Page 48 of Not This Place

"Can't do that." Her gaze never wavered from the rear-view mirror, where she could see the whites of the gunmen's eyes. "They're taking me to their boss.”

"Rae, that’s not—"

She clicked off the transmission.

The gunmen shifted a rustle of fabric against leather. Nervous. Good. Her grip on the gun remained firm. No room for error.

"Drive," she ordered again, and the car lurched forward, tires crunching over gravel.

"Who's the boss?" Rachel's voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

The gunmen, hands on the wheel and the passenger seat, exchanged a loaded glance. Neither spoke. Their jaws set, eyes forward. The dark interior of the car felt like a pressure cooker, every second ratcheting up the tension.

The one in the passenger seat was wrapping his wounded leg with a torn portion of his shirt, his forehead glistening with sweat and fear. The driver gripped the wheel, knuckles white beneath the harsh cabin light. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight that penetrated through the windshield, adding to the surreal tableau.

"Who is he?" Rachel repeated, her tone icy. "Your boss?"

Silence. A stubborn wall of defiance met her question. Their loyalty to their boss clearly ran deep. Deeper than their fear of a bullet from her gun—maybe not by much, but enough to keep them silent.

Fine.

Rachel adjusted her grip on the radio, depressing the communication button. "Ethan." Her voice crackled through the silence. "I'm heading west on Farm to Market Road 170."

The car rumbled on, swallowed by the inky blackness of the desolate Texan landscape. Rachel divided her attention between keeping her gun trained on the two men and scanning their surroundings: fences blurring into endless fields, nothing but darkness beyond.

"Copy that," Ethan's voice cut through the silence again, tension clear in his tone despite his attempt at remaining calm. He was on his way, she knew it—there was comfort found in that knowledge. Comfort but not complacency; she had far from forgotten who were behind those wheels and what they were capable of.

"Talk," she said. The word was a bullet fired into the space between them. No response.

Ethan's voice crackled over the radio, a lifeline fraying with worry. "Rae, you got a name?"

"Working on it." Her reply was granite-hard. She pressed the transmitter button again. "Coordinates coming your way."

The road ahead unfurled, flanked by the vast Texas landscape. The sky was a wide expanse, but freedom was a mirage here. The gunmen’s resentment simmered in the confined space.

Rachel could feel her frustration growing. There was no guarantee these men were taking her to their boss.

For all she knew, they were going to drive her in circles.

“You need a hospital,” she said suddenly, looking at the man with the wounded knee.

“Yeah? Get me to one,” he spat through gritted teeth. He’d removed his ski mask now, and he looked young with a scar along

his stubbled jawline. Not far from being a kid, really. A kid who’d chosen the wrong path.

“We’ll go to a hospital,” she said softly. “After. First, take me to your boss.”

He stared at her. Then at his companion gripping the steering wheel.

“Come on… dammit, look at this,” he said, moaning. “I’m losing blood fast. Mattie,” he said, looking at his companion.

"Shut up, Leroy."

“Leroy?” Rachel said. “You from around here.”

He leaned back now, wheezing and groaning as he stared at the ceiling. “Oh, God,” he whimpered. “Please! I need a doctor.”

“You know, the human body holds

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