Page 30 of Forbidden Eyes

Another tight turn and we’re both flung around in the back. I can’t doubt anymore. I draw my elbow back and thrust it as hard as I can into the man’s solar plexus and follow with another jab to his throat.

“Hey, stop that, bitch!” the driver shouts, but he can’t do anything from his position.

The guy in the back is struggling to breathe, so I move in, pulling my weight up and kicking him in the ribs and the side of the head. He’s dizzy, but not out. The car turns again, and I’m in his lap. I push off, scuttling back.

There’s a tie around my dress and I rush to pull it free. With shaking hands, I hook it over the driver’s head and pull back into my seat, but the guy in the back with me is coming round and moves to block me. His hand slaps my face, but I keep hold with my hands and brace myself, ready for another impact. And then I hear what I wanted. The tires move off the road and we begin riding over bumps and unsteady terrain. Just as the guy raises his fist and I let go of the tie to protect my face, the car drifts to the side of the road and we smash into something. The jolt knocks us all about, and the car is tilted at a strange angle.

I’m tossed about but don’t hit my head. Driver guy is being smothered by the air bag and isn’t responsive. Guy in the back is looking at the gash on his head. I reach through to the centre console and press the lock button before yanking the door open and racing out. I drop to the ground, the back wheel of the car off the road. We’ve crashed into some sort of ditch along a long gravel driveway. There are no other cars around, but there’s a wide-open field to the left of the drive, which I run for, slinging my heels off my feet and hitching my tight dress higher.

“Get back here!” One of their voices breaks through the air and only serves to drive my feet faster. As I run, I try to take in my surroundings. There’s a big house at the end of the driveway. I can make out several windows all lit up from the inside. It’s surrounded in part with walls and shadow. More fields with trees and other smaller buildings lie past my position, but the gloom makes it hard to see further. Maybe if I can make it to one of those?

I look back, hoping to see the car that was following, praying itisCarter.

A gunshot forces me to drop to the ground. The grass cushions my knees, cool with a sheen of moisture as the evening air cools. I keep my head low to the ground.

Another shot echoes around me.

“You can’t hide. You’re just prolonging the fun, little girl.” The cruel voice wraps around the field, carried on the air, and turns me to stone. I don’t recognise it. This isn’t guy one or driver guy from the car, so who is he?

My fingers splay out in the damp grass as I look around, feeling the need to flee. The direction of the small out-building is the best option, so I force my body to crawl through the grass, keeping as low as possible. With every shuffle forward, the urge to look back and check whether anyone’s behind me grows, but I resist and focus on my goal. Just a little further. A little further.

Finally, the solid structure is in touching distance. I dart around the corner and find a door. The building is barely standing, but it’s cover. Keeping close to the walls, I slip inside and into the shadows, staying close to the door, and wait. My ears listen for any sign of movement, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat bouncing in my chest.

Fear swells in my stomach, pushing my heart rate faster, and my breathing shakes to pull in the air I need. For a split second I wish my dad were here.

A branch or twig snapping alerts me to what might be outside, and I stuff my hand over my mouth to quieten my breathing. The building might provide shelter, but it’s also a dead end. I crouch as low to the ground as I can behind the door. With any luck, if someone comes in, I can sneak out behind them.

My hand is damp from the tears that have been trickling down my face. I need to get my breathing evened out. A footstep again. More definite this time. I hold my breath. There’s a gap in the wood of the door, and I strain to look. All I see is darkness. Nothing.

A dark shadow ghosts across my line of sight, and I immediately duck back down behind the door, but not before the eerie creak of the door as it starts to swing open. I crouch down low and wait for them to step in and move clear of the door. A few more steps. A few more steps.

I crouch-walk around and back out of the door. Straight into more trouble.

“Hello, beautiful.”

A hand snatches for me, but I block. He reaches again, but I block again, all the while backing up. The final time he grabs for me, I take his hand, twist his arm back and use the momentum of my weight to push his arm back.

“Bitch!”

I elbow him in the nose and send him reeling backwards, ready to sprint back the way I came.

“Not so fast.”

The hand comes from nowhere, and pain flares over my face so fast I don’t know where to look. My body thuds to the floor, and even though my mind is willing my muscles to work, to get up, I can’t. Nothing works. I can’t move, can't see anything but blurred images, and darkness creeps in around me.

My head is groggy; I can’t think straight. Patches of memory flash through my head. Carter. The drug deal. There was a car crash. I open my eyes and flutter them to get used to the dim light. I try to move, but my hands don’t budge and… something is tied around them. And my feet.

The hit of adrenaline wakes me up like a cold shower. I’m tied to a chair in a room. Two armed guards are at the door and sitting in a similar chair across from me is a third older man. The expensive suit doesn’t offer me any reassurances. He's smoking a cigar, lifting it to his lips and drawing the toxins into his lungs before blowing the smoke out into the air.

I remain silent, watching him as he repeats this three times. He hasn’t asked me any questions, and I’m not prepared to play the stupid-card again and speak first.

With every adjustment of my weight, every flex of my arms, the chair creaks and begins to set my nerves on edge. I don’t know who these people are, or what they want, but it won’t end with them letting me walk out of here. Of that I’m sure.

Still, I remain silent. Finally, the man finishes his cigar and stands. He’s tall, with dark hair and dark eyes that show no hint of mercy. A glinting at his waist catches my eye, and I notice the large knife attached to his belt. This isn’t like the knife that Carter had. This is more like a hunting knife, one used to kill prey. I swallow the rising fear and try to take a breath.

“So, you’re the girl who caused the death of my son. The daughter of Benjamin Vico.”

I don’t answer.