Chapter Twenty-One
Lying flat on my back shackled to a loudly snoring Trent was not my idea of rest, I must say. I may as well try and come up with some sort of plan. The only thing I can think of is to somehow contact my brother and hope he can find us in time. That’s it; there is nothing else I can do. But how? How am I going to be able to get away from this psycho when he watches my every move?
If I am not able to reach my family, will James kill us both if or when he realizes his plan isn’t going to work? Of course he will; to think he won’t is foolish. Once he figures out that neither Turner nor I will help them, he will have no further use for either one of us. And if James figures out that Trent is planning on double-crossing him, God only knows what will happen.
Speaking of Trent, what about his ‘obsession’ with me, as he calls it? If I don’t go along with him willingly he will kill Turner out of pure spite, I have no doubt about it. This shit is more fucked up than I could ever have imagined.
If Trent hates his father as much as he said he does, why didn’t he just show up at our doorstep, or even Melody’s, and tell us who he was? God, all of this could have been avoided and he could have had his money and a family who would have loved him more than anything. So the question of the fucking day is, why the hell is he really doing this? These thoughts circle around and around in my mind until I finally feel myself drift off to sleep.
************
The sun is already up and shining; my eyes open to the bright light pouring through the crack of the drapes. I go to stretch and try to lift my arms when the clink of a metal chain reminds me that I am still cuffed to Trent.
I nudge him hard to wake him up.
“Good morning,” he says huskily.
Fuck him and his good morning. It’s anything but a good morning. It’s another day in hell for me.
“I have to pee. Can you uncuff me, please?”
He says nothing, but reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out the key. My wrist feels tight and numb when he drops it to my lap after unlocking the cuffs. My free hand automatically goes to rub it and to try to bring back the blood flow.
Hoisting myself out of bed, I gather my bag up off the floor and make my way into the bathroom. When I go to lock the door, I hesitate as I remember him telling me to keep it unlocked.
I spend as little time in the bathroom as possible, brushing my hair and pulling it into a ponytail, then getting dressed in my last pair of clean shorts and an oversized t-shirt. I stuff the knife back in my bag underneath my dirty clothes. I brush my teeth and stow everything back into the bag.
When I step out into the room, Trent is on the phone talking quietly. I toss my bag onto the bed and sit on the edge. My ears perk up as I hear him say we will be there later this afternoon. Where is ‘there,’ I wonder? Is it where Turner is?
The possibility of being able to see him today brightens my gloomy mood even though I have no idea what kind of state he is going to be in when I get there. The only thing that matters to me at this moment is being able to finally see him with my own eyes.
When I hear Trent finally ending his call, I stand and direct my attention to him. He slips a worn out gray t-shirt over his head and then bends down to retrieve his shoes.
“I just need to use the bathroom and brush my teeth and then we are out of here,” he states, and rummages through his bag for his toothbrush and paste.
He marches past me avoiding any contact, and I sense his mood has dampened as he strides with purpose into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
Taking a seat at the small, round table he just vacated, my bottom feels something hard as I sit. When I reach underneath me to see what it is. It’s his phone! My hands shake as I stare blankly at the screen. I slide my finger across the screen and try to open it. Shit, shit, shit! He has it locked.
My mind scrambles to try and think of what his password could be. I start frantically pressing in random four digits in hopes I can come up with the right one. Nothing works. I have no clue. And that is when I see the pad of paper and a pen on the table. Wasting no time at all, I scribble as fast as I can my brother’s phone number, my name, and that I have been kidnapped and to please call this number. As I hear the water shut off, I place the phone back on the chair and turn the notepad upside down. I quickly sit myself back on the edge of the bed.
Trent strolls out and throws his items back in his bag, grabbing his phone in the process. Beads of sweat form on the back of my neck as I watch him closely as he zips up his bag and looks around the table as if he is making sure he has everything. He notices his phone in the chair and picks it up, studying it for several drawn out seconds.
My heart rate picks up speed as he turns to look at me. I look right back at him with what I hope is my best ‘I didn’t do anything’ look. A sigh of relief escapes me as he grabs both of our bags and instructs me to get up. I do as I am told and he holds the door open for me as we walk out into the bright sun. Instantly my vision blurs. I wish I could feel as bright and cheery as this beautiful day is. Instead, I feel dark and depressed, just like an overcast sky heralding a storm that will destroy everything in its path.
Trent unlocks the doors and tosses everything in the back as we climb into this truck. The truck I wish I could burn right along with the man who owns it. We drive for almost an hour before he finally speaks.
“I need gas again.” He pulls off another exit and into the parking lot of a gas station. “Stay put and I’ll get some coffee and something to eat.”
Jesus, what the hell is his problem all of a sudden? He slams the truck door and rounds the back to start pumping his gas. That phone call with his dad must have put him in a shit mood. Something has happened and it’s obvious it is something he doesn’t like.
Please God, don’t let it be anything to do with Turner. But something tells me it’s not. Maybe there has been a change of plans and he doesn’t agree with them. I have no clue, but one thing is for certain. I am going to ask him.
When he comes back, he hands me a large, steaming cup of coffee. I have never wanted coffee so much in my entire life. He hands me a bag with a couple of breakfast sandwiches as he starts to take off back toward the highway. Ten miles or so down the road we enter Mississippi.
Taking a small sip of my coffee and the last bite of my sandwich, I contemplate how to approach his mood.
“I overheard you on the phone briefly before we left. I assume it was your dad you were talking to. Did something happen?”
My voice cracks and my hands grip the coffee cup tightly.
“Something like that,” he says, leaving me to wallow in my curiosity.
“Um. Care to share?”
“You’re not going to like it any more than I do, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it until we get to where we need to go.”
I twist my body in the seat to face him.
“And where is it we’re going?”
He gives me a ‘shut up and I will tell you’ look.
“Zack has put out an APB on you. You’re all over the news, along with me, my father, and this whole fucking story.”
He slams his fist up against the steering wheel and presses down on the gas pedal. I keep my face impassive, but inside I am laughing like a lunatic. What the hell did they expect? For my family to just lie down and say, ‘oh, go ahead, you can just take Clove and we will be okay with never seeing or hearing from her again’?
Angling my entire body toward the window, my thoughts turn positive. I have no idea what kind of connections my brother has with cops outside his jurisdiction, but my guess would be once he receives the phone call from the hotel, if he hasn’t already, he will be on the road like Trent’s worst nightmare, and the asshole knows it as he continues his rant.
“Fucking Zack! He’s fucked this whole thing up, and my dad is pissed off at both me and you and . . . FUCK!” he screams into the truck, making me jump and press myself further back into my seat.
For miles and miles after his outburst, he doesn’t say another word. Every once in a while I risk a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His forehead is scrunched and the muscles in his jaw are clenched so damn tight that I can practically see the wheels in head turning. I cave and break the silence.
“So are we heading to where your father is, or what?”
“Fuck, yes. We’re going to where they are. You don’t know my dad. If I don’t show up there with you, he will not hesitate to put a damn bullet through your husband’s head. And trust me sweetheart, it won’t be pretty,” he declares.
“Good God, Trent. I just don’t understand how the two of you could be so hateful toward your own flesh and blood.”
I knew the minute I opened my mouth I should have kept quiet. His glare swings towards me and his hand flies out, grasping me by my ponytail and yanking me in his direction.
“You will never understand shit! It’s not about the money anymore. You’re so concerned about my brother that you don’t see I am trying to save his fucking life here! For the love of Christ, woman, shut your damn mouth so I can think of a way to get your fucking husband out of that damn house.”
He shoves me back and even though my head is hurting like a bitch from his death grip on my hair, I can see a sliver of light through this cloud of darkness. This isn’t another one of his ploys to get me on his side. Trent means exactly what he says.
Not another word passes between us until we pull into a small town just outside Jackson, Mississippi. I have tried my best to keep track of where we are going in case Turner and I get the chance to escape. I’ve watched every turn, taken notice of every landmark or point of interest.
We pull off onto a dirt drive and continue to follow it until we are invisible from the road. Trent comes to a sudden stop. Putting the truck into park, he keeps his eyes locked straight ahead and his hands on the steering wheel, gripping tighter and tighter as the seconds tick by.
My senses perk up as I feel something pulling me forward. I can feel Turner close by, almost as if I can hear him calling to me. It’s a strange sensation, feeling him near me. It’s love. In spite of my fear and anxiety, I feel excitement. I want to jump out of this truck and run to him and tell him I am here and I am alive.
What the hell is Trent doing just sitting here? We need, no, I need to get to Turner. He needs me, I can feel it. I can’t stay caged in this truck any longer knowing my husband is close by.
“Trent?” I whisper.
“What?” He cranks his body in my direction and with icy eyes stares me down.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, trying to play dumb to get him to move his ass, no matter what is waiting down the end of this fucking road.
“They’re down there, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” he says simply, his tone of voice for the first time truly indicating fear.
“Trent, I have no idea what the hell we are about to walk into. You need to clue me in on what is going on here and what you want me to do, or I swear, I’ll-”
“You’ll what? Go marching in there and demand that my father hand over Turner and let you walk out of there alive? You’re out of your fucking mind if you think that will ever happen. I know him, and I will guarantee you he is drunk as a motherfucker in there. He is not a man to mess with when he is fucked up like that. Damn it all to hell, I have no clue if Turner is even still alive!”
All of the blood drains from my face and I lose all train of thought except for what just came out of Trent’s mouth, but then my intuition kicks back in.
“He’s not dead!” I blurt.
“No. Something tells me he’s not either. I am sorry I even said it, but you have to understand what we are about to walk into here.”
I shiver, trying not to let his words frighten the life out of me.
“You need to stay as close to me as possible when we go in there.” He reaches across the console and grips my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Come on. Come back to me and listen. Where is that smart mouthed girl from just a few hours ago?”
Trent places his hand under my trembling chin and raises it so my gaze meets his. God, I don’t want his hands on me anywhere after everything that he has done, and yet I know instinctively he is the only one who can get both Turner and me out of here alive.
I hate having to rely on him for anything at all. I know he knows this as he watches my changing expressions. He looks away for a few moments as if he is trying to collect his own thoughts and releases both my chin and my hand.
Even though the sky is turning gray with clouds, and even though the deep shadows of the woods surround us, I can still see his eyes glimmering with tears. I don’t feel sorry for him. He deserves every bit of pain he is in, and more.