Page 22 of Mine

Eleven

Sabine

I have been gagged, restrained, tied to an airplane seat, then dragged into the back of an SUV, and tied up once again.

Did I mention birthdays are the worst?

We’ve been driving for hours now, well, technically, Cillian is driving, and I’m tied to the backseat. We’re following Astor, who’s in a midnight-blue Aston Martin. Because of course he drives a midnight-blue Aston Martin.

I’m guessing it’s somewhere between 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning. I have no clue where I am or where I’m being taken, only that I’m going there against my will.

I have been kidnapped. Kidnapped.

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think this day would end up like this.

Over the course of the drive, my view from the backseat window has changed drastically. What started as interstate and suburbia is now a thick, endless forest. Translation: the middle of nowhere.

One thing is for certain. Mr. Billionaire Ass-hat Stone has an army at his disposal, at all times, day or night.

From the moment we boarded the private jet in Vegas to the moment we landed at wherever we are, people were waiting for us, eager to attend to our every need. Correction—Cillian and Astor’s every need. I’m no more important than the discarded champagne bottles in the trashcans.

I have to pee. I’m dying of thirst. My wrists hurt from the zip-ties, and my head feels like it’s caving in on both sides. I’m hypoglycemic and hangry, a very, very dangerous combination—for those around me, to be clear. In short, I am out-of-my-mind livid.

I’ve desperately tried to piece together an understanding of what happened tonight, and more importantly, why. This is what I’ve come up with:

Astor and Carlos have some sort of beef with each other. (Duh).

This beef has led to the horrific death of Astor’s wife, and also the realization (for me) that Carlos has a much darker side than I could have imagined.

I, being in the ultimate wrong-place/wrong-time scenario, have been kidnapped by Astor Stone, taken as collateral until he gets his revenge—I’m guessing, anyway. Basically, I’m bait, intended to lure Carlos to Astor, where Astor will then kill him and likely dispose of me in the same way.

I have not been physically harmed (or worse), which means this isn’t a dark-Mafia torture-the-captive scenario. There’s my bright side.

But in terms of being rescued, I am screwed because the only people who would miss me are my work colleagues. But because I’m technically on “vacation,” they aren’t expecting me back for two weeks. There’s my downside.

The vehicle begins descending a long, paved driveway that cuts through endless trees. Tall wrought-iron lampposts line the driveway. A gentle fog creates an orb around each light, reflecting off the black asphalt, wet from a recent rain. It’s a jarring contrast to the Vegas Strip where I was just hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime.

I sit up in my seat, craning my neck to see what’s ahead. Distant lights twinkle through the darkness. A house.

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