CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Help!” Riley screamed into the stifling blackness, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She knew she should preserve the precious fluid, but it wouldn’t matter if she was going to die anyway. She’d been hallucinating and cooking for what felt like ages in the hot, dark trunk. She banged on the lid and yelled until she was exhausted and weak once more. She took another desperate gulp of water and pinched herself in an attempt to keep her eyes open. She knew she couldn’t pass out again. She might not wake up.
Her moronic husband (did Shank really force her to marry him?!) was going to accidentally murder her before he got them to where they were going. She moaned and clutched her aching stomach. She hadn’t eaten since the day before. Maybe longer. Fuck, she had no idea how much time had passed since Shank had blown the shit out of her and Soloman’s kitchen and stolen her right out of the house. She didn’t know how much more punishment her body could withstand.
“Please… Soloman… find me,” she sobbed into the darkness trying to ignore the streaks of colour dancing before her eyes and the terrible stabs of pain that attacked her lungs with every breath she took.
Then she saw him. Reaching for her through the fog of red and black and pain. The tattoos on his hands stood out stark against his swarthy skin, safe and true as he cradled her against his chest. Her breathing eased as his masculine scent enveloped her, washing away the hot, sweaty trunk smell.
“Soloman,” she cried, tears leaking from her lashes. She rolled onto her back, with her arms outstretched and drifted into the sweet chaos of her drug fuelled mind.