Page 178 of Hell and High Water

Shock. I’ve felt it before.

Doesn’t make it easier to navigate.

So much so that I almost run right into the massive tree lying across the road.

Slamming my foot down, the truck screeches to a stop.

Tell reaches over, tugging my locked grip on the wheel, pulling me toward him. “Shh. Breathe, Hella.”

But I can’t. And I can’t pull my eyes away from the horror on the other side of the trunk ahead of us, emerging from the darkness in the glow of the headlights.

His shark eyes, his gleaming white smile.

Marco Vice is death incarnate, manifesting out of hell right before my eyes.

“Hella?” Tell shakes me, still oblivious to the threat outside.

“R–run, Tell.” It’s the best I can manage as shapes materialize from the shadows, all of them in black, carrying assault weapons, wearing goggles and helmets painted in a crimson skull, cracked down the middle.

Both of our doors squeal open at the same time, before I can even shout.

And I’m torn out of his grasp, the world slowing to a crawl, my vision narrowing to a pinprick that only sees Tyler being dragged away from me.

Everything goes numb.

Everything goes silent.

And as I’m turned to face the man I hate the most, the man I fear more than anything in this world, I slip away, letting the hyperventilating pattern of my breathing take me into unconsciousness.

“Wake her up.”

I’m drifting closer to the misery of wakefulness when I hear the statement. It’s followed by a stinging slap, right across my cheek. It’s hard enough to make my jaw hurt, to send stars popping in spots behind my closed eyelids.

“F–Fuck…”

“What was that, Elena?” Marco sings my name the way he always said it, with a hint of his Latin ancestry adding a tawdry inflection. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him saying it.

Marco leans into my space, close enough to give me a whiff of his acrid cologne. The expensive scent is toxic to me, unlocking every disgusting memory I have of him growing up, his anger. His abuse of my mother. His vicious words.

“Fuck. You.”

This time, the slap is brutal, the back of his ringed hand tearing a gash in the side of my face and knocking me to the ground. I hear the chair I was sitting in clatter to the cement as my face meets the cool, gritty floor. It’s almost a relief to get away from the smell, to press my aching cheek against the cold.

“You certainly have grown up. Not just that fantastic ass you got from your mother, but your intolerable mouth. Who’d have thought such supple lips could spout such filth?”

“If anything out of my mouth is filthy, it’s because even just your name on my tongue tastes like shit!” I spit toward him, a spray of blood and saliva.

“Up. Get her up.”

I’m dragged back to my feet, slammed down in the chair again. This time, two hands clamp down on my shoulders, holding me fast.

“You know, I wanted you in pristine condition. That’s how I prefer my prizes. But then you show up, looking bruised, battered, and like you just got fucked by an entire football team. Not that I’m surprised. You’re tainted. Sullied.”

His accusations are ludicrous. Still, they cut deep.

“If I’m dirty because of what Davi did to me, then it’s just as much your fault for giving me over to him.” I wish my words sounded as bold and acidic as the bile in my throat. But I falter, my lip quivering with a sob.

Flashes of my trauma threaten to cripple me, to drag me back into that hole I fell into when I was seventeen. A hole I almost didn’t make it out of alive.

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