Page 95 of Jenna's Protector
“We need a plan.” Ethan’s voice cuts through the static in my head, calm and focused. “A water rescue, extraction by air or sea.We need to coordinate with the Coast Guard and local marine units. Mitzy, I need ideas.”
“Already working on it. Go ahead and retreat. Sending coordinates. Hank, Gabe, and Rigel will meet you there.”
“Copy that.” Ethan commands us to move out with a swirl of his finger overhead. We exit the way we came in, silently and through the water, then hump it back to the vehicle.
I send up a silent prayer.Hold on, Jenna. Just a little longer. I’m coming for you. I’ll always come for you.
THIRTY-THREE
Jenna
The van doors slam shut,plunging me into darkness. I scream until my voice gives out, rage and despair mingling with the bitter taste of betrayal on my tongue.
The image of Max lying in a pool of his own blood burns behind my eyelids. My faithful protector callously gunned down without mercy.
“Max,” I choke out, my voice a broken whisper. “Oh God, Max.”
The van lurches into motion, throwing me against the cold metal wall. Pain explodes across my back, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I curl into myself, sobs wracking my body.
“Sophia.” My voice breaks. “How could you?”
Her betrayal hits like a physical blow, stealing my breath.
“I’m sorry.” Sophia’s voice comes from the darkness, thick with emotion. “I had no choice. I’m sorry.”
Rage flares hot and bright within me. I lunge toward her voice, but strong arms hold me back. My hands claw at the air.
“How could you? I trusted you.”
“Settle down,” a gruff voice warns.
We take a turn at dizzying speed, and I’m thrown against the cold metal wall again. The impact jars my teeth, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue. I twist and squirm. Kick and buck.
“Don’t fight.” Calloused hands grab my wrists.
Zip ties bite into my skin as they’re cinched tight. The plastic digs in deeper as I struggle, panic clawing at my chest.
“Please.” I hate the desperation in my voice. “You don’t have to do this. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
A dark chuckle is my only response.
The van speeds on. The drive is endless. Each turn and bump send fresh waves of fear through me. The van reeks of sweat and fear, the air thick and suffocating.
My heart pounds so hard I fear it might burst from my chest. Time loses all meaning in the darkness. It could be minutes or hours before the van finally slows.
Finally, we stop.
When the doors open, the sudden influx of cool night air makes me gasp.
The cool air should be a relief, but it only heightens my terror. The hood is removed. We’re at a boathouse, dark water stretching endlessly before us.
Ocean water.
Hands grab me, dragging me out. My legs, numb from the long ride, buckle beneath me. I’m hauled upright, forced to stumble forward.
“Move,” one of the men grunts, shoving me forward.
I dig my heels in, a futile gesture of defiance. It earns me a sharp slap across the face, the sting bringing tears to my eyes.