Page 38 of Trapped (Sheppard & Sons Investigations #6)

Ashley

M y mouth felt like a desert, and the light hurt my eyes. Where am I? Memories flashed through my mind. The guy in the backyard. Him calling Nathan, Scott. Passing out.

The rhythmic thump-thump-thump sound of tires on the road told me I was in a moving car. With who? And where were they taking me?

Rap music assaulted my ears, but I couldn’t cover them because they’d tied my hands behind my back. Too bad it wasn’t duct tape; John had taught me how to break free from that.

Not that I could do it lying down in a moving car.

“She’s awake,” a male voice said.

“Hello, Ashley,” the driver said. It was the voice I’d heard at the doctor’s office.

“Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

He laughed.

“How do you know Nathan? What do you want with me?”

“Funny you should ask.” He paused as he turned off the main road onto an uneven dirt road.

“I met Nathan when he called himself Scott Miller.”

My breath caught in my throat. He must be someone who used to work for the guys Nathan killed. The driver was probably in charge now, or working for whoever was.

“You’d think you’d be happy. Now you can be the mob boss or whatever it is you call yourself.”

“I’m a merchant.” He made sure I was making eye contact in the mirror before winking. Nathan had called them terrorists because they sold weapons to our enemies, but I didn’t think I’d earn any brownie points by correcting my captor.

“Whatever.” I exaggerated my eye roll. “Why do you need me?”

Just then, he drove over a rough patch, making the car bounce and almost knocking me off the seat.

“Can you untie me so I can brace myself?”

“I’m sorry, gorgeous, but I can’t do that.” His use of endearments made my skin crawl.

Be brave. Play it smart. You can get through this.

“Why the hell not? I assume you don’t want me to die yet, or you would’ve killed me already.”

He yanked the wheel, causing the car to jerk violently and making me slide, which resulted in my head hitting the door.

“Asshole,” I mumbled.

He must’ve heard because when he laughed, it sounded like a death sentence.

“This is gonna be fun,” the driver said. The passenger agreed with a laugh that made my stomach turn.

“If your beef is with Nathan, why didn’t you grab him?”

“We would’ve grabbed you both, but you walking into my arms was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“I’d hardly say I walked into your arms,” I spat at him. “Why do you want me?” I had a feeling I was the bait, and would probably regret asking if he confirmed my suspicion.

“Because he cares about you.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

We were driving deeper into the woods. But I didn’t know which woods. How long was I out? Hopefully not too long.

“Will you let me have a pass at her after you’re done with her?” the passenger asked. His leer showed off his stained teeth.

Bile rose in my throat, and my hands trembled. How long would it take before Nathan realized I was missing?

I prayed. Sorry God, I know I’ve been asking for a lot lately, and you already came through with the whole not-pregnant thing but if you could do me one more favor, I’d really like for Nathan to find me sooner rather than later because these guys scare me.

“Sure. I think Nathan would enjoy seeing that,” the driver answered.

My stomach dropped out.

My lungs stopped working.

My bladder threatened to let loose.

Digging deep, I found some courage. “What makes you think he cares about me?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ashley. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

When? How?

“It was you.”

“What was me?”

My voice only shook a little when I asked, “Who’s playing dumb now?”

His smirk turned to a thin flat line, and his nostrils flared.

“The black roses, the fake blood on the floor.” I couldn’t bring myself to bring up the black fur. “Why?”

“Why not? I’m especially proud of the stuffed black cat idea.” He chuckled.

He’s proud? “You’re sick,” I said. This time my voice shook a lot.

No reply. When he turned off the bumpy dirt road, he said, “We’re here.”

Up ahead, I saw a small cabin. I didn’t see the other vehicles until we got closer.

“Take her to the kitchen.” He looked back at me. “And gag her. I’m tired of listening to her.”

Calling it a kitchen was a stretch. It was a space off the open area with a cooler, a camping stove, and several cases of water stacked in the corner.

“Who’s your decorator? I want to make sure I never hire her.”

“Shut up and sit down.”

When I didn’t, he pushed me. Sitting wasn’t optional when the back of my knees hit the edge of the folding chair.

After securing me to the chair, he put a knotted cloth into my mouth and tied it behind my head. It was impossible to move my tongue, but at least I could still breathe.