Page 60 of Sniper's Pride

He stopped when the road was no longer visible. And it was suddenly hard for Mariah to breathe. She longed to put her hand to her throat, to check that she was still alive, pulse kicking, but she didn’t dare move.

“You’re getting in the trunk,” he told her when he turned the car off.

And she was relieved.

Actuallyrelievedthat he hadn’t pulled off the road into this deserted middle-of-nowhere to do something far worse.

It took her long moments to realize he was waiting. Watching her.

He didn’t move, but Mariah got the distinct impression that hewantedher to fight. He wanted her to argue, or make a grab for the car keys, or dosomething—because then he could really hurt her.

She didn’t understand why, if that was what he wanted, he didn’t go ahead and do it already.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, every upsetting movie she’d ever seen running through her head. Liam Neeson whispering about particular skills. Blue gravely telling their self-defense class that you always fought—you never let them take you to a second location. That you ended them, the situation, or yourself, then and there.

All of that wound around inside her, choking her as surely as an allergic reaction.

“Get out of the car, bitch,” the man said calmly.

So calmly.

It made her shake. But Mariah fumbled for her doorand pushed it open, because if she didn’t, he’d hit her. And if he hit her, he might keep hitting her.

And that could only end badly. He might knock her unconscious. He might hurt her a lot worse whether she was unconscious or not. And either way, he’d almost certainly find the phone.

Which would lead to more hurt, for both her and her mother. And would lose her the only potential ace she had up her sleeve.

So she pushed the heavy door open with her foot and climbed out of the car, feeling like she had stepped outside herself. The humid wallop of the Georgia air made her feel unpleasantly flushed at once, and the creepy brown hair of the wig she’d been wearing for much too long now stuck to the back of her neck.

She wanted to throw up. Instead, she obediently walked to the back of the boring-looking sedan and stood there like some kind of nauseated, terrified sheep.

Her captor only stared at her, one brawny arm lifted up to hold the trunk wide open, a violent glitter in his flat gaze.

“You either get in or I knock you out and put you in.” He looked bored by the whole situation. “I don’t care which.”

Everything in Mariah screamed at her todosomething. Run off into the trees. Head for the water. It was a Saturday. Surely there’d be someone around. Or maybe she could get her hands up so she could move in and palm strike him right in his nose, hopefully incapacitating him.

She needed to do something—anything—to stay out of that trunk.

“You have three seconds,” the man told her. “If youmake me chase you, your mother loses a body part. If you try to come at me, she loses two. If you argue with me again or even look at me funny, she loses a piece and you do, too. And let’s be real clear, bitch. I’ll enjoy it.”

Mariah chose the trunk.

She pitched herself forward and caught herself with a jarring thud, but then crawled inside—fast—because the last thing she wanted was to be bent over like some kind of invitation. She broke out in nauseated goose bumps at the image, scrabbling her legs in behind her and rolling so she could see him.

As if seeing him coming would make it better.

Her vision was narrowing and she could taste her own panic, metallic and choking. She curled herself into a kind of protective ball when the man moved.

But all he did was slam the trunk shut, leaving her in the close, hot darkness.

And Mariah freaked out.

There was no prettier way to put it. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was exploding in her chest. She was afraid she might pee her own pants, or worse. Even more terrifying, she wasn’t sure she cared. It was stiflingly hot in the trunk, she was as sweaty as her stomach was greasy with terror, and the more she focused on everything that was wrong, the worse it got.

Maybe she blacked out. She couldn’t tell. There was noise in her head, and she could hear a kind of whimpering sound. It took her long, scared moments to realize the sound was coming from her. She was making that animal noise.

She had to shove her hands over her mouth to stop it.

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