Page 61 of Along for the Ride

George’s phone rings again, and I can only assume Gentry or Karson have been blowing it up. Probably before they come and actually blow shit up. If they can find me.

“They’re going to kill you,” I say through the hood.

He hears my muffled words and smacks my cheek hard enough to make my ear ring. “I hope they do. I want them to find you so I can kill them after I kill their little toy in front of them.”

“You need home-turf advantage because youknowwhat they’ll do to you on a level playing field. You knew you couldn’t take them out at that target’s house.”

“Target? What have they been teaching you? You haven’t taken the prerequisite courses on living a life of hardship to get into this class.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

He lets out a hollow laugh and holds my thigh in a grip I can’t shake off. “I know enough.”

A sharp tingle runs through my arms and hands, and I shift my weight to relieve the building pressure. The vehicle eases to a stop, and so does my heart. The dozens of unknowns rush through my head and drown out any rational thought.

The door to my left opens, and hands wrap around my arms and haul me out of the car. I spew curse words beneath the hood and kick my legs until my feet connect with concrete. A garage door rises in front of me, clicking and clacking on its track as the motor whirs, so I’m probably at a house. I consider screaming, but if they’re brazen enough to bring a hooded woman through the garage, I doubt there’s anyone around to hear my cries for help. Doing so would only piss them off, so I keep my mouth shut as they lead me forward.

“Stairs,” a gruff voice says behind me.

My foot searches for the first tread, and I clumsily climb a staircase that seems to go on forever. When we reach the top, I’m ushered through another doorway and my feet connect with the familiar thud of hardwood floors. The man behind me grips my shoulders, turns me to face him, and eases me backward until my spine touches something cold and tall. He slices through the tape on my wrist and secures something else in its place. I feel around with my fingertips until my mind can piece a picture together: I’m handcuffed to a fucking pole.

The hood lifts from my head, and I squint against the room’s bright light. As my eyes adjust, my mouth falls open. I’m tethered in a spacious living room, dwarfed by the tallest ceilings I’ve ever seen and windows that would fill the room with sunlight if it wasn’t late at night. The slick hardwoods gleam, and plush red couches and chairs surround a giant fireplace.

My eyes move to the men. George—wearing a three-piece suit in an ostentatious shade of baby blue—stands between four muscular men. He isn’t at all what I expected. He’s much older than he sounded, and he’s kind of short. But I guess he doesn’t need to be big when he has Vin Diesel’s body-doubles for friends.

“So you’re the reason my best men have been acting fucking suicidal?” George asks. He takes a step toward me, and his men mirror each move. He lifts a strand of my hair, screws up his mouth, then drops his hand. “Kind of plain if you ask me. Don’t you think?” He turns to his men.

“She looks better than she did when she was high.” That voice crawls up my spine and raises the hair on the back of my neck. I refuse to believe it until he steps into the room, and then I can’t deny what’s right in front of my face.

“Mickey?” I breathe.

“What? You didn’t believe me when I said I’d find you if you ever left me?” He steps closer, and his cologne sends a million terrible memories rushing to the surface of my mind. “I had a tail on you the whole time you were on the street. I lost you for a bit when you stole that car, but when I found out George’s boys were riding in a similar make and model, I put two and two together.”

“So Karson really didn’t tell George?” I ask. “It was you?”

“I wasn’t certain at first, but when I saw that little video, there was no denying it. Your tattoo gave you away.” He drags his finger along the curve of my breast, and I wiggle away. “Great acting, by the way. He asked me if I thought it was real, but I know you. I said, ‘That’s my Lee, but she ain’t dead.’” He circles me.

“I’m not yours anymore, Mickey.”

“You’re damn right you’re not. Not after you’ve been all used up. I expected you to hop on the first dick you saw, but the Kursickis? You got yourself involved with some real bad people. Way worse than me.”

“How do you know them?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

“We all work in the same circus, but we perform in different rings. I’m one of George’s dealers, but I’m well aware of George’s star acts. His deadly, daring duo.”

Go fucking figure. Just my luck.

He brushes a firm hand through my hair. “You’re looking good. Healthy,” he whispers in my ear, and I rip away from his words, straining against the handcuffs. His hand rides down my neck and grazes the scabby cut on my left breast. He rips my shirt, exposing my nipple. “Since you like to show your tits to random men.”

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, I suck my lower lip into my mouth to stop the tremble. I curl my toes, letting the tension run through my calves so I don’t kick him. If he knows how much he’s hurting me, he’ll do more. Worse.

Mickey reaches into his pocket and tugs out a pill. The sight of it makes my mouth water. Makes my toes uncurl. It would help ease some of the pain in my head from where they hit me when they took me.

I shouldn’t want that pill.

But I do.

I stick out my tongue and allow Mickey to place the pill into my mouth, then I dry swallow and wash it down with immediate regret and guilt.

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