Page 85 of Wicked Debt

The phone wobbled, and I heard my father mutter, “These stupid machines.”

But resourceful as always, he figured it out, and I watched as the camera panned and then focused on Kayla.

She was sitting in a metal chair, her hands and wrists bound to the chair arms.

I saw another binding around her waist, and though I didn’t see the one on her ankles, I knew it was there.

She had her head tilted, that expression familiar, the one that told me she wasn’t about to take any of my shit.

She looked like her.

Terrified, yes, but it was her.

I didn’t know if she could see me, but I looked at her eyes, tried to tell her that I would be there.

And then she was gone, the camera spinning wildly, no doubt as my father tried to figure out how to work the phone.

I spotted something in the corner but then saw my father’s face.

“I hope you don’t mind if I keep her for a little while. We have some things to discuss,” he said.

“Where are you, Father?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you later. Kayla and I have some things to talk about first,” he said.

He hung up the phone, and I almost threw mine at the windshield.

I didn’t.

Instead, I gripped the steering wheel, held it so tight that I felt like I could rip it right off.

Was hit—hard—with a sense of failure.

Anger at myself.

Something that felt far too much like despair.

But then I remembered.

That thing I had seen in the corner.

It could be…

I cranked up the SUV and peeled out of the parking spot.

I could get there in time.

Could get there before my father did something that neither of us would ever be able to fix.

I could.

I would.

I pushed the gas harder.

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