Page 32 of Feathers From the Sky

“Emile, I have this under control. Go see to your shit,” Roman says, and after a quick conversation in more French, the man approaches the trunk. Roman is still leaning over me, hands clasped tightly around my wrists. He blocks my body, my legs falling to either side of him, and I try to kick him as hard as I can in the back of the knee.

Emile is slight compared to Roman, not much taller than me, if I had to guess. His dark eyes are ice cold and too far apart to be considered handsome. He’s not ugly though. Small and average looking with grey hair, he is nondescript. But when he turns his gaze on me, my heart races. My chest throbs, and I’m grateful when he turns to Roman.

“I don’t know if Björn will be amused or furious,mon grand. Have courage.”

I blink, and he’s gone. There’s no reason for me to be relieved, but I am.

“I was trying to get you a pair of pants when you assaulted me.” He palms my lower stomach, pushing me down as he bends and grabs something from the ground. When he tosses the purple fabric at me, I nearly throw up.

“What did you do with her? Where is she?” I demand. He has the nerve to look confused. “Sasha! Where the fuck is she?” When I try to yell at him, my throat closes up and cuts me off. He swallows, frowning, as he takes the leggings back from me. He looks down at the pants and holds them in front of him, not realizing they’re too small for me. Sasha isn’t tiny, but she’s smaller than I am.

“What do you mean?”

“These are her pants! Where did you get them? What did you do to her?”

“Oh. These were in the—I assume your sister is fine.”

“Then how did you get her pants?” I’m sitting up on my elbows. If anyone saw us like this, I wonder if they’d do anything. The way my legs are splayed around him as he leans over me can’t look innocent.

“You don’t remember letting me in?” His wicked grin lights up his face. “Your father’s storage unit. Anyway, thought the pants were yours. Hang on,” he says, and he steps to the side of the car.

I don’t hesitate. I’m leaping out of the trunk once more, grateful my shoes stayed on after he ripped my pants off in the swamp. We’re in a parking lot behind what looks like a strip mall. There are a few cars parked at the far end of the building, and I can’t decide if I should go toward them or the wooded area behind the parking lot. I don’t even get to decide before I’m being thrown into the air.

I’m screaming, but nothing comes out. The wind gets knocked out of me as I slam down, and I nearly puke.

“Fuck, I didn’t think you’d be this difficult,” Roman says, and I pound on his back as hard as I can. He has me on his shoulder, and, despite my surprise at even being able to fit there, he has a dangerously strong grip on me. I’m hitting him and flailing and kicking my legs, and he’s entirely unfazed. I don’t stop though, and we’re almost back to my car when a sharp pain rockets over my ass. Gasping, it’s the only sound I’m able to make after he spanks me, and his dark laugh is full of amusement. “Make me do it again, baby.” I stop moving completely before he drops me into the passenger seat of the Chevelle.

He’s down on his knees, pulling a pair of giant shorts over my shoes and up my legs, moving so fast it makes me dizzy. I’m glad to be fully clothed again, but it doesn’t change much.

“Why me?” I ask as he’s tying the drawstring tight at my waist. “Easy girls? Fat girls? Stupid girls who trust strangers? What is it?”

Roman scoffs as he turns my legs into the car and pulls my seatbelt across my lap. “Don’t unbuckle your seatbelt. Don’t try to open the door. Don’t do anything that could harm either of us. Now, go to sleep.”

Then he’s slamming the door shut and walking around to the driver’s side. My eyes close before he gets in.

* * *

“Changeyour shirt and throw the bloody one out the fucking window,” Roman says, and my eyes snap open. He’s holding a shirt over me as we drive along the dark highway. The heat in the Chevelle isn’t perfect, and I’m freezing in shorts and a t-shirt. My arms are moving of their own accord to take my shirt off, and I reach over to roll down the window.

“Bra too,” he says, and I can’t help it when I whimper as I obey. “As perfect as your tits are, this is about the smell,” he explains, and though he keeps his eyes averted, it doesn’t make me feel any better. I pull the clean shirt over my head; it has to be Roman’s because of how it swims on me. Breathing deep, I inhale the scent of the clean laundry. I roll up the window, the frigid air making my teeth chatter.

“Where are we?” I ask as he shoves a fast food bag into my lap. I hadn’t even noticed it. Though I’d like to tell him to go fuck himself, my head is hurting and I’m starting to feel nauseous because of my empty stomach. I know you’re supposed to lose your appetite in situations like this, but my mouth waters instead. Opening the bag, I take out a burger and some cold fries.

“A few hours out still,” he says, and I’m surprised he answers at all, even if his response doesn’t give me anything to work with.

I bite into the burger, and there’s no pickle on it. When I look at the receipt taped to the wrapper, I see it was a special request.

“My burger doesn’t have a pickle…” I trail off, staring at him. “Have you been stalking me?”

His mouth twitches. “Must be a coincidence.”

“You kidnapped me but you asked for no pickle on my burger? What the fuck?”

“You haven’t eaten all day, and I didn’t want a pickle to ruin your dinner.” His dark eyes flash up to the rear-view mirror.

I’m silent as I watch the mile markers flash by. It’s flat on either side of the highway, green fields and sparse trees all I can make out, and I finally see an exit sign. It takes me a moment to place the shape of the state on the sign, chewing slowly on my cold burger.

“Ohio. Why are we in Ohio?”

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