Page 89 of The Thinnest Air
“What did you put in here?” I ask.
“Nothing your doctor wouldn’t give you.” He reaches for the mug, bringing it back to my mouth and tilting up the bottom. “I need to get going, Meredith. I need to get back home before anyone notices I was gone.” He presses a kiss into my forehead. “It won’t always be like this. I promise. This is only temporary.”
I finish the drink, not that I have a choice, and Ronan clips my zip ties before escorting me back to the room at the end of the hall. Within seconds, my restraints are in place, and he pulls the blankets up to my neck.
“Warm?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says, running his palm down the outline of my left arm. “I love you, Meredith.”
My mouth trembles. I have to say it back. “I love you, too.”
“No.” His mouth draws down. “You don’t. Not yet. But you will.”
CHAPTER 42
GREER
Day Eleven
We drive for hours.
Windy roads that dip between mountains.
Signs pointing toward towns I’ve never heard of before, all of which we pass, all of which grow tiny in the distance.
I try to remember every last detail, every passing farm, every highway diner. But after a while, it all jumbles together, and I’m back to fixating on the present moment.
I’ve plotted my escape half a dozen times so far, each time imagining something different, each time predicting his reaction. In my mind, I’ve kicked his steering wheel, kicked his face, mouthed “help” to a passing car, and flung my body out the window while we’re barreling down the road at sixty-five miles per hour.
But I have to remind myself this isn’t the movies. I have no idea what I’m doing, and my usual strategy of go-fucking-crazy-until-it-scares-them isn’t going to work when the perp is already as cracked as they come.
Besides, I suspect he’s leading me to my sister because wherever he put her, it’s clean out of sight—which is exactly where he seems to be taking me.
Ronan’s foot presses the brake, and he checks his rearview mirror, taking a sharp left without signaling. The truck bumps down a rutted, gravel road before winding down a hill and passing through a wall of pine trees several stories tall.
Watching the clock, I note the time.
One minute passes, then another, and another.
Eleven minutes later, he pulls to a stop outside a weed-covered driveway I’d have missed had we passed it. ANOTRESPASSINGsign hangs from a nearby tree.
Ronan shifts into park before climbing out and sliding a key into the padlock that secures a rusted iron gate. This sort of setup won’t keep the police out, but it sure as hell would keep locals out—too bad there don’t seem to be any.
No one’s going to know I’m here.
I could scream until my lungs bleed, and no one would hear me.
He slides back into the cab of the truck, gunning the engine through the opened gate. We bounce over each groove and channel, each hardened gravel pocket, and come to a hard stop in front of a small white house.
My heart thrums against my chest wall at the thought that my sister might be inside. As long as she’s safe and alive, we’re getting out of here. I don’t care what we have to do to get free, and I’m not above murdering this demented son of a bitch.
Ronan steps out, circling the truck before retrieving me. His movements are casual, oddly unrushed, and he whistles a cheerful tune as he yanks me toward the front door.
Ronan kicks an old silver storm door open, and his right hand digs into my arm as his left works the key in the lock. A second later, we’re in, greeted with a cloud of stale, frigid air and dust.
I glance around, checking every corner for a sign of another human, but the place looks like it hasn’t so much as experienced fresh oxygen in years.
