Page 537 of Rage

The way his muscles bunch and flex even while doing this small task is distracting, though.

Business first, Cece, I chide myself. Twisting to survey what’s on the other side of the car, my heart plummets. Because what’s there is something no kidnapped criminal ever wants to see: the iron gates of a cemetery.

Chapter Four

Cece

Shit.

A cemetery doesn’t bode well for us.

“You, get him to the gate,” the guard says, motioning for Xander to drag Liam to the entrance of the cemetery.

“How? I don’t have much in the way of hands or feet here, man.”

“I don’t care. Just do it.”

I hate to say it, but I preferred it when this guy was singing.

“I’ll help,” I volunteer, partially to not leave Xander in a lurch, but also to gauge what the guard will do. He doesn’t seem to mind, so I wiggle alongside Liam. “Put your arms above your head. Xander and I can slide our arms through and drag you along.”

Liam’s typically pale skin is a sickly paper white, his now shorter, barely brown hair soaked with sweat, a trickle tracing over the handful of freckles that I assumed would have faded with adulthood. He nods, then Xander and I loop our arms through, the three of us making painful, awkward progress across the gravel parking lot.

Once we reach the gate, the guard motions for Xander to wiggle into the graveyard. Then, keeping the gun on Xander, theguard leans down and zip ties Liam and me to the gate by our bound wrists.

Now that Liam and I are contained, he points the gun at me as he latches Xander’s hands against one leg with a zip tie under his knee. Xander effectively hobbled, he cuts his ankles free. “Up. Walk,” he barks.

Xander gets to his feet and starts a slow, half-bent shuffle into the graveyard, a spotlight in the distance signaling the destination, the shadow of a backhoe shouting that this is the end.

The fact that there are two other cars in the lot doesn’t help me figure out how to get out of this mess. More people, likely more guns, and what must be three pre-dug graves waiting for us. Mob, Triad, and Cartel, all cut loose without heirs, a power vacuum created in a single night under the sliver of a new-ish moon.

I’d appreciate how well planned this was if I wasn’t going to die tonight.

Xander must be thinking along the same lines. “Say Cece?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“You owe me a date, this life or the next, got it?”

On an impulse, I shimmy to standing, then lean forward and loop my thumbs in the top of the obnoxious strapless dress and yank down, my boobs falling free. “I can’t guarantee this package in the next life, so aim for this one,” I call out, not liking that he’s already accepted there’s probably no way out of this.

He whistles, winking as he shuffles past the first line of headstones. “I’ll keep that in mind, sweet thing.”

Liam makes a choked sound, drawing my attention, only to find he’s transfixed by the boobage that’s now dangling over his face. Not that it’s super clear, what with my arms zip tied to aniron bar, but still. It’s a pretty enough picture, I suppose. “This isn’t for you, O’Connell,” I say.

“Even if I’m a dying man?”

“We’re all dying. It’s just a matter of when.” I go to shimmy the fabric back up, but his hand on my ankle stalls the motion.

“Don’t.”

“You really think you’re dying?”

“It took a hell of a long time to get that bandage on.”

“I warned the guy. He didn’t listen. I can’t say I’d choose this monstrosity of a dress for my next kidnapping.” I flop down on my butt beside Liam’s arms.

“Planning on another trip in a trunk?”

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