9. Inconsequential

Charli

My eyes widen and panic punches the air out of my lungs. “No,no, no.”

I dig my heels into the ground to see if that will help, but of course I am nothing compared to the man made of muscle dragging me down the alley.

I gasp, pulling all my weight down to try and make him let go, but all it does is force him to tighten his hold.

“Stop. Please, don’t.” My voice cracks. I’m crying now, I think, but I don’t feel the tears. I only feel heat and the sting of cold air and the bone-deep terror that I’m not getting out of this.

He grunts a laugh and lets me go for a second. My heart lifts in my chest and I take a step to make a run for it, but his arm bands around my waist and I am thrown over his shoulder.

I scream, banging my fists against his back. “Let me go, stop!”

He smacks the back of my thigh and I choke on my own words. “You spoke Elijah’s name. We’re taking you to him, or would you rather be shot dead in that alley?”

My stomach turns. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. I want to scream again, to tell him I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it.

The sound of a car unlocking makes my heart stutter. I’m thrown inside like a sack of potatoes and it makes my breath leave in a harsh rush when I slam into the seat. Even as pain blooms in my ribs, I scramble up. Instinct tells me to move, to run, but the door is already closing.

The man climbs in next to me.

I shove away, only to realize the other man’s already sitting on the other side

and I almost climb onto his lap. There’s nowhere to go.

I end up crushed between them, shoulders shaking. I sit still, like if I don’t breathe too loud, they’ll forget I’m here. But I can’t stop trembling. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. And I don’t know if Elijah will save me or if using his name just signed my death warrant.

Before I can catch my breath, they grab my wrists and yank them behind my back. A rough rope snakes around my wrists. It’s so tight, I clamp my teeth together to keep from screaming. My skin burns where the coarse rope bites in.

I try to pull away, but it’s useless. They’re stronger.

My hands go numb fast. Then one on my left chuckles and shoves a black bag down over my head. I can’t see a thing. I tremble, the cold seeping through my skin, rattling my bones. I can’t stop the tears that slide down my face under the bag, soaking into the cloth.

“Please,” I whisper. The word feels silly in the dark.

“You’re lucky you’re even alive,” the one on my right grunts, his hand on my elbow as he keeps me close. “If it were up to me, you’d be dead, or I’d be between your legs.”

My breath catches in my throat, stomach twisting at the image.

He leans in close, close enought to where his chest touches my shoulder. “Who knows, I might still get my chance when Elijah decides to have you killed anyway.”

I close my eyes, gasping for breath.

I clutch onto the only thing keeping me from falling apart. Hope.

He called me wildflower and it stuck with me. It was just a word, something he said becuase I had petals in my hair, but it meant that he had seen me. That I wasn’t completely invisible to him.

If Elijah Holder is really the man they say he is, I’m dead. But if there’s even a fraction of the friendliness I saw in him yesterday, even a sliver of the man I met in the shop, then maybe he won’t demand my head.

Maybe the fact that I saw his men killing someone, while he is in the middle of a trial, will be inconsequential.

Maybe.

The car jerks and lurches forward. I focus my ears, listening as the car turns. I don’t know where I am or where I am being taken.

If Elijah doesn’t kill me, Ali will for sure. I close my eyes. I hope she doesn’t come looking for me. I hope her and Jo just keep living their life. They shouldn’t get in trouble because of me.

Based on all the rumors I hear, I would have to probably beg for their lives too, regardless of the outcome here.

The car comes to a slow stop and I tilt my head. The moment the car door opens, the sound of music flow inside. It pounds, vibrates. A deep bass, thumping like a heartbeat.

My chest tightens and I am pulled out of the car. I fail to find my step and my feet slam against the floor.

I’m dragged, the rough scrape of pavement under my shoes loud in my ears. I stumble, still blindfolded by the bag, trying to keep up with the man who has his hand around my arm.

The bass shakes the air, vibrating through my chest like a warning. My breath catches in my throat. Where are they taking me?

The night air disappears, the atmosphere changing immediately. The scent of sweat and alcohol hits me hard, mingling with the sharp tang of smoke.

The music is loud, consuming. I stumble, trying to stay on my feet as the men shove me forward. I can’t see anything under the bag. I have no idea what direction we’re going. Every step is a guess.

We take a turn, and the sound dampens for half a second. I’m dragged up a stairwell, tripping over my own feet. My knees nearly buckle, but a hand on my back keeps me from falling.

“Move,” someone growls.

We stop. I hear a beep, like a lock disengaging. A door swings open and the music disappears completely. The silence is suffocating. Like the air here doesn’t move. I hear the door click shut behind me, and the bag still hasn’t come off.

I stand there, shaking. My wrists are bound. My legs are unsteady. My palms sting from where I hit the gravel, and the rope is so tight it’s numbing my fingers. I breathe hard into the cloth over my face, my lungs tight.

Then, finally, the fabric lifts.

Light stabs at my eyes, blinding me. I blink hard, vision swimming. There’s a desk, and the man behind the desk.

Elijah Holder.

My heart stops.

He’s sitting like he owns the world, leaning back in his chair, his gray eyes locked on me. A slow smile creases his lips.

“Hello, wildflower.”