Page 2 of Forged in Peril

After what felt like a very long time, the man with the gun pulled back again, allowing the strong man to finish the task at hand.

The prisoner only watched as his numb, bound hands were roped to the steering wheel. He couldn’t move so much as an inch, and even if he somehow managed to get loose, they’d shoot him if he tried to escape or to scream for help over the sound of the rain.

He’d seen enough movies to know that he was supposed to start crying now, or perhaps to wet himself with fear, but his mind felt almost as numb as his limbs did.

He watched as though he was somewhere else entirely, witnessing the misfortune of someone else, some other man in some other car.

The man with the gun was outside the window now, staring at him, the gun still raised.

The strong man was tinkering with the button that controlled the driver’s side window, opening it just a couple of inches before stepping out of the car again.

He disappeared out of the prisoner’s line of sight for a moment, returning with a green rubber hose and sticking its end through the gap he’d created along the top of the window. He nodded toward it, as though his handiwork pleased him, and carefully leaned into the car again.

Once more, the prisoner considered screaming, or even speaking, but the momentary courage fell away, replaced by a paralyzing curiosity.

He stared as the man pulled a roll of duct tape from the front pocket of his pants and began taping up the gap that surrounded the end of the hose.

The guy with the gun leaned in around the edge of the door again, letting the barrel fall casually against his side.

“There’s no need to be worried, man. It’s painless,” he said, shaking his head. His face was still hidden by shadow, but his words sounded almost cheerful, as though he was doing his prisoner a favor.

The strong man jostled him out of the way and reached for the key, which was still waiting in the ignition, and at last, the prisoner understood.

The man turned the key and the car rumbled to life, a plume of gray smoke pouring in through the hose.

“No, no, no, don’t do this–”

Before he had even managed to get a single sentence out, the man had retreated into the safety of his garage, slamming the door behind him.

The prisoner stared through the window, watching as his captor coughed over and over.

The thick smoke filled his vision, obscuring his view of the men.

They would be gone soon. Perhaps they were already.

He tried to scream, but only coughs came out, his lungs burning as the thick smoke stole away the last of the clean air that remained in the car.

But it wasn’t the smoke that would kill him.

He closed his eyes, feeling more and more tired with each passing minute, and he remembered that carbon monoxide could put you to sleep forever.

All for achica.

CHAPTER

TWO

BRISTOL

The engine shuddered as Bristol pressed her foot against the gas pedal.

“Come on, Boris,” she said, glancing down at the RPM gauge with a sigh. “Not now. Do this at lunch or something.”

After a few more seconds of protest, the car shifted into third gear at last, though Bristol had little doubt that the stubborn old Ford Taurus would indeed pull the same stunt later.

It had been several weeks since the transmission had started to act up, but unless she went to her mother for yet another favor, Boris was just going to have to survive a couple more weeks. As long as her new company was keen to pay her on time, she figured they’d make it. At least, she hoped so.

She reached down and took hold of the travel mug of green tea resting in the console, careful not to let the temperamental lid pop free as she took a small, careful sip. The taste was familiar and comforting, despite the uncertainties of the day ahead, and she was thankful that she’d stopped for it at the Screaming Peach Cafe on her way out of Silver Grove.

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