Ah.

A trunk then.

I’m inside of somebody’s fucking trunk.

“What the hell?” I murmur, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. Don’t do it, Aaron. Don’t panic, man. You got this. You got this. You fucking got this. I squeeze my eyes shut. Not like it matters, since it’s dark as pitch in here, but it helps somehow. Like, it’s supposed to be dark when you close your eyes. It’s not dark because I’m trapped, right?

I take a second with my eyes closed, trying to control my breathing as I adjust my body and then hiss in pain. My right hand goes to my leg and pieces of scattered memories flicker behind my closed lids. Getting pulled out of the Camaro, fists and boots and fighting, blood from someone’s head. I remember getting up and running as fast as I could toward the woods, as per our plan. Get into the woods, get away, meet at the nearest rendezvous point six blocks away.

When I try to remember what happens next, my leg throbs in response and I groan.

That’s right.

Someone hit me with their fucking car.

I remember pain exploding in my leg, but then nothing after that.

I lean my head against the inside of the trunk, the throbbing in my leg increasing as I take note of it. Either I’m still in shock or the injury isn’t too terrible. I move to adjust my legs and end up crying out in pain. Holy fuck. The agony is sharp when I move, but dull if I stay still. I’ve had enough broken bones to figure that could very well be what’s wrong. I don’t feel any wet blood when I touch my leg at least.

Nah, most of the blood is on my sore and swollen face.

Jesus.

The car I’m in seems to be sitting still. When I strain my ears, I hear nothing but crickets outside. Very likely, we’re in the woods somewhere. There’s no traffic, no distant laughter, no voices.

This isn’t looking good for me.

My mind strays to my girls. All of them, including Heather and … Bernadette.

“Bernie,” I murmur, rubbing at my face. She’s probably freaking all the way out right now as she looks for me. The idea makes me want to panic. If she goes gallivanting around the city in search of me, she could end up getting herself killed. It’s clear that Ophelia is intent on getting Vic’s inheritance, regardless of what she has to do to earn it. “Hello?” I call out, but of course nobody answers me. “Who the fuck are you?” I shout next. It can’t hurt, right? Either I’m in the middle of nowhere, or else somebody’s bound to hear me.

I run my hands around the inside of the trunk, looking for the spot where the taillights should be. Theoretically, if I punch and kick them, they’re supposed to pop out. I find what I’m looking for but decide to wait until we start moving before I give that idea a try. No need to let my captor know I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.

There are two other options for getting out of a trunk. The first is the trunk release cable, but not all cars have that. Likely this is an older car, I think, wetting my dry lips. Probably something vintage, probably belonging to the Charter Crew.

Goddamn it. How did I let myself get so fucked?

I decide to try the last method, turning my body in the narrow space as panic threatens to overtake me. Don’t do it, Aaron. Don’t let your irrational phobia keep you from getting back to Bernadette. She’ll be so worried about you; she might get into trouble if you don’t hurry your ass up.

Whoever put me in here, they were clearly in a hurry because they didn’t bother to tie me up. Big mistake. Even though my right leg is fucking killing me, I put my feet together and kick at the backseat of the car with every ounce of strength I have in me.

Holy. Shit.

Pain explodes behind my eyelids, and I clench my teeth together against a scream. I don’t need my captor knowing I’m in so much goddamn pain. Sucking in a deep breath, I ready myself to kick the backseat again when I hear footsteps from outside along with a pair of voices.

I turn around, putting my feet towards the trunk. Depending on how many people are out there, I may be able to fight my way out of this. Or die trying, at the very least.

There’s the sound of a key in a lock, and then the trunk is opening and I’m left staring up at Kali Rose-Kennedy, Ophelia Mars, and Tom Muller with a shotgun in his hand.

“Aaron Fadler,” Ophelia murmurs, cocking her head to one side like a wolf observing its prey. It’s disturbing, how much like her Victor looks. Unlike Victor however, she has no heart and no soul. None at all. Looking into her dark eyes is like looking into a black hole, ready to crush you into a meaningless pulp and wipe you from existence.

She scares the fuck out of me.

“Ophelia,” I reply, as coolly and calmly as I can. This is not a good situation, but at least I’m out of the trunk, right? It’s dark out, so either I conked out for an entire day and into the next night, or it hasn’t been all that long since I was taken. “Fancy seeing you here.” My eyes swing over to Tom, wondering if I might be able to kick the shotgun from his hands before he shoots me. The thing is, I bet Ophelia and Kali both have weapons on them, too.

“Why did you bring him here?” Ophelia asks, turning to Kali. She’s staring down at me with mud-brown eyes and a lazy smile. I’ve never liked her. Never. We’ve been going to school with her almost as long as we’ve been going with Bernadette. I know for a fact that Kali’s had a hard life, that her dad was an alcoholic who beat her and her mom. Still, she’s a shitty, petty person whose trauma has manifested into something wicked. I just straight up don’t fucking like her.

“We can use him,” Kali explains, and it occurs to me then that she could very well be the person who hit me with their car, loaded me in the trunk, and brought me out here … wherever here is. There was a lot going on at the race; it’s possible that she was able to sneak away while I was having my ass kicked. Cal was too busy shooting people to pay attention. “Victor cares about him, just as much as he does Bernadette.” Kali scowls, the sound of my girl’s name like poison on her lips. “Mitch has definitely outlasted his usefulness, don’t you think? This will work much better.”

Ophelia just stares down at me with crow-black eyes, contemplating. The way she studies me, it seems like it never occurred to her that I—or any of the other boys—could be valuable in her fight against Victor. The reason she thinks that is because she doesn’t care about anyone or anything; she probably assumed her son didn’t either.

“He’s just a school friend; you should’ve killed him,” Ophelia says, and Tom scoots a bit closer, licking his lips, like he’s excited by the prospect of being able to blow my brains out with the shotgun.

“No, it’s not like that with them,” Kali whines, and there’s just something in her voice that tells me she’d do anything to be a part of us, to become a Havoc Girl herself. We should never have indulged her price with Bernadette. Even though it goes against everything we stand for, we should’ve just spirited her away in the woods and buried her.

I adjust my position and cringe; my entire body hurts. Seriously, there’s not a fucking part on me that doesn’t ache. My fingers subconsciously seek out the bullet wound on my shoulder that still isn’t healed all the way. It feels extra tender and sore right now.

“How do you mean?” Ophelia asks, clearly losing her patience with Kali. She glances over at the girl, her makeup refined and elegant, her hair coiffed. It looks like she might’ve been on her way out the door to dinner or something. Ophelia, I mean, obviously. Kali looks like any random southside girl, her makeup too thick, her hoop earrings too big, tits hanging out, shorts up her ass crack. I mean, Bernie dresses like that sometimes, too, but it’s cute as fuck when she does it.