Home.
That word echoes inside my skull.
He’s taking me home.
This answer feels a lot like his handsomeness… I don’t know if home is better or worse than the alternative.
I mean if he was just going to kill me, he would’ve shot me in the alley and left me on the street. Right? He wouldn’t be bringing me to his home.
But what reason would there be to bring me home?
I catch the tail end of him rattling off Lee’s address to the man on the phone.
The caller ID just showed the letter N, but I’ll never forget the sound of his voice or the way he laughed when I begged for help. And I’ll never forgive him.
“I’ll get it taken care of,” N says through the speakers. “But I’ll be calling you later for the story.”
“Yeah, yeah,” King answers casually, even as he has me pinned to the seat with one arm. “Mind hanging up? I sorta have my hands full over here.”
There’s a snicker, followed by a crunching sound, that has to be that awful man eating his stupid popcorn, before the call cuts off completely.
In the quiet that follows, I take note of the ache in my arms. The hard edge of the center console digging into my side. The way the seat belt is digging into the side of my neck.
And it’s all too much.
I don’t like pain. It’s never been my thing.
I don’t have tattoos. I got my ears pierced at sixteen because all my friends had them, and I cried the whole time.
I like going on walks. I don’t like running. I don’t like the burn that comes with lifting weights. I like being calm and comfortable. I like painting. I like to pretend I’m happy. And I can’t…
I can’t pretend right now.
This is the furthest from happy I’ve ever been.
My breath catches in my lungs.
What if I’ll never be happy again?
My chest tightens.
What if this is the end? What if this is how I die? Alone. Afraid. Still searching for the peace and belonging I dreamed of as a girl…
The tears that never really stopped stream from my eyes.
“I-I’m sorry. I won’t say anything to anyone.” My lips brush against the smooth leather that divides my seat from King’s. “I hate Lee, too. This is all his fault.” The sadness of that truth almost overwhelms me, causing my shoulders to shake with the weight.
I’d only ever wanted to be with someone that appreciated me for me. To have my art taken seriously. And I thought Lee was finally that person. But he wasn’t. He’s not even Lee. He’s a liar. And a cheater. And his death didn’t settle the score. It just made my problems worse.
“Please,” I whisper. “I don’t want to die.”
What a pathetic way to go. Begging.
“Savannah.” A hand smooths down the back of my head. “Just breathe, Savannah.”
The hand lifts, then travels the same path.
My inhale is ragged but less loud.
“Hush.” His tone matches the meaning of the word, and my body reacts. My lungs expanding smoothly. “That’s it.” Another pass of his hand. “You’re okay.”
My exhale comes out as a sad laugh. I’m not okay.
His hand settles on the back of my neck and he responds as though I said it out loud. “You know what I mean.”
My lips pull into a reluctant smile. At least he’s honest.
I close my eyes.
I need to calm down. I’ll never get out of this if I’m not thinking straight.
As if thinking the phrase activates my brain, I realize that the hand on the back of my neck is the same hand that was holding me in place.
My fingers flex and sure enough, my wrists are free, and my hands are…resting in my kidnapper’s lap.
I yank my arm back and sit up, dislodging his hold entirely.
King lets me pull away and rests his hand back on the center console. Like he’s ready to restrain again. But I won’t give him a reason to. Not yet, at least.
Resigning myself to the fact that I’m going to go wherever he’s bringing me, I wipe the tears off my cheeks and watch the dark landscape pass outside the window.
