Page 90 of Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra)

I awoke in a dark place, unable to see or move. It took me a second to realize what had happened. John-Paul and his men had knocked me out, and they had bound my hands, my ankles, and my mouth. I had use of my arms, but they had tethered my ankles to something, so I couldn’t move my legs very far.

There was a bumping sensation. I was moving. I was in a car. John-Paul’s car. In the trunk.

The claustrophobia kicked in so fast and so hard I couldn’t focus. The tie around my mouth smelled like sweat, and it made me gag.

Sharp pain radiated through my chest, like I was having a heart attack. I was going to die. I banged against the top of the trunk, trying to scratch my way out. There was soft padding all along the walls, something they had installed. They had been planning this for a long time. I screamed over and over again, but the sound was muffled.

I had a horrific full-blown panic attack that lasted an eternity, sweat soaking my hair and my clothes, my heart pounding so hard I expected it to rupture. There wasn’t enough air in the trunk. I couldn’t breathe. All of the oxygen was disappearing.

It got so bad that I fainted.

When I came to, the attack had subsided. I knew I had a short amount of time until it started up again. I remembered watching a show about what to do if you got thrown into a trunk. You were supposed to kick the taillights out and stick your hands through them.

But you had to use your feet to do that. I couldn’t move my feet. I tried doing it with my hands, but the taillight didn’t move, and all that happened was I bloodied up my knuckles.

I wanted to get the gag off of my mouth, but no matter what I did, how I pulled or tugged, it wouldn’t come loose. They had made it too tight.

Think! How do I get out of this?

I turned on my side, wondering if I could swing my feet out that direction, but it was no use. I felt something digging into my hip.

My keys.

I rolled onto my back and very carefully angled my arm so that I could use my fingers to pull my keys out. If nothing else, I had a weapon now for when they opened the trunk, and in the meantime, I could try to use it to get myself free.

After repeated attempts to use a key edge to cut the zip tie around my wrists, I finally figured out a way to position the keys against my stomach and run the tie against the jagged teeth. As my eyes adjusted, I became aware of light appearing at the seams of the trunk, and I realized it was daytime. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious. A dry sob twisted my breath, but I kept going.

Did Rafe know I was gone? How many hours had it been? Had he tried to call me? Did he know something was wrong?

I’d never even told him that I loved him. I should have told him. I wished I had told him. Now he might never know.

Was Laddie dead? Was Aunt Sylvia worried? They would know this wasn’t like me. Had anyone notified the sheriff? Did they know which direction John-Paul had gone? Did they know what kind of car to look for?

This trunk was a million times worse than Henry’s magic box had ever been. At least then I’d had the hope of getting out. I wouldn’t get out of this. Ever. Even when they opened the trunk I would be confined in a different way.

Although, I thought with a morbid laugh, I probably wouldn’t fit in the coal bin anymore.

The car came to a stop, and my whole body went rigid. We couldn’t possibly be all the way back to Washington yet. But who knew what they planned on doing to me? I flipped my key ring around, making sure I could point the pepper spray at them. I lay there, unmoving and tense, waiting.

I realized they were getting gas. I started pounding against the trunk, kicking my feet as best I could, and screaming. The padding prevented me from making any sound. I couldn’t let anyone know what was happening to me. I listened to the ding-ding as cars drove into the station, the sound of people talking and laughing. I screamed and screamed as tears poured down my cheeks, but the gag made it so that no one could hear me.

It was like I wasn’t even there.

“No one can hear you,” John-Paul said through the trunk, banging hard on it a couple of times, which made me jump.

Even as we drove away, I kept trying to make noise, to do something to let somebody, anybody, know what was happening.

The panic started to swell, and I tried my best to stay calm. I told myself the walls of the trunk were not moving and wouldn’t crush me. It was all in my head.

My body didn’t care that I wasn’t in any danger of being squished. All the sweating, nausea, heart palpitations, headaches, and tears started right back up. I went back to trying to cut the zip tie around my wrist, but I was having a hard time concentrating and holding still.

Time had become meaningless, but I was aware of the car slowing down, and my heart thumped painfully in response. Were we there? Was this it?

I again tried to position my keys and use my pepper spray as a weapon, but I was shaking so hard that when they threw the trunk open, the light flooded in and my keys slipped from my fingers. I rolled, trying to grab at them, but the men yanked me out of the trunk. I landed on the ground, hard. I tried to control my breathing and get my bearings, but panic kept me from being in control.

“You can’t go back home dressed like this,” John-Paul said. He stood in front of me, blocking out the sun so that all I could see was his outline. He threw something at me. It was a dress. Like the ones we used to wear.

“You have to get changed.” He pulled me up by my wrists and pulled out a large knife. I tried to scream and get away from him, but he used the knife to slit the tie at my wrists and, before I could react, the one around my ankles. My hands and feet ached as the blood rushed into them, causing prickling sensations.

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