I regain consciousness inside a confined space. My shoulder is in pain, but manageable if I don’t move too much, and my hands and feet are tied together.
I turn my head to get an idea of where I am. I listen to my surroundings. I gather I’m in the trunk of a car, which is driving along a road. My face hurts; it feels swollen, and my ribs are hurting. I try to look through the darkness for anything I can use to aid my dire situation, and I’m alerted to a blinking light.
Is that a phone by my head?
Who abducts somebody and leaves a phone in the trunk? I don’t care, because it’s just by dumb luck it’s here. I move my body and groan with the pain until I can grab it between my hands. I roll onto my stomach, which makes my shoulder scream in agony, and something wet lands on my hands. I know what blood smells like, and I’m bleeding from my shoulder wound.
I can feel a hysterical giggle start to bubble up inside me, which I work hard at stamping down, because I may fear for my life, but the last thing I need to do is go into shock.
What did I do to deserve this life? I inwardly groan. I had happiness, and now my life has turned to shit again, and I have no clue why.
I really must have had an exceptionally fabulous life in a past one for me to be getting shit on so badly in this one.
I concentrate on the phone and try to stop my hands from shaking. I can press the buttons better in the position I’m now in. I check the time, seeing it’s after midnight. I’ve been out for a while.
I can’t think of Boxer’s number. I am so used to pressing a speed dial button.
Concentrate, Whisper.
Come on, think.
I slowly start pressing the buttons for Boxer’s number I hope I have right just as the car takes a sharp turn, and I go sliding, the phone slipping out of my hands.
I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from crying out in pain.
Fuck, that hurt.
Once we straighten up again, I manoeuvre my body to get back to the phone. I start to dial again, but I have to disconnect, because the car has come to a stop. I need to hide the phone quickly. I work my leg around, preparing to slide it into my boot, when we take off again.
I decide to call Miss C instead, because I know that number and she will answer. I dial her number, and a male voice answers, “Sara is that you?” I don’t answer. “Whisper, is that you?”
I don’t know what to say. It’s a male voice, and it’s not Boxer’s or Lincoln’s. It sounds like Edge’s voice.
How? Why?
“Edge, is that you? Is Miss Catherine all right?” I talk low into the phone. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to keep her safe. She can’t be brought into whatever the hell’s going on.” I can’t keep the fear from invading my voice. Miss Catherine means too much to me. I don’t know why I’ve been kidnapped and am lying in a trunk, with what I’m guessing is a gunshot wound, but if it keeps her safe, then I will take this punishment.
There’s a shuffling noise. “I’m here, honeychile. I am safe with Dallas. He be helpin’ me to find you. Do as they say and give him time to get to you. I’ve tried Boxer, and I can’t get through to him or Lincoln.”
Dallas?
His voice is back. “Yes, it’s me. Whisper, we need to talk, but now’s not the time. We are tracking the phone I slipped into the trunk with you. You have to keep it hidden, and I need you to put it on silent. I want you to save the battery, because I need to be able to stay in contact with you.”
Edge?
Something occurs to me in all this hellish mess I’ve found myself in. “Can Miss Catherine hear me?”
“No, I have her phone.”
The pain in my shoulder is different to any pain I’ve experienced in the past. “Did I get shot?”
“Shit, Whisper, not now.” His voice sounds rough and guilty.
Then it strikes me I thought I’d heard him back at the house, which has been confirmed, because I have his phone next to me. “Did you shoot me?”
There’s cursing coming down the line. “There appears to have been a misunderstanding.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” There’s silence at the other end of the line. “Did you want to kill me?”
Suddenly, the car comes to another halt. It feels more permanent. “I have to go; they’ve stopped.” Just before I hang up, I hear Edge curse out loud and something smashes. I disconnect, put the phone on silent, and work my body so I can slide the phone into the side of my calf-length right boot. My legs are tied at my ankles, so I can get it in far enough to hide it for now.
I can’t even process what all this means at the moment. He shot me? He must have known who I was when he arrived at the bar.
He was playing me.
Stalking me.
He was going to kill me.
Why?
I had sex with him.
I feel sick.
I quickly put all that into a box and pack it away in my mind. My immediate thoughts have to be on surviving whatever mess I’ve been dropped into. Miss Catherine will get through to Boxer, and he will save me. I don’t want Edge anywhere near me.
Just before the trunk pops open I calm myself and pretend to be out cold. It’s my only defense against what’s coming for me.
I can’t even afford to tremble in fear.
I feel a monster greater than William Dupré is waiting for me, and I’m fucking scared.