I sat in the front seat of a beat-up pickup truck, my hands tied together in front of me with a pair of plastic handcuffs. “If you don’t cooperate, we’ll come back for them. At that point, they’ll have a lot more to worry about than getting out of those cuffs. Got it?” “Got it.” I kept imagining the three of them, duct-taped across the mouth and cuffed to the only immovable thing in the room, the door of the balcony. Xavier had been shaking, Basia’s face as white as a sheet, and Elvis had been just really, really silent. Thank God, Big Guy hadn’t harmed them. Yet. Terror lodged in my throat, but I had to pull myself together and keep my wits. I kept thinking of Humphrey Nickelward with his head sliced off. There had to be a way to escape from my current predicament. The cabin seemed overly small, seeing as how my captor’s muscular body filled it. I scooted as far away from him as I could, practically hugging the passenger-side door, but he remained mere inches from me.
