Page 18 of Jagged Line Paradise

“Quiet,puta. We’re almost there.”

His heavy hand lands on the side of my left thigh and I jerk against his touch. His fingers graze up and down my bare leg, exposed beneath my purple- and white-striped pajama shorts.

His touch feels wrong, like sandpaper scrubbing roughly over my skin. His fingers slip toward my inner thigh and I clamp my legs together. It doesn’t stop him. He shoves his hand between my legs, and I feel his fingertips claw toward my sex.

I kick at his leg and scream through the fabric gag, using the leverage from my feet to push off and lift myself to sit upright. I frantically scoot all the way against the passenger door as he starts to laugh.

I look out my window, out the front, out the back over the bed of the truck, but all I see is desert. No roads. Just desert and hot, bright sunshine.

My tears fall swiftly, and I can’t hold back the sobs that violently shake my body.

Mr. Hernandez sighs. “I just couldn’t help myself, Lonnie girl. You’ve been growing into that body of yours nicely. When I saw you all pink cheeks and flustered coming out of my boy’s room last night, I just knew I had to have you.” He reaches out and I flinch as he lifts a strand of my hair, letting it slip through his fingers. “I could smell the sex on you, and it was fuckinggood.”

I try to ask why he’s doing this—to askwhathe’s doing—but it comes out as nothing more than a strangled noise.

He laughs and the sound causes a sinking feeling in my gut. “Just be quiet. All your questions will be answered soon enough.”

Silence falls and somehow, that’s worse than his laughter. I watch his face carefully as we drive farther out into the middle of nowhere.

Something’s happening.

A change washes over him. His eyes narrow as his lids droop with heavy intent. His dark eyes—the same color as Andrés’—grow darker. His lips twist downward into a vengeful-looking scowl. Humanity melts from his cheeks to give way to the evil inside him.

“You been watching the news?” he asks, looking straight ahead, his voice becoming a dark, monotone whisper.

I blink. I look forward, to watch as we come upon what looks like a storage unit for a semi-truck nestled behind a pile of rocks and boulders. The truck slows but everything within me speeds up.

“I’m the one they call the Canyon Carver.”

My head snaps to turn toward him.

The Canyon Carver.

No, no, no, that can’tbe right.

He’s got to be joking.

If it’s true, then I know what’s coming, and my body rebels against his intentions, preparing for a fight. But my mind refuses to believe it.

This is Mr. Hernandez.

He’s creepy, but he’s my best friend’s dad. He’s not a murderer. He can’t possibly be the man they call the Canyon Carver, the man who kidnaps runaway teens and prostitutes. I’m not like those girls. I’m his son’s best friend.

Thismust be a joke.

Some sick, twisted joke.

Butif it’s a joke…then what is the punchline?

I look down at my hands to see a red glow peek out from beneath the cable tie that digs into my skin. It hurts. I wiggle my hands, testing the binding, but the ties only dig in more. I can taste the salt of my tears as they soak the fabric wedged between my lips.

I want togo home.

I just want to go home.

The truck slows to a stop along the long side of the storage unit. The metal siding is painted a tan sort of color that blends into the landscape, though the paint chips off in places, revealing rust underneath. It looks like a death box. It’s the only way I can think of to describe it. If he’s planning to take me inside it, I have to run. I have to flee. I have to get away from him. I can’t let him take me inside that box.

I just can’t.

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