27
After three hours of driving, the temptation to text Damon grew into a pressure she couldn’t avoid. The sun had set, shrouding the van in darkness. She slid her phone out of her back pocket. But how could she keep the light off and the men from noticing?
They hit construction traffic on I-20, and the van slowed. Davies and Walker made small talk about the construction, sounding like two regular guys and not men planning on killing her.
Walker merged the van to the left since their lane was closed.
The sound of a motorcycle engine caught her attention. She glanced out the window.
Her heart thudded hard.
Damon. On Ryker’s bike.
How in the hell…
What if Walker saw him? She kept her posture relaxed but looked again. A gun was in full display along his side, the bandage from his slice visible as well, confirming it was who she thought. She’d recognize him even in the helmet.
But he didn’t see her.
Damon took his glove off and started to mess with his phone now that traffic had stopped. He sat up straight.
I’m right here!
He looked around as if he could hear her silent cry.
Risking it, Ella took out her phone and kept it low in the backseat, firing off a text quickly.
Ella:Van beside you. Walker is driving. Davies here. I don’t know
A hand clampeddown over her phone before she finished it.
She hit the side button to lock the phone as Davies wrestled for it.
He smacked Ella upside the head before rolling down his window and throwing the phone out of the van.
Right over Damon’s head.
Damon spotted it midair and looked down at his phone again. Then, at the van. He slowed down.
Why? Where was he going?
She didn’t want to call attention to him, so she didn’t turn to look. But after a few seconds, she heard the throttle of his bike rev twice right behind them.
Closing her eyes, she laid her throbbing head back on the seat. He was here. But how could he get to her and both of them not get killed?
After another two hours, the SUV pulled into a parking garage. But what she didn’t hear was the motorcycle. That would echo off the concrete, and it was silent. After about ten times around and up, they made it to the top. The panic set in when they parked.
What if they made her jump?
What if Damon saw that?
What if they shot her right there?
She gritted her teeth, ready to fight again. That wouldn’t happen. Damon didn’t play the what-if game unless it was productive. It didn’t matter their plan. She would not end up dying without a fight.
The door opened.
She stayed in her same position, eyes closed.