Wilder laughs, not the lighthearted laugh he used in the car, but a deeper, darker laugh that conveys a warning. “Flash that thing around all you want and order us to chat. You don’t scare me, man.” He steps forward, forcing me to move with him. “What I really want to know is why the hell you dipshits were chasing us down? You know who we work for, right?”
Goatee guys jaw ticks. “You think I give a shit who you work for?” He matches Wilder’s step, his shadow falling over us. “We came here because our boss wants to talk to you. We’re supposed to bring you in.”
Wilder rolls his eyes and moves back, guiding me along with him. “You know that’s never going to happen. We’re not stupid enough to wander into your territory and I think you know that. And I’m starting to wonder if the flat tire wasn’t an accident.” When Goatee Guy grins, Wilder tugs on my shoulder and steers me behind him, so I can no longer see Goatee Guy. “What’d you use to shoot it out with? Or did you slit them in the parking lot? My bet is the latter. That you set this up so we’d get a flat out in the middle of fucking nowhere. But why? To chat? Because that’d be really stupid on your part, and I’m pretty sure your boss would agree with me.”
Goatee Guy laughs again, but the noise carries a nervous edge. “You think my boss cares if we chat with a couple of bitch runners? A couple of bitch runners who work for his competition?”
“We’re not bitch runners and you know that,” Wilder says. “So either say what the hell you want to say right here, or get back in your car and get the hell out of here before I decide to make you pay for messing up our car.”
They grow quiet as they stare each other down, the soft lull of the river moving over the rocks filling up the silence. Jackson and the two other guys are arguing, but I can’t make out everything being said. From what I can tell, though, they’re arguing about the same thing Goatee Guy and Wilder are. They keep throwing around the word chat a lot too, and I’m starting to believe it might mean something different in the drug world.
“Fine, we’ll go with you,” Jackson announces abruptly, throwing his hands up in the air.
Wilder’s head whips in his direction. “What?”
Jackson’s eyes flick in Wilder’s direction before he looks back at the two guys in front of him. The look exchanged doesn’t mean anything to me, but makes Wilder unstiffen.
“Fine, we’ll go with you,” Wilder agrees, stuffing a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
I detect a series of beeps and wonder if he’s dialing someone on his phone. That brings me a speck of comfort, but not much.
Goatee guy’s lips curl into a sneer. “Guess you’re his little bitch runner.” He nods his head in Jackson’s direction.
Wilder opens and flexes his hand while sucking in a slow breath. Then he counts down from five underneath his breath. Once he reaches one, he calms down a bit.
“Let’s just go,” Wilder says. “The sooner we get this over with the better.”
“We’ll go when I say we go.” Goatee Guy crosses his arms and keeps his feet planted to the dirt.
Wilder rolls his eyes and mutters, “I so don’t have the patience for power tripping, steroid juiced up morons right now.”
Goatee Guy glares at Wilder, cracking his knuckles. “What’d you say to me?”
Wilder clears his throat and I expect him to lie, but instead he says, ““I said I so don’t have the patience for power tripping, steroid juiced up morons right now.”
Goatee Guy spouts out a bunch of words in a language I’ve never heard before, before lunging at Wilder. But he slams to halt when Hoodie Guys yells, “That’s enough!”
Everyone freezes. Then Hoodie Guy turns toward the SUV, snapping his fingers.
“Get in the car now,” he demands then rounds to the passenger side of the SUV.
Gritting his teeth, Goatee Guy reels around and storms back to the SUV. The other man follows, climbing in the driver’s seat while Jackson strides over to us.
“Maybe we should leave Zhara here,” he whispers to Wilder. “She’d be safer and we could text one of the guys to come get her.”
Wilder glances at me with wariness in his eyes. “I don’t know… Is it safe to leave her alone out here? There’s nothing around. Besides, she’s going to have to get used to this.”
Jackson scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, but this is one of the most extreme situations possible, and she hasn’t even been to the pit yet.”
They both look at me with confliction. I don’t know what to say or if they even want me to say anything at all, but I feel as conflicted as they look. On the one hand, staying in the car until someone picks me up doesn’t sound too bad. But on the other hand, taking the easy way out isn’t the way to become good at something. If I want to do well at this undercover thing—which, I’m still undecided if I do—then I’m going to have to woman up and learn, right?
But do I really want to get into the car with three drug lords and their guns and drive to who knows where to do who knows what?
Well, when I put it that way…
“The girl comes too,” Hoodie Guy barks, making the decision for me.
Wilder shakes his head, seeming pissed off.
“Calm down,” Jackson mutters. “If you lose your temper, you could end up blowing the whole operation.”
“Oh yeah, how do you figure?” Wilder asks, popping his knuckles. “Because, the way I see it, our boss might be glad we took out three guys that work for his enemy.”
“Or he’ll get pissed off at us for causing friction and kick us out of the circle. And then the last six months of work will be a waste,” Jackson narrows his eyes at Wilder. “So, keep your temper under control and your snarky comments to a minimum.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Wilder takes my hand and pulls me with him as he strides toward the SUV.
Jackson follows us, keeping close to our heels. When we reach the front end of the SUV, he places a hand on my lower back. Between that and Wilder holding my hand, I almost feel safe.
But then Goatee Guy opens the door to the backseat and motions for us to get in. “And the girl can sit on my lap.”
And just like that, my comfort flies away to the greying sky.
A Strange, Unfamiliar Ride
“No fucking way.” Wilder’s response to Goatee Guy’s demand is firm, his grip on my hand tightening.
“It wasn’t a request.” Goatee Guy stands beside the open door with a smirk on his face. “She’s going to sit on my lap as collateral.”
Wilder shakes his head. “Collateral for what? You’re not giving us anything other than a headache and a demonstration on sheer stupidity.”
Goatee Guy’s eyes flare with fury and he steps forward, his fists curling. “How dare you talk to me like that! You will respect me, just like the girl will sit on my lap. That way, we can make sure no one’s going to try something stupid, like jump out of the car or something.” His lips pull to that stupid smirk again as he stares at me, making me feel about as irritated as Wilder, which is a new, unchartered territory for me—normally, I try to stay calm and play mediator. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you a good ride. Way better than I’m sure either of these two bitch runners could give you.”
I have to bite down on my tongue to keep my jaw from dropping, but I can’t stop the warmth from flooding to my cheeks. Fortunately, the sunlight has reached an all time low for the day, so there’s a good chance he can’t see the blush spreading across my face. But I know I can’t hide behind the darkness completely. I have to say something. I just don’t have a clue what.
“Yeah, no thank you.” Okay, so my response may have been a little too polite, but the smile on Wilder’s face must mean I did something right… I think.
Goatee Guy’s lip twitches. “You don’t even know what a real man is.” Then he grabs his crotch.
Surprisingly, I don’t blush, but mostly because I’m too disgusted.
Goatee Guy smirks, tightening his hold on his crotch are
a. I don’t know what point he’s trying to prove other than he likes to squeeze his… man thingy… really, really hard.
So gross. I don’t even care if that makes me sound like too good of a girl.
“Who are you trying to impress?” Wilder questions, arching his brow at Goatee Guy. “Us or your hand? Because it’s really hard to tell.”
Goatee guy spouts out words in a different language before releasing himself and storming toward Wilder.
“The girl can sit wherever she likes,” Hoodie Guy interrupts, sticking his head out the window. “Just get in the damn car.”
Okay, he may be creepy, but I’m extremely grateful for Hoodie Guy at the moment because Goatee Guy grinds to a halt and allows us to climb into the car. Jackson hops in first and slides over to the other side. Wilder urges me to go in next, so I hop in and scoot close to Jackson, then breathe in relief when Wilder takes a seat beside me. I just start to wonder how Goatee Guy’s even going to fit in the car with us when Wilder places his hand on my thigh and drags me onto his lap. He doesn’t utter a word as he positions me so I’m sitting with my butt positioned between his legs and my back resting against his chest. He does the move so naturally as if we do this all the time. Perhaps he does with other girls, but I’ve never sat on a guy’s lap before and my heart’s an erratic mess, my body slightly trembling. With how close our bodies are fused together, he has to be able to feel my jitteriness. I’d feel stupid for reacting so ridiculously, but considering I’m currently sitting in the car with three men who work for a drug lord, feeling ridiculous is on the bottom of my Worry List.
“You’re doing fine,” Wilder whispers in my ear, his fingers tracing circles on my thigh. “Just keep as far away from Goat Guy as possible, okay?”
I nod and almost smile at his little nickname for Goatee Guy. But any trace of easiness dissipates as Goatee Guy climbs in next to Wilder, shuts the door, and the SUV peels out onto the road, driving further away from Honeyton.
Darkness encloses the cab except for the glow of the sunlight trickling down from the sky as the SUV descends further into the hills.
For the first few minutes, no one speaks. The stereo isn’t even on to fill up the silence, so any noise anyone makes can be heard clearly. The wheezing breaths the driver takes as he sucks on a cigarette. The awful sound of scraping metal as Goatee Guy drags his brass knuckles across the door handle. The ticking of a watch. The gritting of teeth coming from Hoodie Guy. Jackson repeatedly cracking his knuckles against his thighs as he stares out the window. Wilder’s soft breathing. And then, of course there’s me. I try not to make any noise, but every so often, Wilder’s fingers brush against my bare thigh or along the speck of skin peering out between the top of my shorts and the torn hem of my shirt, and an uneven breath escapes my lips. I cringe every time it happens. And double cringe when Goatee Guy stares at me with a grin on his face and a hungry look gleaming in his eyes. His fingers start to travel toward his crotch again and I mentally shake my head.
Seriously, what is wrong with this guy? I know I’m clueless about this whole drug lord world but I highly doubt playing with yourself in front of everyone is a thing.
Goatee Guy seems to think so, though, as he grips himself again.
“You like that, don’t you?” he says, grinning.
I know I should look away, but I’m trapped in some sort of deer in the headlights thing.
“God, dude, you and your hand need to get a room,” Wilder leans forward to block Goatee Guy’s view from me.
Goatee Guy grumbles in that foreign language again, something I’m starting to find unnerving. I mean, what is he even saying? And what if he’s talking to the other guys about something and we have no clue? That is, unless Wilder and Jackson know the language. Four days ago, I would’ve said no way, that the guys I went to high school with weren’t the kind of guys that learned another language. But these two undercover guys sitting next to me might.
I eye over Wilder, wondering if he does know what Goatee Guy is mumbling about. He carries my gaze, his lips quirking. I don’t know what the look means, but it kind of makes me feel better.
“You know what I don’t get?” Goatee Guy says suddenly.
Wilder rolls his eyes. “A lot of things.”
More babbling in a different language. Hoodie Guy cast a glance over his shoulder at us and even though he still has his sunglasses on, I get the feeling he’s glaring. He silently stares at us long enough to be considered awkward then rotates around in his seat and stares out the window.
The instant he looks away, Jackson fires a glare at Wilder and mouths, easy on the bitchiness.
Wilder gives him a dirty look, which Jackson returns. Then Jackson redirects his gaze to the window, his hand resting inside his pocket. I start to lean back against Wilder and attempt to get comfortable when I hear a strange noise.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I glance around, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
What on earth?
“So, where exactly are we going?” Wilder says, his loud tone smothering out the beeps.
“Someplace private,” Hoodie Guy replies. “Where we can have a chat privately.”
Wilder’s muscles constrict, but his tone stays even. “Chat, huh? What kind of a chat are we doing? Because there was a lot of talk, but I’m doubting no one has the balls to clarify or go through with it.”
Goatee Guy releases a low laugh that makes my hair stand on end. “Don’t you wish you knew for sure?”
“Not really.” Wilder shrugs then rests back in the seat.
I wonder if he meant what he said. Is he not really worried? How is that possible? Because I’m freaking out.
“Smile all you want, but you won’t be smiling soon.” Goatee Guy’s gaze skates to me. “But you, I think I’ll keep. You’ll make a great little toy for a while, with those big, innocent eyes…” He bites down on his bottom lip hard. “Yeah, I’ll have a lot of fun with you, showing you what a real man is.”
“She already knows, so get over it,” Wilder quips and then suddenly his lips are on mine.
My eyes pop wide as I suck in a sharp breath through my nose. Holy crap, Wilder is kissing me!
I’m literally freaking out, to the point that I nearly forget where I am and that we’re being watched by three guys who keep threatening to chat with us. But then Goatee Guy laughs, reminding me that I’m supposed to be pretending this isn’t my second kiss. That I’m a pro kisser. That I’m Sexy, Badass Zhara or whatever Wilder called me back in the car. So I close my eyes, lean back against his chest, and let him part my lips open with his tongue. Unlike Benton, Wilder’s kiss is a bit more rough and intense, but not necessarily in a bad way. I also think he might have a tongue ring because I keep feeling cold metal graze my lips and tongue. Regardless of the unfamiliarity, my pulse pulsates harder every time his tongue tangles with mine and if I’m being really honest, I think I might like the tongue ring.
The kiss grows heated quickly and my mind can barely keep up. I forget how to think. Forget how to breathe. So when he ends the kiss quickly, I’m grateful.
Well, I think…
I really don’t know…
I struggle to catch my breath without panting like a lunatic. Wilder meets my gaze, his eyes burning with something mysterious and I’m left wondering if he liked the kiss too.
“You think that’s going to get me to stop?” Goatee Guys snide laugh slices through the moment. “Perhaps I’ll just keep both of you as my toys. How does that sound?”
Wilder’s face contorts with disgust, his lips parting. But his words die on his tongue as the SUV slows to a stop.
I slant forward to sneak a peek out the window and then my heart sinks. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, parked beside a small lake surrounded by trees. The sky has shifted to a midnight blue, and the stars and moonlight are trickling down from the sky and making the water appear black. I may not be an expe
rt on these types of situations, but I’ve read enough books to understand that this sort of place is perfect for making bodies disappear.
I swallow hard at the realization, wishing I had text Loki and wondering if I could still try—if I could get a signal out here.
“So we’re supposed to be meeting your boss out here, huh?” Wilder questions with a crook of his brow. “Seems like a far drive just to talk to a couple of guys you keep calling bitch runners.”
Goatee Guy snickers, but doesn’t comment as he opens the door and climbs out of the car. He leaves the door open, the interior light reflecting against the darkness and stinging my eyes. Hoodie Guy follows suit, getting out of the car and lighting up a cigarette.
“Stay in the car and wait,” he instructs, then takes a drag.
Smoke snakes into the cab from outside and makes my lungs burn. My first instinct is to cough, but I bite back the compulsion, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
Stay calm, Zhara. Stay calm.
But when the driver gets out of the car too, any calmness soars away to the sky with the stars. If my parents are up there, shining down on me, what must they think of me now? Can they see what I’ve become? That I chose to be out here in this desolate place, surrounded by three guys that look like they’re about to execute us.
Jackson must be having similar thoughts, his hand reaching toward his ankle where his knife is hidden. Carefully pulling up his pant leg, he slips out his knife and tucks it beside his leg.
“It’s just a precautionary measure. I do it all the time,” he tells me when he notes me watching him.
I nod, but question if he’s sugarcoating the truth.
The three of us grow quiet, our eyes fastened on the three guys outside. Goatee Guy and Hoodie guy begin to hike away from the SUV, migrating toward the lake while the driver lingers near the car.
“Where the hell are they going?” Wilder slides me off his lap and scoots over toward the open door. Then he sticks his hand into his pocket, grabs his phone, and checks the screen. “Dammit, no signal.”
Bad Boy Rebels Page 11