Page 135 of Wasted
He felt the floor with his palm. It was covered with something fuzzy. Like the interior lining of a trunk.
He wasn’t tied up. That was good. But he was definitely being driven somewhere.
If this was a trunk, there should be a release latch he could pull. Unless Massey had thought to remove it.
Cillian reached for the trunk lid above his head. Nothing but air met his fingers. If this was a trunk, it was the biggest one he’d ever seen. If he could see it.
He straightened his bent legs, stretching out until his shoes hit something solid. Then he got to his knees and crawled in the other direction. Reached another wall there. But they were too far apart for a trunk.
SUVs and vans had that same kind of floor lining, too.
So, Massey had come prepared with a large vehicle that had cargo space. Seemed awfully strategic for a panicked reaction to Cillian’s threats to expose the man.
Wait. If Massey wanted Cillian out of the way to keep his secret, would he want to eliminate Victoria, too?
Alarm and anger collided in Cillian’s chest. Massey had better not have touched a hair on her head. At least she wasn’t in this vehicle. Maybe he wasn’t going to mess with her, since she was a Weston.
Victoria. Just the thought of her was apparently enough to make Cillian remember her lilac scent.
The aroma of her, or the memory of it, drifted to him, triggering an ache behind his ribs.
A moan came from the darkness.
Much too close to have come from the driver. And Massey didn’t smell that good.
Cillian wasn’t remembering her.
Victoria was here.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
A throbbing ache pulled Victoria from sleep. She opened her eyes.
At least, she thought she’d opened them. But she couldn’t see anything.
Why was her room so dark? There was always some light from?—
“Vicks?”
Cillian. What was he doing in her room?
Alarm spiked through her, and she sat up.
The pain in her head sharpened. She gasped.
“Easy. Don’t try to move fast.”
She turned toward his voice, but she could only see a dim outline of what appeared to be his head.
“Don’t worry, your eyes will adjust. I think he must have the back windows covered with something. Though maybe the snow is blocking the streetlamps and city lights anyway.”
Cillian’s words jumbled in her mind like babble.
She blinked, hoping to rush the adjustment process as she tried to organize his statements and her thoughts in her mind. “Are you saying we’re in a vehicle of some kind?”
This had to be a dream. A very peculiar one.
