Page 94 of Hunted, Season Three

Lucky for me these walls are thin.

I can hear them.

Too bad they don’t care that they can hearme.

My cries.

My screams.

My pleas for mercy and help.

Too bad they don’t seem to give a shit that there’s a pregnant woman just a few feet from them practically freezing to death in a makeshift prison cell.

“Affirmative,” states the familiar, raspy, robotic voice that’s stopped on the other side of the wall.

I call him Turdetto.

He’s – from what I’ve managed to gather during my eavesdropping – the leader or the Toretto – if this were Kid’s favorite franchise come to fruition.

Naming him that…relating him to my fiancé’s favorite films…makes me feel less alone.

Less helpless.

And fuck, do I feel helpless.

Even more so with nothing more than my fingernail to frantically scribble across own skin on top of the faded ink that’s already there.

“Affirmative,” repeats Turdetto in the one tone of voice he seems to possess.

Gotta give it to the guy.

Nothingseems to bother him.

Not the weather.

Not sleeplessness.

And damn sure not being yelled at by the woman paying him outrageous amounts of money to relocate me back to Florida.

“There are no more reports or indications on the radar of additional ice forecasted; however, temperatures are not expected to increase enough to melt what has made it to the terrain, sir.”

I wonder who Turdetto answers to.

Is he part of a large company?

Something massive?

Global?

Is it something small we could set on fire and have Zero or Garcia financially bankrupt with a bit of assistance from me?

My eyes briefly close again during the next stretch of conversational silence.

I wonder will they be able to find me.

I wonder if there’s some weird computer trick where Zero hacked into someone’s phone, used their camera to spot me in the background, and then traced my whereabouts from there through a series of building security cams because let’s face it.

We don’t have traffic cams here.

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