Page 8 of Deadly Rival

The door slams, then he gets into the driver's seat. There’s no warning, no rumbling engine announcing our departure. The car just lurches forward, and I roll with the motion, unable to stop myself.

From this new angle, I can see the seat back, which looks suspiciously like custom gray leather. This isn’t a normal Tesla; it’s a top-of-the-line model. Maybe he stole it? I can’t make myself believe it, though. He feels like he belongs in this car.

“This won’t be a comfy trip, I’m afraid,” he says in his phony growl. Why is he talking to me? It’s not like I can talk back. “I’ve thought about this day for a long time.”

He what? Ice cascades along my nerves. He’s thought about this? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. That can’t be good.

He turns on some music. Not the radio—smooth, electronic beats. The sort of music that makes me think of sipping cocktails on a beach, sun baking my skin. He’s a smooth driver, and thank God, because if he wasn’t, I’d be black and blue.

Maybe the cops will pull him over and find me here. Drag this asshole away to jail. But it doesn’t seem likely. It’s guys speeding in beat-up old junkers that get stopped, not a man in a high-end Tesla driving like an old lady.

I focus on the small amount of movement I still have. The handcuffs are a dead loss—no chance I’m getting out of them. But what about my legs? I shift them back and forth, small movements, but the tape doesn’t loosen one iota. My shoulders ache from the awkward position, and something hard—maybe a seat runner—is jabbing my hip. How much longer?

Are we there yet?

It strikes me as funny, even trussed up like a Christmas ham, but the tape around my mouth muffles every sound. The pain slowly grows as minutes tick by. I try to see out of the windows, but all I can see is the sky. Nothing helpful.

“Nearly there.”

The man’s voice has slipped into a higher register again, and my nerves spring to life, overwhelming even my growing discomfort. That voice. I know it but can’t place it. It’s not animmediate memory—it’s distant—but the more I replay it in my head, the more sure I am.

The car pulls to a halt, and the man’s voice rings out again. From the clipped sentences punctuated by pauses, he’s talking to someone on the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Can you do me a favor and not ask any questions?”

“I need you to get Kendrick and meet me at the gate. Call me when you’re there. Can you do that?”

Kendrick? The gate? None of it makes sense, but the wash of familiarity eclipses the words. He didn’t disguise his voice that time, and I was right. I know it from somewhere.

Where? Where is it from? Think!

A long time ago. College, maybe? I run through the few men my brother permitted me to get close to. No. None of them. Earlier, then. Belvedere Prep? An image flickers at the back of my mind. A boy, dark blond hair grown out in a straggly Kurt Cobain tangle, wearing a black hoodie and baggy jeans.

His finger jabbing at me. “This is your fault, you evil bitch. You drove her to this. You fucking—”

Then my brother’s fist slamming into his face.

No. God, no.

The car moves again, and I twist against the tape, but it’s useless. This isn’t a ransom. That voice…Maggie’s brother.

Maggie Grange.

Nauseating guilt swamps me as I think her name. My fault. Her death was my fault. Her brother. I can’t remember his name. Why can’t I remember his goddamn name?

He has me. He has me, and he’s taking me somewhere with a fucking gate. Sweat coats my skin as I struggle to breathe. It was easy a moment ago. Why is it so hard now? The car slows, and I try to claw the ragged edges of my composure together.

I’m a Calder. Wherever this is, whoever he was talking to, it doesn’t matter. My family name is my shield, the thing that can save me from whatever revenge he has planned.

I’ve thought about this day for a long time.

I bet he has. Almost ten years.

Keep. It. Together.

The door opens, and light spills in. Maggie’s brother grabs me and hauls me out of the car. My knees thud on the concrete as he places me on the ground, and I twist to get a look at him.

---