Page 5 of Tossed into the Mob
I needed to sleep, but I should check the windows and doors, and there was something else I was forgetting. I tried to part the fog that clouded my brain but couldn’t grasp the detail I was looking for.
The voice was soothing, like a lullaby, but I forced my eyes open and was met with a smiling face. Someone I’d met, and he was holding a water bottle and helping me to take a sip. Maybe I was in the hospital. I’d been in or near one today.
“You have an unfair advantage.”
“That’s because I have a gun.” I said the words, but they didn’t seem right in my head. I’d never owned a gun, but I’d found one in the metal box in the crawl space, along with the letter from my dad. But my fingers weren’t gripping the weapon. I was propped up with cushions and covered in something warm. It reminded me of home except it wasn’t, and though I wasn’t cold, goosebumps were galloping over my body.
“The gun!” I didn’t have it. I struggled to sit, but firm hands lay me back and the voice told me to rest.
“Your weapon is here, but you’re in no position to handle it.”
That made sense. But why did I have one? That was weird.
“I don’t know your name. If we’re going to be sharing a trailer, I should call you something.”
“Brock.”
Despite the water I’d drunk, my lips were dry, and my heavy eyes drooped and I closed them. In the distance, a door closed, but I didn’t want to be alone. Maybe I slept, because the nextthing I remembered was the smell of what? Chicken soup. That was Dad’s specialty whenever I was sick. And was that toast? Yum, I was hungry.
“Brock, would you like something to eat?”
I peeled my eyes open. He knew my name. I nodded, and he helped me to sit. He fed me, and when the soup dribbled over my chin, he wiped it. His fingers lingered on the spoon, and I liked him being so close. I lowered my defenses. But my mind was fuzzy as to who he was and how we got here.
I glanced around and took in the tiny kitchenette, the couch where I sat, and a bedroom up the other end. A trailer.
I didn’t have the energy to eat the toast, that took too much crunching and my jaw was sore, so I lay down, and I must have dozed because when I woke up, a voice was murmuring nearby.
“I’m fine. I’ve got mono.” There was a pause and then, “Yeah, two weeks.”
Treyton! That was his name, and I’d kidnapped him, but there wasn’t much kidnapping happening, not on my part.
I yanked myself up by grabbing the curtains. “You’re calling people to dispose of me.”
Everything came rushing back. I was such a fool. I couldn’t even kidnap a midwife. How was I going to keep myself alive? Not that I’d have to worry about that because the La Luna Noir guys would rip me into little pieces for taking one of their family members.
“No.”
“You just called in the cavalry.”
“I didn’t. I took sick leave.”
This world I’d found myself in was topsy turvy because my kidnap victim took time off to be with me in a trailer.
"So here's what's going to happen, Brock,” Treyton continued. “You're going to tell me who's trying to kill you. And then we're going to figure out how to keep you alive. Deal?"
I stared at him, this man I'd kidnapped who was offering to save my life. Nothing about him made sense. He’d flipped the script, but instead of feeding me to the fish or burying me in wet cement, he was offering to help. It might be a trap.
But I was out of options.
“It’s a deal," I whispered. “But later.”
THREE
TREYTON
I stared at Brock as he slept on the narrow couch.
We were supposed to be having “the talk” regarding who was after him and why he got me involved. Of course, if he hadn’t dragged me into this mess, I would never have met him, my mate.
