Page 81 of Submitting to Them
The building managers weren’t allowed to share camera footage without a request from the police station, but once that goes through, a fucking long hour later, we’re watching footage of the parking garage.
The footage plays in reverse until we see a car pull up next to the elevator…a silver Porsche.Exactly like mine.Ella gets out of the car walks backward into the elevator because the footage is still playing in reverse.
“Isn’t that your car, Mr.Tyler?”one of the building managers asks.
“That’s Joel’s car,” I say.“My son’s.”
“He tricked her, didn’t he?”Bash says.
We go all the way back and watch the video as it happened.The car pulls up and waits for several minutes.The elevator opens.Ella steps out, looking fearful.She rushes for the door, yanks it open, and slides inside.
The door remains open for a long moment—I imagine that’s when she realized it wasn’t me behind the wheel.
She wouldn’t have known Joel has the same car as me because the asshole never took her out on any actual dates.
“My fucking son kidnapped her.”Every word feels sharp in my mouth.
He took Ella.Whatever goodwill, whatever spark of love, whatever bit of hope I’d had that he and I could reconcile?It’s fucking gone.For good.
Twenty
Ella
We drive all night.Joel stops at a service station at one point and puts gas into the car, but there’s no one around for me to ask for help.I consider crawling out of the car and running, but we’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
For now, I’m trapped.
But we’ll have to stop for gas again, or stop so he can rest, or something.And if he wants to go to Mexico, we’ll join up with Interstate 5, the main freeway, pretty soon.
How does he expect me to get into Mexico?Don’t I need a passport or something?I don’t have one—I’ve never traveled out of the country.
I don’t think Joel has truly thought this through.Typical of him—come up with the first part of a plan and just wing the rest.Sort of like how he invited me to the gala, then didn’t follow through there, either.
The sun is rising over the desert.We’re on back roads, it looks like, so he can avoid the freeways and extra traffic.We haven’t passed another car in ages.
I can tell he’s getting drowsy—his eyelids keep drifting closed.Dangerous.I don’t want to crash in this barren landscape.Then again, maybe if we did, I could grab his phone and call for help.
I want to offer to drive so he can sleep, and then I’ll take his phone and call the police, or take the gun and drive us to a town.But he’ll see through my offer in a second.And my jaw still aches from where he hit me last night.
His eyes flash open and he gives a visible jerk in his seat.
“Shit, nearly fell asleep.”Reaching into his pocket, he pulls something out and pops it in his mouth, swallows.A pill, I bet.Something for energy.
Sure enough, after about fifteen minutes, he looks way more energetic.Voice full of charm and friendliness, he says, “Did you have plans last night?”
“Nothing in particular,” I say, not sure what sort of answer would make him happy.Does he want to hear I was planning on fucking his dad and Sebastian again?Does he want to know how long it would’ve taken them to notice me gone?
“Right.Old Bastian Crown was out schmoozing.I found him tagged in Church of Fortune’s social.Had to make sure he wasn’t around when I texted you.And my dear old pops was working, of course.You know, every time he had me over to stay with him for a vacation, he worked, too?From home, of course, so he thought it was okay.He couldn’t even hire a nanny like my mom did.Wanted to ‘do it himself.’”Joel scoffs.“Except he was on his phone all the fucking time.You can call me crazy all you want, but that sort of upbringing has to have an effect, you know?”
“You can callmecrazy all you want, but people with shitty childhoods don’t automatically turn into pill-popping kidnappers,” I snap.
Then I wince.Is he going to hit me?I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
But he just chuckles.“Good point.Maybe it’s just shitty genes.”
It’s not.It’s just that he’s a bad person and he doesn’t want to do better.But I bite my tongue.
Every now and then, we pass another car.We’re getting to a more populated area.Maybe I can signal to other cars that I’m in danger.Joel can’t possibly shoot everyone on I-5.
