Page 7 of Haze of Obedience
"Zoe Diego!" A girl's voice screeches, and within seconds a crowd mobs me. People pull their phones out and take pictures and video footage. Strangers grab my arms, yanking me, and trying to embrace me all at the same time.
Everything spins, and I struggle to breathe.
The lobby fills with more people, and lights flash. Someone tugs my necklace off, and the strap to my dress rips.
I'm not standing on my own merit. So many bodies squish me, I'm held up by the crowd.
I pass out.
"Santiago's going to love her," a man says. I don't recognize his voice and try to open my eyes but can't. My heart is racing so fast I think it might explode. I'm lying down on something, but it isn't comfortable, and there are lots of bumps.
In and out of consciousness, I pass. My face is numb. I gasp for breath and taste the metallic blood.
Darkness turns to light then dark again, but we never stop moving. At least, not that I'm aware.
Chills run so deep in my bones I think I'm freezing to death. Tremors mix with muscle aches. A sharp pain shoots through the nerves in my spine.
I need a hit.
"Please." My voice is raspy, my throat is dry, and I don't know if anyone hears me. I repeat it but louder.
I force my eyes to stay open.
Who are they?
Two men, one with greasy long, black hair, and one bald, are in the front seats. I can't see their faces, only the back of their heads.
Must be Jonas’ guys.
"Please," I say in English, thinking they probably are Belizean and don't speak Spanish.
The bald guy turns and speaks in Spanish. "Ah, she's alive."
Fear stirs with my craving for more drugs. But I'm still foggy. I try to sit up but can't. I change back to Spanish. "Where's Jonas?"
"Torres? Don't speak his name," the man screams and spit flies on me.
Oh God. Who are they?
I attempt to sit up again but can't move. New horror bubbles as I notice my legs and wrists tied with a thick rope and three seat belts that secure me to the backseat.
My body flails, trying to go free, but all it does is send pain throughout my limbs.
The bald man watches me, laughing, and the other one joins him.
Tears fall down my face. I weakly ask, "Who are you?"
But they don't answer. The man turns on music. As if to mock me, it's my voice...my song.
He blares the radio, and a new set of chills torture me. My muscles cramp, and spasms grow so strong I scream for them to help me.
Like the last few years of my life, no one does.
When the car stops, I don't notice we aren't moving. Fire scorches through all my nerve endings, and I don't even care where I'm at or who is with me.
I just need a hit.
Delerium sets in, and I beg them over and over to give me a line.
