Page 75 of Wicked Games

I crawl out of bed, and my pad’s sticky and bunched up between my legs. I stumble over our clothes that are still on the floor and go downstairs. Winnie’s barking is getting louder, but the moon is hidden and I don’t see her. I step out onto the patio, a thick fog weighing down the warm air. I can’t see much of anything, much less Winnie, and I whisper, “Winnie! Stop! What’s going on, girl?”

She bounds up the patio stairs and I drop to my knees to pet her.

“Did Lara lock you out?” I ask, rubbing the fur along her neck.

Suddenly, a hand clamps over my mouth and someone hauls me to my feet, wrenching my arm behind me, his fingertips digging into my skin.

I squeal, and he shakes me. “Be quiet. I got the bitch,” he says to someone off to his side, and he jerks me down to the grass before I can understand what’s happening. “We were looking in the wrong fucking house.”

I can barely breathe and my heart starts slamming against my ribs. I kick at him and try to pry his hand away from my mouth, but it doesn’t do anything. Pain flares in my shoulder as he yanks on my arm, and I whimper, tears filling my eyes.

Winnie growls.

“Shut that dog up or the whole fucking neighborhood’s gonna know we’re out here,” the man holding me says. “Put it inside.”

Winnie yips in pain, and when she starts barking again, it’s quieter, the glass muffling her growls.

“What about Lockwood?” the guy who kicked Winnie asks, his voice low.

“Fuck him. She’ll be long gone before he can do anything, thank Christ.”

He drags me over the wet grass to the dock and the old planks creak under our feet. The fishing boats are tied to the sides, bobbing gently in the water.

“Tape her mouth shut,” the asshole holding me says, and his partner steps in front of me gripping a roll of duct tape.

He isn’t wearing a disguise, didn’t bother to hide who he is. He’s younger than I am by about ten or fifteen years, but he’s big, like a football player, broad shoulders and muscular arms. There isn’t anything to identify him, no wording on his black t-shirt and his jeans are new but plain. No tattoos or jewelry. There’s a white swoosh on his black tennis shoes, but that won’t do me any good.

I realize the situation I’m in, and frantic, I struggle and try to scream. I can’t die like this. I don’t want Seth to have to live without me—he’s already lost so much. I kick, hoping to gain an inch to break free and run, but it’s useless. Even if these two are younger than I am, they’re much, much stronger.

Holding me against his chest, the bastard says, “Hurry the fuck up. I can’t hold her much longer.”

The fucker standing in front of me punches me in the stomach, and I double over, the breath knocked out of me and blood soaking my pad. I try to drag in air, but I can’t, and stars burst in front of my eyes. “Don’t take any shit.”

He lets me go, and I fall to my hands and knees. “I don’t like hitting women.”

I gasp, desperate for air, but my stomach quivers and vomit rises in my throat.

“But you can shoot ’em just fine,” his buddy replies sarcastically. He rips a piece of tape off the roll and slaps it over my mouth.

Panic takes over and my chest heaves. Sweat soaks my skin.

I’m going to die.

“Fuck you. Just get her in the boat.”

“What? You don’t like hearing the truth? Fucking mama’s boy.” He shoves me with his foot, and I fall in one of the boats, my hip grazing the edge of a bench before I slam onto the bottom. The side of my head hits the anchor, and I black out for a second, pain ripping through my skull, down my neck and shoulders, and into the rest of my body.

“I thought we were done after the other one.”

“He didn’t know about the sister. Now he does. Last one. Get her arms or she’ll try to jump out and swim to shore, and I don’t wanna go after her. The water’s fucking cold.”

Through the static in my head, their voices sound similar and I can’t tell between them. They jump into the boat.

I struggle to breathe, but the tape, pain, and my fear make it impossible.

“Then I’m getting the hell out of here. Fuck school.” He zip-ties my hands behind my back, but the pain just melts into the rest.

“That’s the plan. Don’t need that shit anymore. My mom can go fuck herself. Grab a paddle. We can’t run the motor out here. This fog is fucking awesome. In and out.”