Page 101 of Callum

Kyler pushes off the bed, slinking forward with a wicked smile pulling at the scars on her cheek. She gestures toward me with two fingers as if to say, “Arms up”. I glare at her, raising my arms until they’re level with my shoulders. Kyler pats me down, pulling the knife Callum just got me from the holder at my ankle. It’s not the only one I have on me, but it is the only one she finds.

“Are you going to make this difficult?”

“That depends,” I cross my arms the moment Kyler steps away, leaning one hip against the dresser. “What exactly is ‘this’?”

Ginetta shuffles her feet, moving that much closer. I can see the worry lines on her face, the deep purple bags beneath her eyes that she’s tried to cover with makeup. She’s exhausted, and I can imagine why.

I do not feel sorry for her.

“We have to correct an error.” Kyler shoots Ginetta a loaded look, and she has the good sense to amend her statement. “A few errors.”

“How do your errors involve me?”

“Unfortunately,” Ginetta takes another gentle step in my direction. She’s in arm’s reach now, and I can’t decide if I need to be watching her or Kyler. “You are one of those errors.”

Somehow, I don’t see it coming. I never see it coming.

The needle presses into the soft skin on my neck, right next to the bandage covering what used to be my GiGi brand. I wonder if Ginetta feels the irony of this moment.

My hands flail, desperately grabbing onto the dresser. I hear something fall over as the world closes in around me, and my last coherent thought is that Callum would have heard it, too. He will come for me this time.

He will find me in the dark.

—

Everything hurts, and I’m dying.

The unfortunate side effect of being conscious right now means I’m probably not dying, but I imagine death feels similar to this. My head pounds so hard that my eyes throb behind heavy eyelids. My neck is stiff, and my shoulders are pinned back by my hands, which are tied together behind me. Both of my legs are bent at an odd angle, and my entire right side seems to be pressed against something hard.

It’s embarrassing how long it takes me to realize it’s because I’m lying down.

I blame whatever Ginetta drugged me with.

My eyes snap open at that thought. For a moment, right when the needle slipped into my skin, I swear she looked…sorry. Not that someone like her could ever feel genuine apathy for their actions. Fucking psychopath.

Drugging me was so not part of the fucking plan. Harlowe is going to pay for this. I can promise that.

A quick roll of my neck tells me there are no new injuries there, and now that my eyes are finally functioning, I’m able to take in my surroundings. It’s cold as fuck and darker than expected, so having my eyes open isn’t doing me any favors. Whatever room I’m in seems to be gently swaying, and there’s a rumbling sound that won’t let up long enough to let me think.

Son of a bitch, I’m in a trunk.

The car swerves, and I slide until my head bumps into something hard. I’m going to assume that’s the side of the trunk, which means I’m lying sideways. I have no idea if the tailgate is in front of me or behind, but I need to figure it out.

Any amount of movement from my limbs seems to pull the other three with it, making me think I must be hogtied like fucking cattle. Cool. Not embarrassing at all.

It takes a few tries, but I eventually manage to grab my left foot with my right hand. I drop it three more times before finally getting my fingers through the knot. My foot comes free, but my elation is immediately drowned by the realization that none of my other limbs come untied. What kind of freaky ass knot is this?!

I stretch my freed leg out until it hits the other side of the trunk. As much as I love to tell people I’m five-foot-seven, the reality is that I’m five-five on a good day, and my toes press into the opposite side before my leg is fully extended. Not a large trunk, then.

Sweeping my leg forward, I’m met with a softer surface. It doesn’t give under the pressure of my foot, but I’m pretty sure it’s the backside of cloth seats. Which means I’m facing the car, not the tailgate.

A sudden bump throws me into the air, and I have to hold in a pained shout when I slam into the floor again. Fuck, that hurt. I can feel the bruises forming along my right side from the bumps we must have hit before I woke up. How long have I been in here?

Trying to undo the ropes at my wrist only makes them tighter, and I grit my teeth in frustration. I’m going to stab Kyler in the tit. She’s the only fucked up dickhead who would know how to tie a person up like this.

Inchworming my way toward the tailgate is one of the more ridiculous things I’ve done in my life, which is saying something considering my previous occupations. Thankfully, the trunk isn’t large, and I feel the tailgate with my foot after only a handful of scoots. Sliding my foot along the freezing metal, I feel the rounded back of a taillight in the corner.

Pressing my heel against the taillight does absolutely nothing. I’m going to have to kick it, which poses two problems.

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