Page 123 of Yours to Keep
I can’t reach him.
I can’t help him.
“Finn!” His name tears out of me, raw enough to hurt.
Then something rough drops over my head.
Darkness.
The world disappears in an instant.
My breathing turns frantic inside the hood as the SUV continues to race away.
But even in the dark, I can still see him.
Finn.
Lying motionless on the floor beside me.
And that image follows me into the darkness.
30
Eli
The hood stinks. Not fresh sweat, but old sweat.
The kind that is soaked so deeply into the fabric that no amount of washing will ever get rid of it. Every breath drags the smell into my lungs until it coats the back of my throat. I fight the urge to gag, fighting even harder not to panic.
The SUV crashes over another pothole, and pain tears through my shoulder so violently that a cry escapes before I can stop it. I landed badly when they threw me into the vehicle. I remember crying out then, too. One of them had told me to shut up. Nobody cared then, and nobody cares now.
Another bump.
Another jolt sends fresh pain ripping through me. My wrists are bound behind my back, the plastic ties pulled so tight they have long since stopped feeling like restraints and started feeling like knives. Every movement drags them deeper into my skinuntil they burn. I shift instinctively, searching for a position that hurts less, but there is no legs-to-arms space that allows it.
Not being able to see is the worst part.
The darkness inside the hood feels alive, pressing against my face, stealing every point of reference. It feels like the world has shrunk to the size of my own breath.
I don’t know where they’re taking us or how long we’ve been driving. Five minutes. An hour. It could be either.
I have no fucking idea.
The engine growls beneath us as gravel spits against the underside of the SUV. We swing around another corner, throwing me sideways until my shoulder crashes against the door. I grit my teeth, swallowing another cry as I listen for the only thing that matters.
Finn.
For one terrifying second, I hear nothing.
Then comes the faint scrape of fabric across the floor, followed by a shaky breath.
Relief floods through me so hard it almost hurts.
He’s still here.
Please, stay with me. Don’t leave me.
My thoughts spiral before I can stop them. What if there isn’t a chance to run? What if this is it? The hood still reeks of old sweat. Maybe it’s mine now. Maybe it belongs to every terrified person who’s worn it before me. Either way, I can’t escape it.
