Page 32 of Debt of My Soul

I step out of my jeep, darkness only broken apart by the stream of white from my flashlight. The air is thick with silence, and the night has swallowed the expected nocturnal noises. Creepily absent. Lovely.

The shadow of my car is cast along the road as I move around, inspecting my tires.

I deflate—or should I say my left front tire has.

Squatting down, I move the light along the rubber until I come across the large nail sticking out of it.

“Damn it.” I whack the light against the spot where the nail punctures through, and I shake my head when the light flickers.

A twig snaps from deep in the trees and I freeze. Suddenly, my mouth is dry, and I tense as I look around before standing on shaky legs. Heading back for my car, I lean in over the driver’s seat to snatch my phone from my purse.

No service.

Great.

Another well-known fact about the Natchez Trace—cell phone service is about as shotty as the restrooms. My shoulders slump as I look around the empty road and void woods. There’s nothing around here.

All the tricks to get a signal don’t work. Waving my arm in the air. Marching my phone across the road and walking several feet in each direction does nothing to give me those bars I so desperately need.

Resigned, I step back to the car and comb through any knowledge my father tried to impart to me when I learned to drive. Because learning to drive wasn’t gas, brake, and stay in your lane. No. It was a full-fledged breakdown of the car parts, oil changes, and spare tire equipment I’d be stupid not to have in my vehicle.

I dig around, attempting to locate the jack, when two lights reflect off my car mirrors.

Thank goodness.

Turning on my heels, I watch as a car barrels toward me, going much faster than the well-patrolled speed limit posted. The relief I was feeling for a moment sprints away, and I’m left with the roiling of unease as the car slows to where I stand.

Lifting my hand over my eyes, I squint at the car still blaring its lights in my direction and count four silhouetted bodies inside. The phone in my back pocket is useless right now, but I pull it out anyway, the weight of it offering a false comfort.

All four doors open, and my gaze jumps first to the driver, whom I don’t recognize. His hair is dark, but as he stridesforward, it takes on a red hue, his sharp nose moving with his head as he scans me from head to toe. A sneer seeps across his mouth, the beer belly he sports jiggling with each chuckle.

“Well, boys, look what we have here. You havin’ car trouble, sweetheart?”

The nickname grates in my ears. The nickname my mother gave me and that Mrs. Northgate uses frequently sounds vile on his tongue. Another man rounds the front of their old beater Chevy. He tugs at his leather vest and raises his chin at me.

I recognize him. The man from the diner with Adam. His name was some sort of football move?—

“Blitz,” another man calls from where he’s climbing out of the back seat, “I claim this one, man. You got the last one.”

Blitz. That’s his name. It’s as if he realizes he’s seen me before at the same time I pin his name down because his mouth lifts into a wicked grin.

“Hey now. This here is Adam’s lady friend.” He snorts.

Beer belly scoffs and spits on the ground at Adam’s name. I back up, eyes flitting to the two men standing in front of me and getting distracted by the other two emerging from the back seat.

I hold up my phone.

“Thanks, guys. But I’m all set. Just called someone to come help. Appreciate you stopping, though.” I throw as much sweet crooning into my words as I can.

“Baby, I don’t think you understand,” Blitz says, adjusting the bulge in his pants as he walks toward me. “There’s no cell service out here. I doubt you called anyone.”

I slide around the break light, walking backward to my car. Blitz laughs, his oily wheeze skidding around me and destroying any hope they’d leave.

Narrowing my eyes on him, I turn to jump in my car and drive off anyway, tire be damned. But a hand snatches my hair,pulled back in a convenient long ponytail. He yanks and I yelp, tears stinging behind my eyes.

“Blitz.”

The deep rumble ofthatvoice vibrates through me, and I know it. Liam.

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