Page 58 of Virtue & Vengeance

He was going to kill me.

If I thought he would kill me over the few twenties I’d stolen from his wallet; he was going to torture and murder me in all kinds of terrible ways over a hundred grand and drugs. The problem was, I had no idea what he was talking about.

I’d never seen any money or drugs.

The car was still in impound after Zander had me pulled over.

“Allen, listen to me,” I said, holding my hands up palms out as I attempted to stand in the trunk. “I don’t have the car anymore.”

“Where the fuck is it?”

“It was towed. I’d…” I didn’t want to go into everything, and I doubted he would care anyway. “It’s been impounded.”

Allen’s face transformed, turning red and wrinkled with his expression.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, Eden!”

He raised his hand, and I covered my head waiting for a hit that never came.

“I swear! I’m telling you the truth.”

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he shoved me back into the trunk and slammed it, encasing me in darkness and making me feel like I was suffocating.

We drove for a bit longer, the car turning and taking curves. Then he parked again and the engine cut.

I wanted to bang on the trunk and scream, but fear had me frozen.

The trunk was getting warmer the longer the car sat in the heat, and minutes passed, making me worry that maybe Allen had left me.

Just as I was about to reach up and bang on the trunk, it flew open, and I was greeted by Allen yet again.

“Don’t make a fucking noise. You come with me without a fuss, and I might let you live.”

Fresh air filled my lungs as I climbed from the trunk. My eyes settled onto the space around us.

There were cars.

Buildings.

But no people to help me.

Then my eyes landed on a motel sign.

The Magic Eight.

It was a rundown place with rats scattering across the parking lot. The thing was, there were what seemed like hundreds of motels in Vegas. I’d never seen this one in particular, which meant I still had no idea where I was.

Allen wasn’t gentle as he shoved me through the parking lot and toward one of the rooms. We stopped in front of the door numbered one-sixty-two as he fumbled to get the key into the lock and open the door.

He shoved me inside, and I stumbled falling partly onto the bed and partly onto the floor. My knees stung from the blow, but I refused to show any sign of pain.

Allen locked the door, opened the side of the blinds, and did a quick sweep, before grabbing me by my arm and dragging me toward a chair and shoving me in it. He grabbed the motel phone and pushed it toward me.

“Call whoever you have to call to get the car out.”

I blinked up at him. “How do you expect me to do that?”

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