Page 6 of The Mobster’s Prize

Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Although, I’m in self-preservation mode. I’m trying to save myself, not spare my dad his consequences. He got himself into this mess. He needs to get himself out of it.

“Then why don’t you go and confiscate the car instead of kidnapping me? That’s how you get your money back.”

His head turns, looking at me as though I’m as naïve as they come. “That’s not how our business is handled. If your dad doesn’t get us the money, he doesn’t get his daughter back. Plain and simple. So, I guess it all comes down to how much he loves his little girl.”

That sounds like a death threat if I’ve ever heard one because my father and I are not on good terms right now. We haven’t been since I told him I wanted to quit my job and open a cupcake bakery. He had the nerve to tell me that the last thing I needed to do was be in a profession that allowed me to eat more sweets. I know I’ve gotten thicker these last few years, but I’m happy with my newfound curves. But my father only dates Barbies, so anyone over a size zero is considered obese in his eyes.

“You might want to steal his car then. You’ll have a better chance at getting your money back.” Because in response to my father’s rudeness, I told him to shove his toupee where the sun doesn’t shine. We haven’t spoken since. And life has been bliss.

I can hear his teeth grinding from here. He better quit doing that or he’ll wear those pearly whites down to nubs, and that would be such a shame. I bet he’s incredible when he smiles. But he doesn’t seem the type to give them out frequently. If ever.

“Your father is going to pay one way or another.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I tamp down the twist in my gut.

“Then he’ll deal with the consequences.”

Meaning: I get axed.

Awesome.

Another privilege of being that man’s child.

Or…

I find a way to escape.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My cabin.”

Okay, vague.

“Where’s your cabin?”

“In the mountains.”

No shit. But I need an exact location so I can come up with a plan. Are we talking northern Washington where I have never been before, or are we talking Tahoe where I spent every winter skiing and know it like it’s my second home.

“Which mountain?”

“A big one.”

I stare at him.

“Are you always this generous on the details, or are you feeling a little constipated at the moment?”

The look he turns on me is definitely one of constipation.

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Only when I’m being kidnapped.”

“Do you want me to put the tape back on your mouth?”

No. I don’t want the tape, but if he pulls over to the side of the road, I can jump out and make a run for it. One look at my restrained hands by any passing vehicle, and they’ll know I need help.

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable for a hostage to want to know where exactly she’s being taken.”