Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, I find that with my arms tied in front of me and my legs bound, plus the effects of whatever drug I’ve been given, I have no balance. I can barely even get my shoulders off the mattress.
I press my hands together and try to get some slack in the rope that’s squeezing my wrists. No luck.
Oh, God. What’s going to happen to us? What if Cross can’t wake up from this? Where is Hunter? Even thinking about him makes tears sting my eyes. I need him so much right now. What if he can’t find us?
If he can’t find us, I tell myself sternly, you will save the day. Hunter may have no idea how to reach us. I can’t wait for him. If I can just get Cross awake, he and I can try to come up with a plan. In the meantime, I shut my eyes and try to figure out Priscilla and Lockwood’s game. Is Cross’s dad in on it? Surely not. He and Cross don’t get along, but I can’t imagine him wanting to hurt his own son. So it’s just Priscilla and Lockwood.
I take a deep breath and glance back over at Cross, looking desperately for the rise and fall of his shoulders. He’s breathing, thank God, but his face seems to be pressed into a pillow. I think about the monitors Nanette had to take off of him for our field trip today. One was for his pulse, the other for his blood oxygen saturation. I forgot what the third monitored. Nanette said he really didn’t need them anymore. He’s doing extraordinarily well, but that was before this. Could these drugs make him go back into his coma?
I inhale deeply. Positive thoughts, Elizabeth. You’ll find a way out of this. I can’t really vanish into Mexico—can I?
I hear a creaking sound, and before I think to play dead, Lockwood strolls through the door. He’s wearing dirty-looking brown workman’s pants and a gray button-up shirt. He’s got on some kind of big, floppy cowboy hat, which shields most of his sunken-cheeked face. I also notice he’s wearing a gun on his belt.
Of course.
Belatedly, I want to shut my eyes, but his gaze is already on me. “What do you think?” He spreads his arms out. “You like your comfy little Mexican hideaway?”
I swallow my rage. I need to appear calm or he might put me back to sleep. “My wrists hurt,” I answer.
“I didn’t ask about your wrists. I asked about your room.” He looks up at the cracked ceiling. “Believe it or not, this is big shit in Mexico.”
“Where are we?” I ask him.
He grins, looking genuinely amused. “You think I’m telling you? All you need to know is this is where we sell ‘em. You’ll fetch a good price. He may, too,” he says, nodding at Cross’s broad back. “He’s got nice blue eyes.”
Hearing this news, I feel nothing. Maybe I’m in shock. The only thought I have is that I want to get more information from him. Not want to, have to. I have to stay in control if I want to get away. I try a simple statement. “You killed Sarabelle.”
“Only because I had to,” Lockwood says, hooking his thumbs through his belt-loops. “I was gonna take her here to market but she got too frisky.” He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Silly bitch acted like she was going to give me head and bit my cock.” He grimaces, fondling himself, and I grit my teeth. “Sarabelle, she wasn’t like the other chicka, little Miss Lucky.”
When he says her name, I remember it. She was the escort who went missing a little while before Sarabelle. I raise my eyebrows and paste on a surprised, slightly impressed look. “You took Ginnifer Lucky, too?”
Lockwood nods, standing up a little taller. “She fetched a good price. But you…well, they’re paying better these days. All that drug money.” He grins, revealing stained teeth.
I try my best to keep my disgust off my face. I want to sound curious, keep him talking but not make him angry. “You’re the one behind Missy King, too, aren’t you?”
At the mention of her name, his eyes dance. “Missy? Yeah, I sold her. She’s still in the country. Somewhere,” he says, grinning. “She was a good fuck, that little Missy. Spirited. Gave the governor trouble, that’s what happened to that little lady. Bet she’s keeping some Mexican drug lord real happy.”
That thought makes my stomach churn. “What’s the point of selling Cross and me? People will notice we’re gone. If you need the money that badly, I recently came into some—”
He interrupts me with a coarse laugh. “I was disappointed to see the deal was already done.” I really might be sick this time. I clench my legs together and ignore the humiliation I feel. So far, the shirt’s still covering my goods, but if I move, it won’t be. This is a man who raped Sarabelle. “You would have fetched a much higher price yesterday.”