Page 101 of Deathmarch
Harper’s thoughts trailed off as he registered that the note in his hand was written in a different handwriting—hard, angular, masculine—from the one he’d found in his apartment. His senses snapped to sharp attention as he read the message written in large block letters.
YOU GIVE ME THE GOLD, I’LL GIVE YOU THE GIRL.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Allie couldn’t break free.
She scanned the inside of the truck again in the negligible light. The rolled-down door only allowed for a gap about an inch wide.
The truck was empty, save for the built-in metal rack she’d been secured to when they’d arrived at their destination and her kidnapper had climbed into the back with her. He hadn’t cuffed her, thank God, but tied her up with electric cord, her hands bound tightly together at the end of a foot-long tether.
She’d fought and she’d lost. But she hadn’t given up. As soon as the man left her, she began trying to dislodge the rack. And she kept going, struggling, using every ounce of strength she had.
She yanked again, first up, then from side to side. She could find no give either way. The damn rack was bolted to the floor and roof, as well as to the truck’s side.
“Let me out!” she screamed.
Nobody responded. Nobody came.
She sank down to sit because she needed to catch her breath, needed a few minutes to fight back the towering sense of defeat.
The bastard had to be out there somewhere. She didn’t think he’d leave her unsupervised. He just didn’t feel like talking to her.
“Who are you?” she shouted.
He didn’t respond to that either.
Where was she? The truck hadn’t gone far, one thing in her favor. She was pretty sure they were still in Broslin, or at least nearby.
When, upon arrival, the guy had opened the truck’s back door to hop in and secure her, she’d seen the inside of a regular two-car garage, empty save for a pile of paint cans sitting in the corner by the entry.
She’d been too busy fighting, hadn’t caught more than a few glimpses of the space, hadn’t been able to determine whether the garage was attached to a house. But even if she could break free and sneak inside, there was no guarantee that the house had a landline. A lot of people just used their cell phones these days. And even if the kidnapper was sleeping and she could grab his cell phone, he probably had it password protected.
Her best bet was to escape the plastic-covered wire that held her prisoner inside the truck, force the garage door up, then run. There had to be other houses nearby, people she could ask for help.
“Come on.” She yanked on her restraints again. “Break!”
She needed something sharp. Or something hot. If she had a lighter, she could melt the plastic. For the first time in her life, she wished she was a smoker. But since she didn’t have easy access to flames, what else could work?
Maybe something abrasive?
Something had to give. She had to escape.
I just need you to make a trade,the man had said.
Trade her for what? Drugs?
The news had been full of human trafficking stories for the past few years, a terrible crime that was growing exponentially all over the world. God, she was twenty-eight. Wasn’t she too old for that? In the stories Allie had seen, the traffickers were snatching kids.
Maybe the guy planned on selling her organs.
Nope to the nope.She shoved to her feet, paced two small steps away from the shelving, then two steps back—all the movement her restraints allowed. She wasnotgoing to be trafficked.
“Hey!” she screamed toward the truck’s door. “Let me go. I can pay,” she lied. “I have money.”
Let the bastard come inside the truck again. Let him step close enough. This time, she’d be ready for him. She was going to kick him between the legs so hard, his balls were going to bounce off his teeth.
“Do you hear me?”
