Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits, #5)(61)

Hands bound behind me, material tied over my eyes and tears prick them. My screams tearing my throat, but none of them are loud enough to make a difference. Arms around my waist that are the equivalent of steel bands. I kick and try to open my mouth to bite, but the fingers pressed to my lips are too strong.

We’re moving—against my will and I fight harder. Kicking shins, thrashing in their hold. My father’s voice is screaming in my head—Don’t let them ever take you to the second location. Never let them get you to the second location.

The sound of a car door opening and when I kick again, there’s a low male grunt. Another car door opening and as I’m being lowered, I become a wildcat. More grunts, a push from them into the car and I feel a seat underneath me. Hands yanking me in further while the other set of hands forces me from behind.

The car door near my feet closes and as I shoot upward to make it to the other door, it closes and I realize the bastard still holding his hand over my mouth crawled in with me. Smart *. Too f*cking smart.

An engine grumbles and my body slams into the seat as we launch forward. His hand moves near my waist, digging in behind me near my pants and the seat and fear like I’ve never felt before shudders through me.

My screamed “No!” makes my throat raw and it’s cut short by the hand still clamping my mouth. A strange sensation of something moving on my thigh, a wrapping around my stomach and then a click.

I flinch with the sound. It was a seat belt. I’m lying in the backseat and this bastard just belted me in. Hands bound and as I kick the door, I realize my feet are also bound. I kick the door over and over again and there’s nothing but maddening silence from the two bastards who have stuck me here.

Shit. Just shit. And I slam my head against the cushioned seat as my lips turn down and there’s no denying the wetness overflowing from my eyes. I cheated death one time already, I won’t cheat it again.

The hand over my mouth lifts and I suck in a deep breath of air. A click of another seat belt confirms whoever it is moved to the front seat.

The engine strains as if we’re going faster and I detect the sound of gears being shifted. It’a a manual, not an automatic. Whoever it is can drive a stick shift. Not too many people like that around and odds are Isaiah would know whoever this is.

I silently pray that Isaiah finds out about this, hunts him down and skins him alive.

“You’re going to die,” I say. “Probably won’t be from me, but someday, you will die and the first sound you hear will be my laugher as you join me in hell.”

No response from them. Just silence. Smart on their part. Too f*cking smart.

*

The car door slams shut and I jolt. I open my eyes, but nothing. Blackness. The blindfold still over my eyes. We’d been riding for a while. Too long and in an intense quiet. Just the car’s engine to keep me company.

I had stayed awake, yet drifted into subconscious thought. Thinking of my grandmother, wondering what would happen to her, wondering if Logan would visit her if I died. Then pretended that I was with him. Not bound. Not blindfolded. Not on my way to face death.

I shift and something falls off me. The hair on my arms stands on end with the coolness of the car that sweeps over my skin and my mind can’t process why my captors would cover my arms—my body. Like they care.

Another door slamming shut and I strain to hear anything that could help me. Sounds of cars passing on a highway, conversation, anything, but once again nothing.

They’ll expect me to fight when they open the door. They’ll be prepared. I’ll go limp. Be heavy. Hit them when they least expect it.

A steady tingle of fear in my blood and my mouth dries out—they’ve been out of the car too long and I can’t decide if these extra few minutes are a gift or a curse.

Warm air swirls in as the door near my head opens. I work at keeping my breathing steady and try to ignore my pulse that’s beating hard in my ears. They would assume I fell asleep, could possibly believe I still am. Let them lower their defenses. They’ll find out soon enough I bite.

The urge is to breathe out slowly for calmness, but I don’t. I don’t want to die. Not like this. Not today. I don’t want to die in a worse way. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want to be defiled. I don’t want...

A gentle touch against my forehead, my hair being swept away. My throat thickens and the blindfold is removed, but my eyes remain shut.

“Abby.”

My eyes shoot open and my breath is caught in my chest. It’s Logan. Two swift heartbeats. Logan found me. I struggle up, but the seat belt keeps me in place. “Be careful. There’s two of them and they’re with Eric.”

Logan reaches over and undoes the seat belt and my head whips in the other direction as Isaiah opens the other door and swears.

“They tied her up,” Logan says in a low tone.

“We got to keep this steady.” But there’s a wildness in Isaiah’s eyes that can mean pain for the people he’s pissed at.

I breathe out, but then I’m filled with dread. My best friend and the boy I care for are here and I’m putting them in danger. “You shouldn’t have followed.”

Isaiah undoes my feet as Logan undoes my hands. They’re calm, solid, moving methodically—unhurried and I feel like I’m about to explode out of my skin. “We’ve got to hurry.”