Riley didn’t know when she fell asleep, or maybe she passed out, but she woke up to the rush of cool air on her overheated skin and blinding light. She moaned and lifted a hand weakly to shield her eyes. She began to realize she might be severely dehydrated when her hand refused to obey and only flopped beside her. She rolled her head and squinted as a shadow fell over her prone body.
“Ah my sweet angel, sorry you had to go through that,” Shank said, reaching for her sweat-soaked body. She flinched away from him, but he wrapped one arm easily around her legs and another under her back.
Her head lolled as he hefted her out of the trunk. Her fuzzy brain tried to decipher how long he’d driven with her in the trunk, but she couldn't seem to think straight. He cradled her against his chest, nuzzling his lips against her sweaty hairline. She wanted to shove him away, but her body just refused to obey.
“So fucking pretty, Reaper,” he groaned in her ear, licking the sweat from her skin. She shuddered and moaned in distress. “So small and helpless. You need me to take care of you now, don't you, angel?”
She could barely understand what he was saying, her head was swimming and her limbs felt so heavy. She’d baked in his goddamned trunk for probably hours. She was lucky to be alive! What she did understand was that he seemed to be lowering her back into the trunk. She struggled as much as she could in his arms and croaked, forcing her parched throat to make sounds.
“Sh-Shank… p… please…” she begged, fighting weakly against him. He already had a wiry strength she could never hope to match. But in her dehydrated, weakened state, it was like a kitten trying to fight off a lion.
“Hush, baby, I won’t close you in again,” he said adoringly into her panic-stricken face. “Just need to set you down so I can give you some water and some medicine.”
She so didn't trust him not to close the trunk, but the tiny bit of fight drained right out of her and she flopped weakly back into the trunk, landing on the cushiony softness of lacy fabric. He cracked one of the water bottles, looped an arm around her neck and brought it to her lips. Riley sucked on the bottle greedily, her eyes glued to the gang tattoos inked over every inch of his skin. She decided she hated his tattoos. They were evil and disgusting, not beautiful like Soloman’s.
“Now for your pills,” Shank told her, pulling something out of his pocket.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No,” she whispered, her voice slightly less croaky now that she’d had some water. “Please, I don't want to take anything. I don't take drugs, Shank.”
“I know, angel,” he said sympathetically, reaching for her jaw. “But I gotta cross the border with you and you can't go in the trunk. It’s not good for you. Can't have you fighting me either. It’s better with these until you get the idea that you want to stay with Shank.”
She shook her head frantically in his grip and brought her hands up to push him away, but she was still too weak to be effective. She did not want to cross the border with him. She especially did not want to cross the border in a drugged-out haze. She needed to be able to tell someone she was being kidnapped.
He squeezed her jaw until she was forced to open her mouth and then shoved something down her throat until she gagged on his fingers. When he pulled his fingers out, she coughed, feeling something small wedged drily in her throat. He poured the remainder of the water into her mouth and then pressed his hand against her lips and nose as she struggled not to swallow. She didn't have a choice. Her eyes flared wide and watered before she finally swallowed the huge mouthful of water along with the pills.
He took his hand away. She immediately rolled away from him and tried to shove her fingers down her throat, intent on forcing the contents back up.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Riles,” he snapped, grabbing her by the ponytail and dragging her backwards until she was kneeling at the edge of the trunk with her back against his chest. He kept his fist wrapped around her hair while his other arm clamped around her middle, holding her arms down so she couldn’t force herself to throw up.
“What did you give me?” she cried out in fear, her voice hoarse.
“Doesn’t matter,” he growled against her ear, nuzzling his face into her neck. “I’m’a take care of you from now on. I’ll tell you what’s good for you.”
He lifted her out of the trunk and set her on wobbling legs. Holding her up with a bruising grip around her waist, he reached into the trunk and pulled out the bunch of white, lacy material. Her eyes widened when he shook it out and she finally saw what it was. A wedding dress.
Her eyes met his. Disbelief written all over her face. This was not fucking happening. Dude was taking her to Mexico to… what? Marry her?
“Put it on,” he demanded.
Her mouth fell open and she finally looked around. Where the fuck were they? She saw nothing but desert and scrub brush in both directions. He’d clearly pulled off the main highway and parked on some back road. And if he was intent on taking her across the border, then they must still be in the United States. Before she had a chance to ask he reached for the hem of her tank top and jerked it up.
“No!” she croaked, pulling back. The material ripped in his hands and without waiting for her to react, he tore the shirt right off her body, heedless of her struggles.
Riley whimpered in protest, a new kind of panic welling up within her. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Was he about to rape her in the fucking dirt on the side of the road? She wasn't even wearing a damn bra. Her arms instantly clamped down across her breasts and she glared at him, her shoulders hunching protectively.
He didn't seem intent on checking out her naked skin though, he was reaching for the dress and trying to figure out best how to unzip it, his bony fingers awkwardly flipping the material around. Okay, so he didn't plan on raping her in the dirt. Yet. She could put the dress on if it meant covering more of her skin and keeping herself out of the trunk.
“Here, give it to me,” she snapped, keeping her breasts covered with one arm and reaching for the dress. She gasped and waved her arm in front of her face. It looked blurry, like more than one arm moving at the same time. Weird. What the fuck did he give her?
He handed over the dress, but clamped a hand over her wrist. “Be careful with it,” he said seriously, his eyes boring into her. “It’s your wedding dress, angel. Gotta be pretty for our big day.”
Her mouth fell open. Both because of the idiotic flow of words coming out of his mouth and because his head was bobbing around big time while he spoke, as though there were some kind of song going on that only he could hear. Or maybe only she could hear? She wanted to sway with him and maybe touch his head and see if the tiny shaved hairs would feel as soft as she thought they might.
Holy shit! Get it together Riley! No touching the kidnapping asshole who you intend to let Soloman kill at the first opportunity. She turned her back on Shank, drew the zipper down the side of the dress and stepped into it. Yanking it up, because she didn’t particularly give a shit about being careful with the fabric, despite what the eager groom said, she pulled it on. It was a scoop-necked, sleeveless dress that fit a little tight in the bust when she pulled the zipper up the side. It had a satin underlay with a jagged, lacy overlay that landed in different lengths between her knees and her calves. She might have thought it was cool if she wasn’t massively pissed off at the situation and on her way to being high on ecstasy or whatever Shank had given her.
“Pants off,” Shank grunted, taking her arm and turning her roughly around to inspect her.
“Fuck you!” she snapped hoarsely, losing her temper and stomping her bare foot in the hot dirt beside the car.
His face swam in front of her. The grinning skull tattooed over his mouth looked more frightening than the first time she met him when he cornered her in the dark as she was leaving work. He’d threatened to slit her throat if she didn't immediately take him to her garage and hand over his car.
Shank bent down in front of her, reached under her skirt, took hold of the loose waist of her sweatpants and wrenched them down her legs. She stumbled and would have fallen, but he leaned her against his warm, broad shoulder. She braced her hand against his back while he forced her to step out of her pants. He looked up at her and slid his hand back up her leg, curving it around her bare thigh. His fingers bit deep into the smooth, round globe of her ass. She froze against him, desperately hoping his exploration would go no further.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “No panties.”
She deeply regretted her choice not to wear underwear that morning. If she got out of this alive, she was never again skipping underwear in case she got kidnapped out of her own home again. Holy crap, was that a tattoo of a sea turtle on his shoulder? Did Cilia know? Cilia would probably kill Shank for her before Soloman could do the job. Riley reached out to smack the offensive little jerk, but it started running around Shank’s body. She chased after it with her fingers.
“Okay, angel-face, I think those pills are working,” Shank said with a grin when she crawled over his shoulder and shoved her arm down his back, mumbling about a tattoo, while threatening to send her mother after him.
He stood with her over his shoulder and smoothed the floating material of the dress over her thighs. Leaving the scraps of her discarded clothes in the dirt, he opened the passenger side of his car and dumped her in the back seat. They took off toward the border with an extremely high Riley in the backseat. One moment she couldn't keep her hands to herself and would run them over his head and shoulders, drawing groans of appreciation from him, and then she’d remember where she was and that she was a victim and start freaking out.
They made it across the border with very little difficulty. Shank had bribed his usual border guard and given him a heads up. Riley slumped sleepily in her seat during the extremely brief interview. She didn’t have to say a word. Then they were in Tijuana, Mexico and Shank pulled up to the first church he saw.
Riley’s eyes went wide and met Shank’s in the rearview mirror. His shone with a maniacal, possessive fever. She shrank back into the leather seat.