Page 87 of Hidden Truths

I was targeted. They knew my name.

They knew where to find me.

“But who?” I ask out loud to the bugs.

“Senator Wolfe? Unlikely. It’s Mav he wants, not me.”

I think about that for a moment.

“I supposed it could be him, but all the way out here seems like a stretch.”

I guess it could be whoever sent that email.

“But who else would be angry about us doing an episode on Ezra?”

I don’t want to say it out loud and make it true, but it would make more sense for my dad to be targeted over me. He’s doing a lot more digging than I am, and he’s close to getting dirt on the senator.

“Unless I am the target because of him,” I mutter.

I shake my head.

“It has to be related to the email. They’ve been following us the whole tour. It makes sense I would have been followed to a nail salon.”

I thought it was public enough, but apparently not. I get up with renewed determination and climb the stairs. Banging on the door with as much strength as I can at the weird angle, I scream.

“Let me out, you coward! You made me miss my daughter’s birthday! At least fight me face to face!”

My dad taught me how to take down a grown man. Have I practiced what he taught me? No. Not in years, but I’m kind of hoping it’s muscle memory. I will not rot down here, or worse.

“What’s wrong? Is my dick bigger than yours? Or are you terrified of vaginas?”

Shit. What if the ringleader is a woman and I’m just assuming the two guys that took me are in charge?

“This chick just said she has a dick,” I hear right outside the door.

“And it’s bigger than yours!” I yell as loudly as I can.

The handle squeaks and stops.

“Don’t open it! The boss wants to talk to her before we take care of her,” Man One says.

“She needs to learn to shut the fuck up. I’m sure the boss won’t mind if I rough her up a little,” Man Two counters, but from the sound of smacking flesh, I don’t think Man One agreed.

I take a deep breath and count. One. Two. Three. Then I grab the handle, which thankfully turns, and push the door open. The two men are punching each other but stop when they see me jump out of the storm shelter.

I don’t stop. I don’t look around. I just run.

“Hey! Get back here, you bitch!” one of them yells. I don’t turn to look. I just run into the cornfield in front of me and hope I can lose them in it.

Keeping my head down, I move my legs as fast as I can, taking turns at random. The sun is starting to set, and I know my red hair is like a glowing beacon. It’s not long before I’m panting and cursing the amount of corn. Where the fuck is the end to this?

The shouts from the men get quieter, so I take a moment to slow down. I don’t stop, but I do slow to a walk. All my darting has them going in the wrong direction.

Or they’re going in the direction help would be, and I went the wrong way.

Hot, fat tears stream down my cheeks before I can stop them. I wipe at them furiously.

No. I’m not going to lose it. Not now. My feet are sore and covered in mud. I can’t even see the purple sparkles on my toes anymore.

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