Page 136 of Not A Whisper

Someone swears, and the footsteps stop. “Damn it, that drink was supposed to knock her out faster than this. Just close the trunk and let’s get out of here.”

As I attempt to sit up, bracing my hand beneath me to do so, a dark silhouette steps into view. With blurry vision and heavy eyelids, I can hardly make out the massive shape. There’s a soft gasp of horror.

“Briella?”

I squeeze my eyes shut then force them back open, willing them to focus. They do, for a second. But despite the momentary clarity, I can’t believe my eyes.

“Lance? What are you… what’s going on?” I’m not sure he even understands me. My words are terribly slurred, even my thoughts feel sluggish. Pain in my stomach has me hunching over.

Is he in on this? Oh my god. He has to be. Why else would he be here? The terror that rushes through me is colder than the bitter winter night.

“Hurry up, man!” the server shouts as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“No! Wait, Woody, we can’t do this. It’s too far,” Lance objects. “I thought we were taking out this guy’s trash, likeliteraltrash. I didn’t realize, I can’t believe he meant… I’m not?—”

There’s a click of a safety being turned off on a gun that cuts my upstairs neighbor off.

“If you’re not going to help, then shut the trunk and step the fuck away so I can get out of here. If you don’t do at leastthat, I’m sure our boss won’t have any problem making sure your daughter isn’t an issue again.”

Lance swears violently but hesitates.

“Please don’t let him do this,” I whisper as my arms wobble and give out beneath me. As I collapse, I watch as Lance shakes his head, reaches up and slams the trunk closed. At the same time, light from inside the hotel spills out into the alleyway. There’s muffled shouting, and there's a hard thump as something hits the back of the SUV.

“BRIELLA!”

Trip.

“Shit, shit, shit!” the driver shouts.

The SUV lurches forward, tires screeching in protest. The movement is enough to take my nausea to straight vomiting. I throw up my entire meal as I’m thrown to the back of the trunk. My head hits the back door, and the darkness of the vehicle intensifies as my body gives up the fight.

Thirty-Three

As I force my eyelids open, I take note of how much better I feel.

I’m not nearly as groggy, and my stomach isn’t roiling uncomfortably. Not that any of that makes a difference as I piece together the last few minutes of consciousness to remember that I’ve been kidnapped and I’m in the back of someone’s vehicle.

The same vehicle that had been peeling out of the parking lot as Trip’s company burned.

Pushing myself up, I grimace. I’m covered in vomit. Lovely. Let’s just make this experience as terrible as possible. My body sways as the SUV treks over uneven ground. Is that the sound of gravel we’re traveling over? Through the window I can only see sparse clouds, a glimpse of the bright moon, and the occasional snowflake sticking to the glass. Judging by the lack of light pollution and the terrain, we’re no longer in the city limits of Groveton.

How long have I been out?

Before I can roll onto my knees and peer out the window,the SUV slows and comes to a stop. The engine cuts off and the driver, Woody, lets out a heavy sigh. My heart hiccups, skipping a few beats before it takes off on a sprint.

I’ve made it to a second location. I’m not even a true crime fan but I know thatthisisn’t a good thing. Despite the heat in the SUV, I shiver. The driver climbs out and slams the door hard behind him. Ignoring the crunching of his feet as he rounds the vehicle, I look around the trunk. There has to be something in here I can use as a weapon. In just a dress and heels, I have a feeling running isn’t in my future. So fighting is. I’mgoingto make it out of this alive.

This continuous game of survival has grown old. First with Pia’s ex, then his brother, and now Garry Gipson? Who the fuck do I have to talk to make this shit stop happening to me?

My hand brushes against something cold, thin, and metal. Wrapping my fingers around it, I lift the item and let out a soft sigh of relief. A screwdriver! Ok, well, it’s not a gun or a knife, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

The door to the trunk jerks upward. As it lifts, I scramble to my knees, clutching the screwdriver as tightly as possible. Just as I see the young man’s face, I lunge forward with a screech. The sound echoes as I crash into him. The guy swears in surprise but then cries out in pain as I slam the screwdriver into his stomach as we topple to the ground. The thin layer of snow does nothing to cushion the fall. The gravel hidden just beneath it bite into my bare arms as I roll off him. Before either of us can do anything else, I reach forward and yank the screwdriver out of his gut. He grabs for my wrist as I bring it back up, but I clock him in the jaw with my left hand, taking him by surprise. At the same time, I bring the screwdriver back down. It sinks into his shoulder.

With a pained yelp, he shoves at me. My fingers slip on my weapon, and as I fall back onto my butt, I completelylose my hold on it. The young man rolls away from me and gets onto his feet.

“Damn it!” he grunts. Reaching up, he pulls the tool from his shoulder. He swears as he tosses it a few yards away.

It’s then that I realize that we’re out in the middle ofnowhere.Other than the structure behind my kidnapper, we’re surrounded by flattened farmland. The large wooden shed, unsuspecting and decrepit, is barely standing. The roof is caved in on one side and half of the wooden boards are either splintered apart, missing, or bowing so badly I’m not sure if they’re providing any true support.

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