Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

I nodded. I understood. Totally. Still, I thought as soon as they take the tape off, I’ll scream, but ripping off the tape was so painful I didn’t scream, I was too shocked. Stunned. Then there was a moment where a plastic bottle of water was put to my lips. I chose the water over yelling. It wasn’t really a matter of choice. It was about survival. Instinctually, I gulped it down, a lot of it running down my chin and neck. Before I’d had enough, the bottle was snatched away. “Make a message for your mother,” one man instructs in a heavy Eastern European accent. “Mum, Mum, please. Do what they say. I’m frightened, Mum, please.” I didn’t get chance to say any more before they gagged me again, this time with a scarf. The thin fabric of the scarf means I can breathe a bit better than I could through the tape, but it holds my mouth open unnaturally, cuts into the edges of my lips. I think my mouth is bleeding.

No one has interacted with me since then. Maybe an hour ago, maybe four or five. I don’t know. I can’t tell. From time to time, I can hear the three men talk between themselves. They don’t say much. I think they are waiting for something. I gather at least one of them is playing a game on his phone because intermittently he throws up a small cheer and the other men laugh at him.

They are playing games. I am shaking, bruised, bound.

I try not to panic or, you know, despair. I think I finally understand that word as I fight it. I used to use it a lot with Megan when we were about thirteen. “Megan, I despair of you!” I’d say if she, like, mucked up her eyeliner or something and we’d both laugh so hard. Now I know what despair might mean. What if my parents can’t find me? What if these men are going to rape and kill me? That’s like, what men do, right? I feel my body tremble so violently I make the chair rattle. I don’t know if it’s cold or fear. Both are ripping through my body, squeezing every internal organ. The rope on my wrists and ankles rubs painfully.

No. Stop. I can’t think that way.

They play games, that makes them human, right?

Or maybe just psychopaths. Maybe they play games and then rape and kill.

I think that most likely I have been kidnapped for money. If these men were going to rape me, they would have done so by now. But they are waiting for something. A message from a boss, word of a drop-off. I allow myself a moment of hope. They won’t hurt me if they want money for me. Then I hear movement. They are coming closer. All three at once. They are untying my feet, my hands. I should run, fight, kick, but pins and needles, numbness—something—stops me. I collapse like a sack of potatoes. I hate my body for not being as strong as my mind. I don’t want to give in, but I have no ability to fight. One man picks me up. I start to cry. No, no, no. He throws me, like I’m a doll, and I land on a mattress, on the floor. The mattress is thin and cheap and as I land, I feel the impact of the ground underneath. No. No. Please no.

One of them takes my right hand and ties it to something solid. I pull, but there’s no give. I can’t sit up. I can only lie down on the mattress. I scramble about, thrashing, wriggling, trying to dodge them, but I don’t know how, I don’t know where they are. They are not touching me yet. Just watching me I suppose. Checking I’m secure and can’t escape. I realize I am wetting myself. I try to clench and stop, but it just comes, I feel it on my thigh. A warm gush. The smell of ammonia.

“Piss, piss,” yells one of the men. I can hear his disgust. Neither of the other two responds. I am crying, but the tears can’t escape, the tape on my eyes is so tight. I think I am going to go blind. I think I am going to suffocate. I am going to die rolling around in my own wee and maybe that’s the best I can hope for, dying now.

Someone kicks me in the stomach. I scream and pull up my legs to protect my baby.

CHAPTER 39

Lexi

Terror is leaking in, a drop at a time. Drip, drip. The clock ticktocks and the hours pass. Now there is enough terror that we can drown in it. No one suggests we change into our pajamas, clean our teeth, get some sleep. I’m glad, because doing something so automatic and familiar and ordinary would be a betrayal. Ridley, Jennifer and Fred all nap for periods of time on chairs and the sofa in the kitchen. Every time they wake with a start, they look guilty, embarrassed that their frail bodies have overwhelmed them with the need to sleep. They rub their eyes, mumble, “Any news?” As there is none, they fall back to sleep. I can’t blame them. Their being awake doesn’t help anything. I’m glad that Jennifer in particular isn’t hovering around Jake, looking concerned, patting his shoulder, squeezing his arm. I’m under such extreme pressure I don’t know how long I can continue to turn a blind eye to the way she searches for a connection with him, tries to assert her special place with him. Has she always been that way? How have I missed it for so long?

Neither Jake nor I get a wink. I can’t stand the idea of sleep, the passing of the night and a fresh day because I want to halt time. Turn it back, ideally. I want her home now. But it doesn’t matter what I