Page 71 of Fast Kill

They hadn’t bothered blindfolding her and neither man had spoken to her since right after capturing her. She didn’t know where they were taking her, but they must have a specific purpose in mind for kidnapping her if they hadn’t killed her outright. If Dillon hadn’t sent them, who had?

She kept thinking about the scene of the shooting. It had been broad daylight. Chris had been on his phone, likely talking to headquarters.

Someone there must know what had happened and would be mounting some kind of rescue effort. She’d seen people standing on the sidewalk across from them, and other cars passing by. At least one of them would have seen them and called the cops. Right?

You can’t depend on that. You’ve never been able to depend on anyone.

She had to get out of this on her own.

The van slowed and made a left turn. She couldn’t see and didn’t dare risk trying to peek toward the front out the windshield. But the way the van bounced, jostling them as it drove along, told her they’d turned off a main road onto either dirt or grass.

A minute later, gravel crunched beneath its tires. The driver made a half-circle then slowed.

Taylor’s heart pounded harder. She sat up straighter, her entire body tensing as the van came to a stop. The man seated across from her pushed to his feet and aimed his weapon at her. “Get up.”

Her legs felt numb but she did as he said, watching his gun hand. For one crazy instant she debated kicking out, taking him off guard and knocking the weapon from his grip.

But the driver was armed as well, and with her hands tied behind her she wouldn’t be able to so much as escape the van before they shot her. For now, she had to go along with their demands. If an opening presented itself, she was taking it. Because the thought of enduring the kind of torture theVenenocartel was notorious for made her stomach twist.

The driver’s door opened and shut. His footsteps came along the left side of the van and stopped behind it. A second later the rear doors swung open, revealing the tool box in the driver’s hand.

Taylor blinked at the sudden change in light and looked outside as a slight breeze brought with it the salty scent of the ocean. For the smell to be that distinct, they had to be right on the coast.

“Out,” the man holding the weapon on her said.

With one careful step after another, she made her way to the open rear doors and hopped down. They were alone in some kind of grassy clearing bordered by woods, and she didn’t know which way the water was. Were they going to take her somewhere by boat?

The urge to run was so strong it was almost overwhelming. But it would be suicide.

Without preamble, the dark-haired man from inside jumped down, roughly grabbed her bound wrists and began frog-marching her across the lot. She automatically resisted, pushing back against his iron hold, but he merely shoved her until she almost fell, and kept moving.

Through a gap in the trees ahead, she spotted a small building. A cabin or something. Icy cold fear sluiced through her. If they’d taken her to a boat, it would guarantee her living a while longer. But taking her to that shed…

Fear took over. She twisted and lashed a foot out at the man holding her. He sidestepped it easily and rammed his elbow into the side of her head.

She gasped as pain shot through her skull and neck, and dropped to her side in the grass. Before she could regain her wits, he’d wrenched her upward by her wrists.

“Ahhh!” She shot up onto her toes to try and relieve the awful pressure in her shoulders and elbows. Her captor didn’t slow, and didn’t ease up. A few more ounces of pressure and he’d either dislocate something or break her bones.

Up ahead, the shed loomed, coming ever nearer. The driver loped ahead to do a quick check and then opened the door. The man holding her shoved Taylor inside. She gasped at the sudden relief in her arms and pitched forward, landing hard on her knees on the rough concrete floor.

The sound of the door shutting sent another arrow of fear through her. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the two men, noting the rusted metal cot in the corner, covered with a thin, filthy mattress. Still aiming the pistol at her, the dark-haired one motioned toward the cot.

There was no way she was going to give in and lie down on it.

Ignoring her, the driver knelt and set his toolkit down, then pulled something from it. A length of nylon rope.

Taylor swallowed and locked her knees to keep them from shaking.

“Lie down,” the man with the gun said, the coldness of his voice sending a shiver through her.

“Fuck you,” she spat, waves of nausea churning in her stomach. If they planned to rape her, she wasn’t going to make it easy or enjoyable. She’d rip chunks out of their skin with her teeth, would never stop fighting.

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile as cold as his eyes. “We’ll get to that eventually.”

Taylor lunged toward the door. She made it only a step before he caught her and lifted her off her feet.

She shrieked and bucked in his hold, twisted around to try and sink her teeth into any part of him she could reach. Arm, chest, belly.

---