Page 23 of Wanted 2

“Jeremy?” I gasped.

“Oh, Jeremy?” Don chuckled, crossing his arms. “He’s not here. I lied.”

Shit.Shit. “So much for your insurance policy, asshole.” It was hard to talk. My jaw throbbed.

Don laughed, a real, deep belly laugh. “That’s not the insurance policy. Believe me, you’re in for a real treat.”

I regained my feet and staggered toward the door, but he just shook his head, watching me and grinning. Then, when I was a few feet away, he stepped back, slammed the door, and twisted the key in the lock.

“No!” I screamed, rattling the knob, but it didn’t budge. “You come back here, you miserable piece of shit!” I shouted, pounding the door with my fist until I could feel the bruises forming.

Don didn’t answer.

I ran to the bedroom window and pulled the stained drapes aside, expecting to see a window I could open or break. Instead, I was greeted by a sturdy set of thick iron bars.

“There’s no way out,” a small, despondent voice whispered from behind me.

I froze.

I wasn’t alone.

8

“Who’s there?” I gasped, whirling in a circle as I searched the room. Boxes, clothes, and trash cluttered nearly every square inch of the place. Anything—or anyone—could be hiding in here. “Jeremy?”

I felt like a fool as soon as I said his name. The voice didn’t sound like his at all, and Jeremy would’ve rushed straight at me or called my name.

When no one responded, I raised my voice a little louder, “Who is it?”

Again, nothing but silence.

Great. Now I was hearing things. I stayed by the window, feeling safer with a wall behind my back as I visually scoured the room.

Suddenly, the door flew back on its hinges and Don strode inside, a small black bag in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.

I watched as he kicked a cardboard box off a white plastic lawn chair and took a seat.

“Want this?” he asked, balancing the bottle of Jack Daniels on his knee.

“Not interested.” I wasn’t. The thought of getting back on that addiction train made me sick. I just wanted out—and Don locked in a jail somewhere far away or maybe dumped in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

He dangled the small black bag and added, “Razors. For you.” He tossed the bag and it landed at my feet.

I felt sick. “What are you up to? You can’t kidnap me. They’re going to miss me and—”

“Chill,” he cut me short. “I’m not keeping you here for long. Let’s just say that I’m detaining you until a few things happen. Part of the insurance policy.”

“If you harm Jeremy in any way, you’ll—”

“And why would I harm Jeremy now?” he asked, interrupting me again. “He’s my guarantee, bitch. You’ll walk to hell and back for him.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Don rolled his eyes, hefted himself off the chair and stalked forward. He was quick, but then, I guess I just didn’t have any fight left in me. I was too worried. I did push back, but he grabbed my hair and forced the bottle of whiskey into my mouth. God, I didn’t want it, but my body did. A shudder rippled through me as the liquor rushed down my throat. I tried to shove the bottle back, to turn my head. I tried to fight, but I was gagging on the vile poison.

“Swallow,” Don ordered. “Yeah, that’s my girl.”

I choked. I’d never be his. Then, as the warmth of the whisky coursed through my blood, I wasn’t thinking about Don anymore. I hadn’t had a drink in such a long, long time. Part of me felt sick. The other part wanted to grab the bottle from him and finish it off.