Page 83 of Blurred Red Lines
Catching me around the waist, the impact threw us both into the door. With his momentum behind me, I hit first, my chin smacking against the glass as it shattered. I didn’t hesitate to turn, kicking my legs wildly in the air and searching out any part of his body to connect to.
“Stupid bitch!” With a roar, he swung his arm out and backhanded me across the cheek. The impact sent me sprawling against the door again. This time, the back of my skull connected with the glass with a sickening thud. As blurry vision clouded my line of sight, nausea crawled up my throat.
I’m going to die right here.
Clawing at my own leg, I blindly reached for my last hope. My fingers brushed the leather as he braced his forearm against my chest and pinned my arms in place. His gun settled against my temple and smiling a wicked grin, he cocked his finger. Shutting my eyes tight, I held my breath as he pulled the trigger.
Silence.
His grin widened. “Oops. No bullet in that chamber.”
Tears rolled down my face as clarity came to me full force.
All the times I begged Val to kill me, I didn’t want to die.
Readjusting his hold on the gun, the man with dead eyes and a thin mustache pressed harder against my chest. “I have a surprise for you, Eden Lachey. We’re going on a trip…one that’ll lead the rat to the cheese.”
“A trip?” I croaked the words roughly, my voice hoarse from screaming. Before he could answer, the meaning of his words hit me.
They were setting a trap for Val.
“You’re wrong,” I swore, shaking my head as much as I could under the pressure of the gun. “Valentin Carrera doesn’t give a shit about me.”
Laughing, he adjusted his hold on the gun once more. “Nice try, bitch.”
With brutality I’d never experienced in my life, he pistol-whipped me until I blacked out.
* * *
Gasoline.
The stench of petroleum filled my nose way before sound did. It burned my throat and coated my stomach with a scent I could taste. Low conversation from above my head buzzed in my ear. The words sounded clipped and garbled as if I were in an alternate universe.
They were different. They were unrecognizable. They were Spanish.
Immediately, my body stiffened, and a searing pain shot from the base of my skull to the top of my head. Something inside of me warned my eyes not to open. It didn’t matter if they listened or not, because they felt glued shut.
My wrists hurt with a familiar ache that reminded me of my arm being shackled to a metal bedframe. With concerted effort, my brain instructed my arms to move, only to be met with resistance.
Understanding the reason I couldn’t move my limbs took too much effort to care.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion, swimming underwater and against a strong current. Wherever I was, we were moving. With every jerk and jostle, I felt myself being transported from one place to another.
Soon, a loud rumble roared in my ears, followed by the sensation of going up…up…up…
Then, complete weightlessness.
I should’ve fought to wake up and look for landmarks. With all the transporting, I needed to remember useful information to give my location to someone who could help me.
But the harder I fought to open my eyes, the deeper I sank to the bottom of the ocean, the murky water closing in on me as the darkness claimed me once more.
* * *
“Wake up, you Carreraputa. It’s time to get on your knees. Surely, you’re used to it by now.”
Strong hands dug into my upper arms and dragged me across rough flooring. Bright light shone in my eyes, first forcing them open, then immediately commanding them closed.
My head.
