Page 11 of Final Reckoning

6

Camping Trip

December 3, early morning

The car smellslike cigarettes and stale sweat. I’m bound and gagged … but not blindfolded. My captors don’t care if I see their faces.

I’m trying not to think about what that means.

Elina and I rode down to Callahan’s together. I was unlocking the back door when they jumped us. Elina … I don’t know they did to her. It all happened so fast.

At least I didn’t hear a gunshot. But I’m blinking back tears, worrying about her, blaming myself for everything.

Stupid, Quinn. So stupid. Even after seeing that man yesterday, I didn’t think Santiago’s thugs would show up outside the bakery at 3 am.

My sisters should be at Callahan’s by now, so Carlo will know I’ve been taken. He’s an ex-military commando type with his own security firm. He’ll be searching for me, and Elina will have help.

I just have to hang on.

There are two men in the front seat, and one in the back with me. I’m down on the floorboards. He keeps leering at me and I keep avoiding his gaze.

If I stay still and calm and quiet, I’ll be better prepared for whatever’s coming. Santiago’s insane; I know that much. I can’t expect any kind of mercy or compassion from him.

The man back here with me is tired of waiting. He nudges my leg with his foot, not gently. “Bitch, look at me.”

I turn on my ice-queen reserve and meet his eyes, giving him nothing. When he doesn’t speak, I look away again. He wanted my fear; now he’ll want to make me pay for not giving it to him.

Carlo needs to find me. Fast. I don’t have it in me to withstand the kind of treatment Santiago will want to dish out.

We drive for what feels like a long time. Finally the car stops and they haul me out. That’s when it hits me that my purse is nowhere to be seen.

Which means there’s no cell phone for Carlo to track.

For the first time, dread congeals in my stomach. I was counting on the Adamos riding to my rescue, like they have so many times before. The realization that I’m on my own is terrifying.

It’s still dark outside. I can’t see where we are. One of the men takes my arm, his fingers biting into me even through my jacket, and leads me inside a building. Lights come on; my heart sinks.

The room we’re in has been set up as a small film studio. The enormous bed against one wall leaves no doubt as to what kind of film they intend to make.

The man holding me lets me go. I refuse to rub my arm, though I know he’s left bruises. One of the men stays near the door. Standing guard.

The other two ignore me. No one else is here, and a tiny sliver of hope threads through the bleakness filling me. I really hope they’re not waiting for Santiago himself – but any delay at all is good.

Only minutes pass before the men start to mutter impatiently. “Where the fuck are they?” says the one who’s lounging on the bed.

“You know how to work the camera?” answers the man who brought me inside.

“Sure.”

“Start setting up. If they’re not here soon, we’ll go ahead without them.”

“More fun for us.” He gives me a smile that makes me want to hurl. Rolling lazily off the bed, he strolls to the camera.

The man who grabbed me seems to be in charge. “Go check outside,” he tells the man at the door. “See if there’s any sign of them.”

A sullen grunt is the only reply, but the man goes. Boss man turns to me and I take an immediate step back, putting more space between us. “Go ahead,” he says. “Fight me. I want you to.”

He’s going to get what he wants. I’m not a fighter, but every fiber of my being is screaming no to this. I can’t submit.

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