Page 192 of Keeping Kasey
“I know you’re scared, Kasey, but they can’t hurt you anymore.”
“No one has been hurting me!” I give up on staying calm. I’m full-on shouting now. “You need to pull over and let me go before it’s too late!”
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“No,youdon’t know what you’re talking about! The people you’re taking me to are dangerous, and whatever they want, it isn’t my safety.”
The list.
They want the list.
I can’t believe I’m only just now putting it together.
Whoever Mark is working with is my mystery caller. They used Mark to get me, and once they have me…
“They’re going to kill you, Mark! Once you hand me over, they’re going to kill you, and they’ll kill me, too. Please—pleasestop this before it’s too late.”
“I’m sorry, Kasey. I promise I’m going to protect you. You just need to trust me.”
“What are you—”
A glass partition rises between us.
“Mark, don’t!” I shoot forward to stop it, but it’s too late. I slam my fist against the glass, but whatever material it is might as well be indestructible.
I do the same to the back windows, then the doors. I kick, pull, and pry at everything I can, but nothing budges. I have my gun, but I don’t trust a bullet not to ricochet and hit Mark or me.
Besides, I’ll probably need it for whatever happens next.
I continue beating the partition and pleading with Mark—all to no avail—until twenty minutes have passed and Mark pulls onto the shoulder of the road.
We’re on some state route with nothing but trees on either side of us. It was barely snowing when we left the hotel, but now thick flurries come down so hard I can barely make out the car parked ahead of us.
A white truck.
My pleas become desperate. “Please, Mark! Don’t do this! We need to get out of here!Please!”
Four figures approach the car, and my heart thrums in my chest at a concerning speed as I ready my gun and lift it to the window as they reach the car.
I expect them to come to my door and drag me out, but they don’t. They wave for Mark to come out, and while their words are mumbled, I hear Mark’s excited tone.
I hear the exact moment his excitement turns to confusion.
Then fear.
I wish the sinking feeling in my chest could drown me. At least then, I wouldn’t have to wonder what I’ll face next. And I have a feeling the empty darkness of death would be more merciful than whatever lies ahead of me right now.
I have my gun pointed at the door as it opens, with my finger trembling on the trigger. A trigger I cannot pull.
Because it’s Mark who stands in the line of fire, and the man who holds a gun to his head smiles warmly at me.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks, and I nod.
Not only do I recognize his voice as the mystery caller, but I also recognizehim.
In my research before working with the Consolis, I made it a point to learn about all five of the American Mafia families: the Consolis, Morenos, Marsollos, Riveras, and Diazes.
The man in front of me is undoubtedly Emilio Diaz, the underboss of the Diaz family.
