Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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"𝙎tupid bitch!"
Rayne flinched as the man in front of her grabbed the ends of the mouth bind he'd taken off a few minutes ago. After being able to sweet-talk him into doing so for her, she took her chance to warn Rueben on the other side of the phone. She knew that it was going to ruin the trust that was built between the two of them, but she didn't care.
The bullet lodged into the side of the van beside her head, however, would deter her from trying again. Instead, she would sit here as the rope burned the inner parts of her lips like a good kidnappee and listen to the two guys' plans for her. As long as it meant that Rueben knew she was okay for the time being, she didn't care—her life was the least important thing that was happening.
If he knew she was fine, he would focus on the rest of the plans. He would focus on getting the warrant to search Clarke's office and he would follow the trail from there. Knowing it was a long shot was something she chose to forget about; Rueben was stubborn, but he wasn't stupid.
"Talk again," the man growled, "And the next one is in your head."
Rayne didn't move as he dragged the barrel of the gun up the curve of her neck, letting it sit on the side of her face; one wrong move, one little squeeze, and her brains will add a new decoration to the interior of the cleaner's van they had her forced into. But despite all of that—despite the fact that her hands were tied behind her back and her legs were bound at the ankles, she refused to show him any weakness.
Being around men like him her entire life had her an expert in this field. If he couldn't decipher how to get her to bend at his will, she had more in common with a sack of potatoes than a human.
"Hmph," she jutted her chin out, smiling against the rope in between her teeth.
She watched with glee as the gears in his head began to turn; she knew that she had the upper hand when he pulled the gun away from her face and moved toward his original spot—on a turned-over, orange bucket beside her.
"Hello, Rueben," the man teased, slipping back into his façade of strength.
She couldn't hear what he was responding with, nor could she tell based on the man's facial expressions. Everything he wore was either stoic or a dopey grin, nothing in between.
Taking the time to investigate her surroundings while he was distracted, she turned her head to the left and right, understanding that she was right to decipher the type of vehicle they were in. She guessed that the outside was white just due to the double back windows, open back space, and the closed-off wall of seats between the cab and where she sat up against.
She had no idea what this car was used for beforehand as everything inside of it told different stories. To her left, there were two mountain bikes, chained up to each other and mounted to keep them from flying across the space, and a few helmets. On her right, there was a series of pottery bowls and rows of unplanted seeds beside that.
