Page 76 of The Prey

Drew is not Yanov. He’s not going to hurt you.

I repeat that to myself ten times over, but making my body and mind believe that isn’t easy. Especially not when he grabs me and tosses me up and onto his shoulder.

My imaginings of Sebastian doing this very thing to me make me feel foolish now. The air is pressed out of my gut as my weight bounces on his shoulder. “I changed my mind. I don’t want your help anymore.”

He slaps the back of my thigh hard enough to sting, and I jerk. “Stop talking and trust the process.”

I gulp and watch the floor as he carries me down the stairs and outside. Not a soul comes out of the woodwork to help, and I know Bel must be gone for some reason.

Fuck. What is going on?

“Please, Drew,” I pant out, barely able to draw breath with the position he holds me in.” I mean it. I don't need your help if it involves me being kidnapped.”

I hear a beep, then a soft emittance of laughter from Drew. “Will you just trust me?” I don’t get the chance to answer him because he tosses me into the trunk of his car, slamming it closed and leaving me in the dark.

“Trust you? Are you kidding me?” I growl. “You just tossed me in the trunk of a car!!” I slam my hand against the roof of the trunk in frustration.

My lungs burn, feeling like they can’t draw in enough air even though nothing stops me from doing so.

I catch his voice through the metal. “I’ve never done anything to make you believe that I’d hurt you, so calm down. Now, that might change if you start screaming like a banshee, and I have to pull over. I promise you don’t want that to happen, and I don’t think you want to piss Bel off, do you? Because she’ll be upset if I have to do something because you were stupid.”

Pissed at me? I squeeze my eyes closed a few times to let them adjust to the darkness. Dread slithers up my spine. Bel is my only friend. I can’t lose her, not over some stupid misunderstanding.

Relax. It’s going to be okay.

Opening my eyes, I stare into the darkness that surrounds me and repeat the words out loud, as if the sound of them will make them more convincing.

“It’s going to be okay.”

30

Elyse

Isettle into the trunk and try my best to ignore the tools, or whatever the hell it is that’s back here digging into my hip with every bounce.

We drive around for a bit—not long, I don't think—but it's hard to tell time when you are imagining all the ways a situation could go wrong. Eventually, the car rolls to a stop, the engine turning off. Anticipation roars in my veins, my heartbeat picking up again.

The trunk opens, and I blink up at the light, Drew's hulking frame cutting through it. His face is emotionless, a mask. He reaches in and pulls me up and over his shoulder again. It hurts just as bad as the last time, and I know I'll have a bruise.

“You want to tell me what's happening?”At the very least, it’s an attempt to distract him while I wiggle my wrists to loosen the ties. They don't budge. Of fucking course.

“Did a little ride in the trunk cool you off?” That’s all he says. He doesn’t tell me where he’s taking me or what’s going on.

I slump as he carries me. And I watch the grass under his feet turn to leaves, rocks, branches, and brush. He's taking me into the woods. Oh God. This is starting to look like an episode of a true crime documentary.

“You aren't planning to murder me, are you? I don't see how that would help things with Sebastian, but I’m a little worried right now so I thought it would be a good time to ask.”

“Not today.” That’s the only response I get, and I won’t lie, I’m pretty fucking annoyed at this point. While fear still lingers at the back of my mind, I have to wonder what the hell he plans to do with me out in the woods if he isn’t going to hurt me or assault me.

I don't know how long we walk, but my chest aches from the pressure and gravity of being carried over his shoulder. After a few more minutes, his stride becomes smaller, and he slows his pace. We must be getting close to wherever he intends to take me.

Eventually, he shifts and slings me to the ground, and my body lands in a heap. I groan as circulation comes back to my stomach, ribs, and shoulders. “I'd rather you let me walk. Now I’m going to have a bruise the size of Texas on my stomach,” I grumble.

Crouching down in front of me, he grabs the rope at my ankles. I thrust my hands toward him, hoping he's going to release me, but he tightens the knots instead and gives me a wink. I narrow my gaze, wishing I could get daggers to fly out of my eyes.

“Whatever game you’re playing, I’m done. I don’t want your help anymore.”

“Too bad, you already agreed to it.” He smirks and then turns, giving me his back.