Page 7 of The Mobster’s Prize

“I think said hostage should learn when to stay quiet and not piss off her captor.”

He makes a very good point. But I need more information.

“I think if said captor had answered one stupid little question then this conversation would have already been over.”

“I think you need to hold that tongue for the remainder of the ride or I’ll lock you in the shed and pray you die of frostbite. Then I can blame your death on natural causes.”

“I think if you do that, your boss won’t be very happy. How will he get his money if I’m dead? Huh?”

“He’ll get his money no matter what.”

I swallow hard. He’s probably right about that. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, they just care about getting paid.

“But the old cowboy made it clear that no one is allowed to touch me,” I say, my voice wavering as my nerves take hold.

His knuckles turn uncomfortably white around the wheel, cracking as he twists the leather.

“The old cowboy was paid to deliver you unharmed. That’s why he said that.”

“And what does your boss say?”

That. Right there. That small twitch of his eye as his teeth clench tighter. It just gave him away. He’s not allowed to harm me either. A fact I tuck away, feeling a slight twinge of relief. For some reason, no one’s allowed to hurt me.

“He said to keep you locked up until further notice. The rest is at my discretion. And if you keep yapping away, I’ll do what’s necessary to shut you up.”

But he can’t lay a finger on me. That’s evident in all his angry tells.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I lie.

“Too bad.”

“Do you want me to wet myself?”

“No. I want you to hold your piss until we get to my place.”

“And if I don’t?”

The leather steering column squeaks again beneath his grip.

“I guess you’ll have to be detailing my truck.”

He knows I’m lying. There’s no way he’d let me pee in this thing. My father would kill me first than let me pee in one of his cars.

“How much longer?”

“Four hours.”

“You expect me to hold it for four hours?”

I need him to pull over.

“You’re still talking.”

Arggghh.

“Wouldn’t you be talking if you were in my shoes?”

“No.” He gives me a dry stare. “I’d shut up and do what my captor said so I didn’t piss him off and have to face his wrath.”