Page 11 of Illusive
Swaddled in thick, silky material that obscured any light and limited oxygen, Ireland Vidal struggled for every labored breath. Her tongue was thick and so dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her heart pounded inside her squeezed ribcage, blood roaring through her veins until she feared passing out. Death metal blasted from the door speaker by her head, disorienting and disturbing in its rage and chaos.
Screams were trapped in her throat, echoing the shrieking alarm in her head.
Think!
She was paralyzed by terror that held her in its unrelenting grip. She’d been shoved headfirst into the narrow footwell between the second row and the driver’s seat. Her arms were twisted in the odorous velvet they’d smothered her with. Her long hair was tangled all around her, strands cutting into her skin like razors and pulling back on her neck.
Ireland struggled against instinct to find reason.
The air smelled of old food and stale cigarettes. The door panel beside her head was thumping with the poundingpercussion, but the SUV didn’t seem to be moving. They’d squealed out of the circular driveway in front of the Bellingham Hotel’s main entrance.
Why aren’t we moving? THINK!
It was Friday night. In summer. People would be out and about. Traffic.
Her phone, still strapped in the athletic holster on her thigh, vibrated and she shrieked, her nerves stretched so taut she feared a heart attack. The sudden jolt broke the grip of fear that immobilized her.
I can’t be far from the hotel.
Not far from Gideon. Or Dad.
Ronan.
How many others were in the SUV? One had followed her. The other had been in front. One was driving. Were there more in the third row?
Years of training…for what? She forgot to be aware. The most important rule of all.
Please God, let someone have seen what happened. Did anyone know she was missing? Would it be Monday before anyone searched for her?
No. Don’t think like that.
She usually drove home with Gideon and Eva at the end of the masquerade. They wouldn’t just leave without her. A few more hours at most. She had to do what she could until then. She wasn’t yet alone, and it wasn’t yet too late. A flood of pedestrians had to be on the other side of the vehicle door, and cars surrounded them or they wouldn’t be gridlocked.
Her adrenaline surged higher as reason and instinct fused into a single goal.If you’ve got a chance, girl, the time isnow.
She stretched out a leg, searching for a foothold that would give her leverage to pull herself upright enough to reach for her phone…
Someone kicked her viciously in the thigh. She cried out at the searing pain.
“Stay down!” a male voice barked.
The point of contact turned hot, then began to throb. The vehicle turned, then idled. One of the windows rolled down.
Ireland screamed at the top of her lungs, fighting to be heard over the death metal singer.
Another hard kick to the same spot had her writhing in pain, hot tears springing from her eyes.
“Shut the fuck up!”
The window closed, and they moved forward. The music volume lowered, though it was still thunderous.
“Don’t damage the goods.” The male voice came from the front passenger seat, and his tone was so easygoing, so damned unbothered, so fuckingwrong,considering what they were doing to her. Ireland discovered a level of terror she hadn’t known could exist.
“Wasn’t told not to,” the other retorted, as they began turning right repeatedly, steadily climbing. Every turn threw her forward, her head hitting the door panel again and again, her shoulder wrenched by its angle in the footwell.
“She might be worth less injured.” There was something different about the smoothness of the voice, but she couldn’t grasp it.
“I don’t give a shit. She needs to stay down and keep her mouth shut. I’m not going back in for anyone. Especially not this rich bitch.” The second voice was coarser, more clipped.
