Page 61 of Resisting Nature

What the hell is he going to do with me?

Sitting up is a struggle with all movement. I’m nearly flung from the bedding, and then I hear it, the rolling of tires as gravel crunches and pops under me and the rattle of everything around me.

I blink several times, slowly taking in my surroundings. Where the hell could I be and what did he already do to me? What did he inject me with?

Dread pools in my gut, shooting up into my mouth at the possibility something could have happened to my baby. Forget me, is my baby safe?

More bumps come as I take in the small camper. That’s what I have to be in. It’s the type that fits into the back of a truck bed. Worn out, it looks like he has lived in it for a while now. A smell in the stagnant air causes my sensitive stomach to revolt. I’m not against throwing up all over the place at the moment.

What terrifies me are the nasty-looking bear traps with sharp pointed jaws hanging everywhere and the various guns.

Carefully, I swing my legs over the side of the high bed while also paying attention not to make a sound. If I’m correct, Grant is just under me and will hear every move I attempt to make. Thankfully, while also being completely grossed out, my sock-clad feet touch down on the couch below, and I gently slide off. I’m unstable as I walk to the door. It takes everything in me not to run into anything with each turn of the wheel he takes.

“Are you kidding me?” I mutter under my breath. Don’t these usually lock from the inside? Shaking the doorknob, frustration has tears brimming in my eyes.

Miles.

I need Miles, and I need to find a way to get as far away from Grant as possible. And what about Brandon? What did Grant do to him when he went to grab my phone?

I’m so stupid. I should have been fine with leaving it until more of the guys showed up. It doesn’t do me an ounce of good now. I have no way of getting in touch with anyone. I have no clue where I am or how I’m going to get out of this mobile dungeon.

Grant takes a turn too sharply, and I crash into the closed bathroom door. Pressing my bound hands to my stomach, I slide down to the gross floor that has me cringing in disgust.

What choice do I have at the moment?

I have no one to rely on right now. I need to figure this out on my own. Years of self-defense classes have me stumbling to get up and going to the tiny, barely noticeable kitchenette to begin digging in the three drawers.

Nothing, there’s absolutely nothing in any of them.

No knives, no ammo for any of the guns, nothing.

“What the fuck?” I slam the last one shut, but it isn’t as easy as it would be if my hands were freed.

I need to think. I’m not above jumping out of a moving vehicle in the hopes of getting away from him. Even if I don’t know where we currently are. But then I run the risk of hurting my baby.

Grant slams on the brakes, causing me to fall against the bed and then back into the seat around the table. Panic swells in me once more as I hear silence followed by the slam of a door. Scurrying back up onto the bed, I lie down again and close my eyes just in case he comes back here.

But nothing happens. No unlatching of locks that are clearly on the other side, no rustling of any sort. Chancing a glance, I open my eyes. Movement through the window I hadn’t noticed at first at my feet draws my attention. It’s the only one not boarded up.

And that’s because it’s too small for anyone to slip through.

Grant’s imposing back walks away from me. Getting down to the window, I cover my mouth as I take in the shotgun on his shoulder.

Oh my God. Did he shoot Brandon?

No, I would have heard the shot.

“What’s he going to do?” Looking beyond him, I find a nice farmhouse with mountains in the distance and animals now fleeing at the sight and smell of the vicious man. Even they know how bad he is walking toward the house.

A man comes out onto a cute wraparound porch, his flannel shirt fanning out as he puts his hands on his hips. Hissmile is weary, like one you would wear when you aren’t sure who is visiting you or why.

Whatever Grant says to him has his face falling and something defensive taking over. But just as he’s lifting his arms to cross them, Grant pulls the shotgun down. I can’t even process what I see happen next.

I avoid violent movies because I can’t handle them. Anything bloody and disturbing has my stress levels shooting through the stratosphere. What has just happened has me muffling a scream as tears blur my vision. I don’t know what to do. I have no way of reaching out to law enforcement. Grant is armed, dangerous, and crazy.

I scramble from the window, backing myself into a corner, unsure what else I can do when I hear a woman’s scream followed by another shot.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Someone help.” My voice completely falls apart as I rock back and forth. I need to get away and find someone to help.

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