Crushed (erotic) (#3, 101 Nights)

Chapter Eleven: Natalie

When I lurch awake, I’m not only nauseated but cold. So cold. I blink away the darkness only to realize I’m blindfolded with my hands tied behind me and my ankles bound. This is not the good kind of tied up, like I do with Elijah.

The surface beneath me is lumpy, and there’s a weird droning, not loud enough to be a plane but loud enough that it’s difficult for me to hear anything else. My neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle, and when I try to straighten it, my head bumps a wall. The light scent of exhaust and oil fill my nose.

Car trunk. Oh, god! What the fuck am I doing here?

I try to shift, and jam my feet into something that feels like a body. Horrified I’m in the back with a dead man, I freeze. Adrenaline runs through me, making me more aware of my surroundings, confirming the fact I can’t possibly be anywhere else but a trunk.

Someone is crying softly. The body I’ve just kicked moves away from me. She sounds young, terrified.

“Is someone there?” I venture.

Her sobs stop, and I hear her gasp. Silence falls, as if she’s holding her breath.

“If you’re there, please answer.” I’m close to tears, too. My stomach is roiling, and fear makes me shake more than cold. “My name is … N…natalie. What’s yours?” It’s a struggle to keep from either throwing up or weeping.

Another quiet, then a barely audible response. “Layla.”

Resting my head against the floor, I take a few deep, steady breaths, not wanting to vomit in the enclosed space.

“Nice to meet you, Layla,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“My leg hurts.”

I hope it’s not because I kicked her. Guilty already, I focus on my breathing. Horrible thoughts race through my mind, sudden reminders about how many people associated with Elijah have died in car accidents, about the mystery texter’s threats.

“Are you okay?” Layla asks.

I swallow hard, not wanting to break down in front of her. “I think so. Just have a bellyache. Do you know what happened?”

“N…no.” Her voice trembles. “I was in school, then someone took me out and said my aunt needed to see me. We went … somewhere and then they … they tied me up and put me here.”

Why the fuck am I in the trunk with some kid? Was this guy some kind of hired kidnapper who happens to throw everyone he grabs into the same car?

“I was in here forever,” Layla finishes. “Then they put you in here with me.”

“How long ago was that?” I ask. I never thought I’d be kidnapped, but I watched enough crime shows to know I should probably figure out how far I might be from home.

“I don’t know.”

“Daylight? Nighttime? Anything?”

“I don’t know!” Her tears are starting again.

“I’m so sorry, Layla,” I say, reining in my panic. “We need to find out where we are and where we’re headed.”

Her sniffling calms then stops again. “Border. He said we’re driving across the border.”

It’s a six-hour drive to the Canadian border from the City. I can’t fathom what these people are doing or why they want to take us out of the country.

Then again, everyone on the planet will be looking for me, once people realize I’m gone. Is Canada much better than the States for hiding me? Is that the plan?