Page 67 of Chief's Addiction

“Where are you taking us?” I asked shakily.

Spike dug the gun deeper into my side. “Someplace your old man won’t find you until I want him to.”

We went around another corner, then came out onto a loading dock area. At the bottom of the ramp sat a white panel van, waiting with its back doors open and engine running. The two men who’d been with Spike hustled us toward it.

“Get in,” Spike ordered, shoving me forward so hard that I stumbled over my own feet.

“Leave her alone!” Beckett shouted, lunging forward only to be caught by one of Spike’s minions.

“Beck, don’t,” I pleaded, finding my footing. The last thing I needed was him getting shot trying to protect me.

One of Spike’s men climbed in first, then reached down to haul me up. Beckett was pushed in behind me, landing with a grunt beside me. Then Spike climbed in, that horrible smile still plastered on his disgusting face as he pulled the doors shut.

The van lurched forward, and I grabbed Beckett’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, though there was nothing reassuring about our situation. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered to Beckett.

“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” His voice shook, and he suddenly seemed so much younger than his seventeen years.

I squeezed his hand tighter. “No. Mason will find us.”

“Mason?” Spike’s voice cut through the darkness. “You mean Chief? Isn’t that sweet. You’re on a first-name basis.”

The van took a sharp turn, throwing us against the side wall. I hit my shoulder hard, wincing at the impact.

“Phone,” Spike demanded, holding out his hand. “Now.”

I hesitated until he pointed the gun at Beckett. With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket and handed it over. Spike examined it for a moment, then to my surprise, turned it on.

“What are you—” I started.

“Sending your boyfriend a message,” he said, tapping at the screen.

A chill ran down my spine. Was he texting Chief? Sending a picture? In the dim light, I couldn’t see what he was doing. After a moment, he turned the phone back off and shoved it in his pocket.

The van continued for what felt like hours. I kept track of the turns, trying to build a mental map, though I knew it was useless. Jacksonville was sprawling, and I had no idea which direction we’d started in.

“Beck,” I whispered, leaning closer. “Listen to me. When this van stops, and they open those doors, we’re going to run.”

His eyes widened. “But they have guns.”

“They also have terrible aim,” I muttered, remembering how Spike’s hand had trembled against my side. The guy was clearly high as a kite. “We’ll have one chance. Just follow my lead.”

Beckett nodded, his grip on my hand tightening.

The van slowed, then made a final turn before coming to a stop. I heard the driver’s door open and close, footsteps crunching on what sounded like gravel. My heart rate doubled as I prepared myself.

“Ready?” I breathed.

“Ready,” Beckett whispered back.

The van’s rear doors swung open, flooding the space with blinding sunlight. Through squinted eyes, I saw we were in some kind of industrial area with shipping containers stacked around us.

“NOW!” I screamed, lunging forward and shoving past Spike.

He stumbled backwards with a curse as I leapt from the van, hitting the ground running. I heard Beckett behind me, his footsteps pounding the pavement as we sprinted away. Shouts erupted, followed by the distinctive pop of gunfire, but I didn’t look back.

“This way!” I gasped, veering left between two shipping containers, praying Beckett was still with me.

Pumping my arms, I ran harder than I ever had before.

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