Maybe he was wearing earbuds.
I banged the cage with my hands. “Sir, you passed the exit. We need to turn around and go south about seven or eight miles.”
He draped his wrist over the steering wheel. “We’re good, Ivy.”
He’d lost his accent.
My fingers gripped the metal cage. Then I slowly sat back, curling my feet under me, my eyes on him the entire time. I wanted to ask his name, where he was from. But I couldn’t push out the words. Instead, I leaned to my right, trying to get a good look at his face.
We passed under a streetlight, a flashing cone of yellow light.
I stopped breathing. I was almost certain I saw pockmarks on his face.
A quiet thrum of dread pulsed through my veins as I fought back a panic attack. There had to be a logical explanation for this.
“How did it feel when you saw Jake, your studly lover boy, dead?”
My whole body screamed, but no sound came out.
“Your cat got your tongue?” He tipped his police hat.
He was teasing me about my cat. It was him. It was Milton. But how?
“You must be wondering how I did all of this?”
I nodded.
“It’s all about persistence, if you want something bad enough.” He paused, then released a loud sneeze. He brushed his arm across his nose. “Have you ever wanted something so badly that you would kill for it?”
My breath quivered. I tried swallowing, but a dry patch made it impossible.
A couple of minutes passed, and oxygen slowly made it to my brain. I had to get him talking. Maybe I could befriend him, and then he’d let me go before he killed me. Or even worse, tortured me and then killed me.
“Are you lonely, Milton?”
He drove with his knee while he clapped his hands. “You know my name. Give that woman a gold medal,” he said.
“Was I mean to you years ago? Is that why you’re doing this? I was just a kid, and I didn’t know better.”
“Ha. Are you fucking stupid, Ivy? Getting a girl’s attention isn’t really an issue for me.”
I had no idea what he meant by that, but at least he was engaging with me. “I’m sorry.”
He looked in the rearview mirror, and I finally saw his dime-sized eyes. Then he glanced away. I thought I saw flecks of red in his eyes.
“For killing my father?”
He knew.
“It wasn’t like that.” Tears pooled in my eyes . “He tried to hurt me. I was only thirteen years old. I was just defending myself, and he fell.”
“If you were standing before a parole board, they would say you were still in denial. Back to prison you go. You just think you’re better than me, than Dad, everyone who doesn’t fit in the perfect Ivy Nash box.”
This man was insane, and I’d had enough of it. “You’re trying to tell me I had the perfect life? Your maggot of a father raped me, goddammit. He fucking raped me.” I banged the cage with both fists. “Do you hear me, you fucking asshole? You killed three innocent people. You’re more fucked up than your scum-sucking dad. Fuck you.”
Every part of my body shook uncontrollably.
“I guess I’m supposed to say that all those hateful things you just said would make me want to mutilate you a little bit more.”
My eyes zoned in on him. What was he talking about?
“But I can’t hate you any more than I already do.” He looked out the window for a brief moment. “You’re going to get to know my rat friends real well, but it will be a slow introduction. First, I’ll have Cindy gnaw on your foot. Then, I’ll get Jan to eat your tits until they’re nothing more than mosquito bites. Slow and steady.”
“You’re a fucking monster.”
“I am now.”
He pulled a gas mask over his head, then pointed a tube through the cage. A machine flipped on, and gas spilled into the back. I held my breath, rammed my elbows in to the windows. That didn’t work. I put my face to the floorboard, but I still began to feel woozy. I wanted to throw up. My eyes grew heavy.
I fell asleep.
39
I woke up coughing like a mad woman until a chunk of dirt and fuzz flew out of my mouth. My face had been wedged in the crack of the cloth seat. I tried swallowing, but my throat hurt like hell. My wrists were bound together behind me. I was naked, still in the backseat, as rain whipped against the windows.
The car pulled right, allowing me to swing my shoulder up. It was dark outside. No flashing lights overhead. The car suddenly slowed, then a sharp turn left. The engine growled. We were moving up a steep incline. I tried to think where we might be.
How long had I been asleep?
I swallowed again. My throat…no, my entire neck felt bruised. But I didn’t feel violated. What had he done to me?
My heart beat so loudly it mixed in with the heavy drops pounding the car.
Brakes squeaked, and then he punched the gas, and we were climbing again.
I closed my eyes for a moment trying to figure out where we were. Clues. I recalled seeing a sign to Johnson City, moving north on Highway 281. Did we make it that far? Did he turn off on a side road? Had we traveled beyond Johnson City?
Another hard curve to the right, then he slammed on the brakes, and the car fishtailed. I felt us skidding on loose gravel. The tail of the car jerked back into alignment, and we continued down the road.
“Fucking deer,” Milton growled.
The wind slammed rain into the car, seemingly from all sides, as if we were in some type of mini monsoon. If we were in the middle of nowhere, the driving conditions had to be difficult, stressful even.
The car continued climbing, with hard turns in both directions, sudden decreases in speed, and then lunging forward. I could see his shoulders jerking back and forth. He was having a hard time of it.
Lights blared through the front windshield. He held up an arm, laid on his horn. The passing car slipped by as he cursed wildly.
My eyes picked up a quick glimpse of his head. He’d removed his hat. I shuddered. It was bizarre, bordering on grotesque. He had the opposite of a bowl cut—a perfectly round bald spot that covered over half his head. Cratered skin looked like the surface of the moon. Where the bald spot ended, there were strands of platinum hair hanging ten inches straight down. They were coarse, greasy, like tentacles from an old, stiff broom.
The more sudden stops and jerky turns we made, the more my stomach flipped. I blinked my eyes and considered my options. Whenever we stopped, probably at some desolate house, how would I ever be able to overpower him? I couldn’t envision a way to escape.
Two more quick jerks of the car, and we fishtailed again. The storm was out of control, and he wasn’t handling it well. I decided my best option was to get him riled up.
“Why didn’t you rape me?” I yelled over the pounding rain.
No response.
“You had the chance tonight and before. Why didn’t you do it?”
“Because I can’t, dammit. Can’t get it working. My nut was cut off in prison. And that’s your fucking fault. I would have never been in prison had Dad still been alive. He would have figured out a way to keep me out, or at least help me not get caught.”
Frank with all his law-enforcement connections.
He paused to execute an S-curve, his shoulders stiff when he jerked left and right. “Believe me, Ivy, if I could have, I would have fucked you a thousand times. I dreamed it every night I was in prison. I could hear your screams, and it made me tingle inside.”
I took in a breath, knowing there was no turning back. “Even if you had two good nuts, Milton, you don’t have any balls. You’re a gutless prick.”
I knew he was seething. He wiped his forehead with his arm.
The car dipped violently, and I could feel the metal undercarriage scraping the road—a deep pothole maybe. I didn’t know how much longer it would be until we reached our destination.
“Did you know you have a daughter?”
Sile
nce.
“Her name is Anika. That time you had sex with Mona when you were nineteen…she had a child.”
“You’re lying. You’re nothing but a lying whore.” He slammed his free hand into the cage, and l flinched. At the same time, though, I noticed his stiff hair as it raked against the cage. It was sickening, but I had an idea.
I swung my legs around and pushed myself upright. Windshield wipers flapped as if they were on speed, but it was still impossible to see the road. I looked out the windows and saw rocky hills, a quick drop-off just next to the road. We had to be in the Hill Country north of San Antonio somewhere. “Guess what, Milton? She’s just like you. She blames the world for her issues, takes no accountability for anything, and is generally a vile, twisted person. Looks like you did a good job of passing along the genes.”
I was a bit over the top in my description of Anika. She had a lot of issues, but hopefully after a lot of counseling she might be able to turn her life around.
“You’re making all this up.”
“Why would I do that? That demented little freak fired a gun at me. She deserves to go to prison. Maybe they’ll let you be roomies.”
“Shut the hell up.”
He slammed his fist against the cage three times, and the car pitched hard to the left. I could see nothing but black out the left window, and I held my breath. Tires somehow gripped the road, and we veered back to the center. His rage was getting the better of him.
“Everyone knows who you are now, Milton. Mona, your daughter, the cops, even the FBI is involved now.” I hadn’t reached Stan, but I was hoping Mona would eventually learn that I’d been kidnapped, and then she would share her information about Milton with authorities. I knew that could take a while. And I probably didn’t have more than an hour at the most before I would be fending off a hungry rat, or at least confined in one of Milton’s latest torture contraptions.
There was no way I’d let it get that far. I’d die before I let that happen.
“You’re lying. About this daughter, about Mona. You’re making this up, and I’m going to make you suffer even more for taunting me. You are going to regret ever saying a word, do you hear me, bitch?”
He rammed the back of his head against the cage over and over again. Up ahead, I could see a hairpin turn. Bypassing any sane thought, I twirled my body around, put my feet up on the seat and leaned my zip-tied hands against the cage. He hardly noticed. His tantrum wasn’t stopping. I slid my hand through the wiring and grabbed a fistful of his hair, coiled it around my hand, and yanked.
He screamed like a baby. I could feel his hands pawing at my grip, but there was no way I was letting go. The car fishtailed wildly. I widened the placement of my feet against the seat and pulled harder, screaming with defiance. I could feel the car pull back on the road, and then an abrupt change of direction. We began to hydroplane. The car spun once…and then again. I took a breath, and then we dropped. My head slammed into the ceiling, and I tumbled like a coin in a dryer, clanging off the frame of the car. I could hear metal twisting and ripping, glass exploding. We flipped over and over again, my body being tossed like a rag doll.
Then we slammed into something immovable. My body ricocheted off the cage. The car teetered for a second, then dropped on its roof—one more brain-rattling body toss. I waited a second, wondering if the car was on the edge of another cliff.
I took in a shaky breath. And then another. Rain pinged the underbelly of the car. Other than that, there was only silence.
Now was my chance.
40
I could only see the outline of the beast in the front seat, but he wasn’t moving, his body awkwardly wedged between the windshield and the front dash. I could just make out a deflated air bag under his body
Lying on a bed of broken glass, I tasted blood in my mouth. I took in a shallow breath, then doubled over. It was my chest. I must have cracked a couple of ribs. I tried to sit up, pushing off my hands.
I screamed from a horrific pain in my forearm. I moved my fingers, and I yelled again. It felt like my arm had been shredded. I started to lose control of my breathing.
“Stop it, Ivy.” Oddly, it was comforting to hear my voice. Milton didn’t respond. Maybe he’s dead.
I could only hope.
I noticed a jagged hole in a side window, the door partially crushed. I had to get my arms to the front of my body if I had any chance of navigating myself through the busted window. Without a lot of other talents, I knew I was flexible. But my arm was broken. Or maybe muscles and ligaments had been severed. I had no idea. I could hardly see a thing. While still restrained by the zip-ties, my fingers of my opposite hand crawled a couple of inches up my bad arm. There. I felt raw bone sticking out of my arm.
I would have hurled had I not been at the threshold of death.
I bit into the side of my cheek and lifted my butt so my hands could drop underneath. It was pure agony, the pain in my arm so raw I thought I was going to black out. My lungs begged for more air, but every breath brought the stab of a skewer into my exposed arm.
I was only halfway done. I held my breath, stretching my arms forward. I shrieked as I coiled my legs through the gap, bringing my arms in front of me. Tears bubbled in my eyes, the pain unbearable.
Two quick breaths, and I turned to slide out the window. There was nothing to buffer my skin, so I used my heel to kick out some of the dangling pieces of glass, widening the hole just enough. I stretched my arms above my head and through the hole. Then, using my good hand I grabbed a boulder buried in the ground and pulled with everything I had. Shards of glass dug trenches through my skin as I scooted through the jagged hole—it was as if my skin had been dipped in molten lava. The edge of the window caught my exposed bone.
“Fuck!” I lost all vision for a moment. The agonizing pain was from another world. I yelled until my face felt like it would explode. A waterfall of tears fell from my face.
A few seconds passed, and all I could hear was my labored breath. My body was still halfway in the car. I began to push using the heels of my feet. I could feel glass dig trenches in my hips, but I didn’t care, I was making progress, all while Milton lay motionless in the front. Finally, my calves and feet touched mud rocks.
I was out. I was free, dammit. I just lay on my back for a moment and let the rain soak my face and naked body. I opened my mouth, smacked my lips. As I brought my arms downward, the zip-tie holding my wrists together snapped—a piece of sharp glass must have sliced the plastic. After enduring another few seconds of mind-numbing pain, I kept my bad arm against my hip, trying to focus my thoughts on the scrapes and less on the exposed bone.
Suddenly, with the fingertips of my good arm, I felt something rectangular and metal on the ground. I held it to the sky—my phone. I tapped the screen, and it lit up. The no-service message was still there, but it might work if I got to the right place. I had to climb the hill. I turned my head and glanced up the rocky terrain.
A hand gripped my ankle.
Milton’s arm extended through his open door. He grunted and wheezed while pulling me closer.
“Come here…bitch,” he grunted through a phlegmy voice.
Panic pulsed throughout my body, and I kicked and yanked my leg with everything I had—I only lost ground. I tried to anchor my weight, but my bad arm couldn’t support me. I whipped my leg violently for ten seconds. His grip felt like a metal shackle, and he dragged me another foot closer. I couldn’t see much of his face, but I thought I heard him chuckling. He had to be stuck in the car, maybe his legs were wedged in the wreckage. He had to know he was going to die—he only wanted to kill me before that happened.
Dropping my phone, I thrashed at the surrounding brush, at indentations in the boulder I was on, but my hands slipped and pain exploded in my broken arm. With my heart hammering my chest, I could see the whites of his eyes glowing in the darkness of the destroyed vehicle. His wheezing breaths were almost on top of me.
My fingers brushed across a
wedge of broken glass. I gripped it in my hand and swung my fist like a hammer, jabbing the speared glass into the top of his meaty hand. He wailed and loosened his grip. I slipped my leg out. Then my eyes spotted a rock the size of a softball. I grabbed it and slammed the jagged glass deeper into his hand. A higher-pitched shriek.
I stumbled backward, falling onto my bad arm. Another shot of searing pain. But I was free from the monster. He had pulled his arm inside the car, still groaning. I took a few quick breaths. I had no idea if he was stuck in that car forever, or if he might free himself in the next five minutes.
I had to find safety. I felt around the terrain and found my phone. A quick exhale. I tapped the screen of my phone. Still no service. Hopefully, it would reconnect once I climbed the hill, made it back to the road. I slipped on wet rocks, stubbed my toes, but I made good progress. In a matter of minutes, the wreckage was about fifty feet behind me. I paused for a second, wiping rain from my eyes. I could still hear his wails, and then he said, “Help me, Ivy. Please.” A moment passed. “Godammit, you fucking cunt, get your ass down here and help me before I die.”
I ignored his ridiculous pleas and trudged upward another twenty feet. Looking into what was now a steady rain—at least it wasn’t blowing horizontally—I couldn’t see the road. Nothing but darkness.
Then I remembered the flashlight on my phone. I tapped the screen three times, but nothing happened. I repeated the same exercise two more times, but no light. The phone had probably been damaged in the crash. But really, after coming this far, a lack of light wasn’t going to stop me. I tucked my bad arm against my sore ribs and kept climbing. I’d slip every few feet, fall onto my knees. Another bruise, another cut. I didn’t care. I made progress.
Finally, I looked up and saw the lip of the road. Blocking all the pain from my mind, I hiked the last thirty feet in mere seconds. I panted as if I’d just walked across North America, but relief coursed through my veins. I looked back down the cliff and saw no movement.
Dual lights broke through the darkness as a car came around the bend. I waved until it stopped. It was a silver Honda Pilot. A woman got out of the passenger side, throwing a coat over me. She helped me into the back seat. “We’ll take you to a hospital, you poor thing.”
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 48
