in her position on the floor.

She moved her arms to the side, gritting her teeth through the pain and the blood dropping on her jeans and floor, but got her hand close enough to feel it still hidden there.

The door opened again, her hands moving back. At least they didn’t put the rag back in her mouth, but Lyle had a plate with him.

He put it on the stained carpet next to her vomit and she saw the peanut butter sandwich. “That’s all you're getting today.”

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she said.

“Too bad,” Lyle said. “You’re not leaving this spot tonight.”

He walked out and hit the lights on her, the window providing the only source of light now. She didn’t think she could eat, but if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have the strength to do what needed to be done.

With her hands tied in front, she angled her body and rolled over trying to get the sandwich, then snagged it and pushed herself back to the wall. While she chewed and forced it past the lump in her throat, she scooted closer and closer to the window, then tried to stand and look out. Fingers on one hand letting go of the sandwich, she reached up to touch the necklace that she’d never been without since Ford gave it to her. It’d give her the strength she needed.

It wasn’t easy to stand, so she got on her knees and could peer out the bottom of the glass.

Nothing but woods behind her.

If she got out, she might not survive in the wilderness.