No Good Unpunished Ch. 3
Title: No Good Unpunished
Author: Aeneas
Rating: R (language, violence, death, attempted rape)
Summary: Veronica and Weevil share celebratory milkshakes after he gets out of prison, not knowing their lives are going to collide in a much darker way only days later. (10,066 words)
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Pairings: Veronica and Logan are still together but not “onscreen”.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Rob Thomas and all the wonderful people who make Veronica Mars possible.
Notes: It’s an odd fic. A lot more happens in the spaces between the words than in the words themselves. Despite my best attempts, it’s Veronica-centric. Also, you can expect a follow-up that is Weevil-centric, but probably not until November.
It might have been Mexico.
Veronica couldn’t tell the difference between Mexican dust and Southern California dust. She’d been blindfolded, gagged, and bound to a wooden chair that shifted unsteadily beneath her weight. Where was a very good question but the only road map she had was her own fuzzy memories of how many times her shoulder collided with the car door. That left her fourteen left turns away from the bank with long stretches of straight and nearly twice as many right turns in between. Add all that up and she had exactly no idea of where she was.
There was water dripping in the background, a leaky faucet or showerhead, and the smell of mildew emanating from the carpet under her feet. She’d guessed on the carpet when her toes hadn’t made any noise tapping on the floor. It squished a little too. It was very scientific, this method of hers.
Trying to figure out where she was kept her from thinking about what was going on in the next room, what she could barely hear through the wall and closed door. They were trying to decide whether or not to kill her.
At least one of them was voting for no. He apparently had the brains of the group because prison for murder sounded worse to him than prison for armed robbery. Of course, as the one with the loud mouth pointed out, he already had one murder under his belt. That didn’t make Veronica feel any better. Loud Mouth wanted her out of the picture one way or another, but the One With Brains was trying to convince him there was no way Veronica could identify them and they’d be long gone by the time the cops found her. That left Nervous Guy as the swing vote and he wasn’t saying much of anything.
Time passed, doors opened and closed, and footsteps paced back and forth in the other room. They’d stopped arguing about putting a bullet through her skull but she was pretty sure that didn’t mean they’d decided not to. As far as she could tell, the plan was to lay low and wait.
It wasn’t until she’d sat there long enough that her body was achingly stiff despite shivering against the cold and she really, really had to pee that she began to lose her optimism. She knew the statistics; the more time passed, the more likely it was that they’d be fishing her body out of the ocean.
The sound of the door opening jerked her to attention, every muscle tensed in anticipation of the end, and the sounds of late night news filtered in from the other room. She tried to swallow against the gag, the aroma of pizza making her mouth water.
“What’re you doing, man?” Loud Mouth shouted.
“She’s gotta eat, asshole,” the One With Brains snapped back. He sounded vaguely familiar when he wasn’t shouting, but then again, she’d been listening to them bicker for hours so she’d probably be hearing their voices in her nightmares for the rest of her life.
“No, she don’t. You plannin’ on having a little fun with her? Cause I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a piece of that.”
“Fuck you.”
The door slammed shut, muting both the news broadcast and the raucous laughter. She was focused so intently on trying not to panic that she jerked violently when something warm brushed against her cheek.
“I can’t untie you,” he whispered close to her ear and now she was certain she knew that voice. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold first. If you promise not to scream, I’ll take the gag out.”
She nodded quickly, wanting to see his face and the room she was in. A click turned on the lights and even before the blindfold was gone, she was squinting against the harsh brightness. Blinking and trying to focus, the first thing she saw was a plate with two slices of lukewarm pizza and a can of Coke. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of food. Twisting her head to the side, she blinked the image of her captor into focus and suddenly all thought of food was gone.
This could not be happening. It couldn’t be real. Her world was small and terrifying enough and now it was crashing down around her in ways that couldn’t possibly be real. Aching muscles faded against the metaphysical aching of realizing that someone she trusted had kidnapped her. Now it all made sense. The deposit slip, her father’s admonishments, and exactly how the guy who’d left boot marks in her back knew the Sheriff’s department was mere seconds away from the bank. Her stomach twisted, making her nauseated.
Weevil held one finger up against his lips, shaking his head sadly. His voice was so low that she could barely hear him when he spoke. “If Jack thinks you know who I am, he will kill you.”
Suitably terrified, she nodded once and waited patiently for him to undo the gag. Her jaw ached and her eyes were watering from pain and shock.
“Why?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Cause I’m a fucking idiot, V.” His eyes closed for a second, lashes lowered and dark with shadow against his cheeks. There was fatigue written in every line of his face and a little bit of worry too. She wondered if that was for her or for himself. When he pulled away, he reached for the plate and picked up the first piece with an apologetic look in his eyes, holding it out for her to take a bite.
Even room temperature, it might have been the best pizza she’d had in her life. Maybe the odds of it being her last pizza made the greasy cheese taste better. She only got tomato sauce on her chin once and looked directly at the floor as Weevil wiped it away with his thumb. The Coke was more of a challenge and by the time she finished, she needed to find a bathroom more than ever.
Glancing around, she decided that her prison was a closet masquerading as a bedroom. There was a twin mattress covered by a stained comforter in one corner, a lamp that had probably resided on her chair had been tossed onto its side and looked forlorn against the dated brown shag carpet. Strips of wallpaper had peeled away to reveal flaking plaster and only a bare bulb shone above her. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she wondered why such a little thing had seemed so bright. She exhaled with relief when she saw the familiar shape of a sink and medicine cabinet through a darkened doorway.
“Tell me that’s a bathroom, because unless you want to run out and buy a pack of Depends.” She let him fill in the blanks.
“Just keep quiet,” he sighed.
She was surprised that he made sure to hold her wrists firmly even after he untied them from the chair, ensuring that she was still captive. Easing one and then the other around to her lap, he tied them tightly together before moving to untie her ankles. Free from the chair legs, he tied the rope together with only enough slack to let her take baby steps. Now she was getting annoyed. “Where do you think I’m gonna go, Weevil?”
He winced at the sound of his name and glared up at her. “Figured you’d try to kick me or scratch my eyes out.”
“I knew you were the one with a brain,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
Once she was free to stand, she nearly fell over when she tried. He helped her hobble into the small bathroom, closed the door behind them and turned his back toward her after only a moment’s hesitation.
“Tell me you can wait outside,” she said with disbelief.
“How do I know you won’t climb out the window?”
“I can barely walk,” she seethed. It didn’t seem to sway him.
Truth be told, she hadn’t even noticed the window, so focused on the pain in her limbs and getting to the toilet. Gritting her teeth against the humiliation, she promised herself silently that she would kick his ass into next week once this was all over and clumsily unzipped her jeans. She had to give him credit for not moving a muscle or laughing in the awkward not quite silence. Her cheeks were burning and stress-induced laughter was bubbling up in her throat.
Determined not to end up giggling like a moron, she managed as well as she could with her hands tied, shaking with the relief of the ordeal being over when she zipped back up and flushed.
“I hate you,” she told his back wearily.
“Sticks and stones, V.” He smiled a little over his shoulder before opening the door and helping her hobble back into the room. At least he spared her the chair again, waving her toward the bed. When she lay down, he took out the slack between her ankles and retied her hands behind her back.
“Weevil?” she asked when he picked up the gag and blindfold, her voice shaking. “Do you think they’re going to kill me?”
He lifted her head up gently to slip the blindfold over her eyes. “I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you, I swear on my abuela’s grave.”
“Does that include you?”
His hands paused, warm against her face, and he brushed her hair behind her ear before tugging the gag back into place. “I’ll get you out of this, Veronica. Just gotta trust me. Try to get some sleep.”
***
A nightmare of being hunted by wolves woke Veronica up from a restless sleep. Someone’s breath was hot against her throat and she went rigid when she realized that hot, sweaty hands were pawing at her clothing. Twisting away, she brought her knees up hard to connect with whomever, or whatever, was attacking her. She hit something solid, not sure if it was a shoulder or a head, and started screaming against the gag. It was pathetic as far as screaming went but better than silence
“You little bitch,” a male voice snarled.
Her head jerked painfully when she was struck across the face with what felt like a fist, seeing stars against the black of her blindfold. She managed to keep twisting away, evading hands she couldn’t see, and kept screaming mutely until she thought she’d pass out.
“Get off of her!” That was Weevil’s voice and then the hands were gone. The crunch of chair legs buckling and snapping was followed by a heavy thud.
“What the fuck?” Loud Mouth - Weevil said his name was Jack - demanded angrily.
“What if someone heard her? You’re making too much goddamn noise,” Weevil hissed. He was none too gentle when he pulled Veronica away from the wall, ordering her roughly to keep quiet. She feigned obedience and fell silent.
“Jesus, no one heard her. What’s your problem, man?”
“My problem is you thinking with your dick instead of your head. We got cops on us and they probably got your girl by now.”
Jack grunted and tossed something, probably a piece of the demolished chair, at the wall. “No way. Layla’s probably just lying low. Like us.”
“Then why ain’t she here yet?” Weevil countered. “Been over six hours.”
“She’ll fucking be here.”
Veronica felt Weevil move away from the bed and almost wished she could see what was going on. Knowing that it would probably be much worse than she was imagining, she curled up as tightly as she could and tried to think happy, fluffy, knowing the bastard was going to rot in jail thoughts.
“She’ll be here,” Jack repeated stubbornly. “Don’t see why you’re protecting this girl anyhow. Now that I think on it…seems a bit strange. I might start wondering just what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“What’s going on is me not wanting to go to jail because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” She was amazed that Weevil managed to sound completely calm.
Soft footsteps moved over the carpet and Jack’s voice was further away when he spoke again. “You better watch your back, boy. I cut you in on this deal as a favor--”
“Don’t need your favors,” Weevil growled.
“Hey, guys!” the third voice, Nervous Guy, whispered frantically. “Cop car just drove past real slow.”
“So?” Jack snorted.
“That’s the second time he’s done it.”
Weevil cursed low and in Spanish, mostly words she didn’t understand. “Fucking told you they got that dumbass girlfriend of yours.”
“You shut your mouth.”
“We gotta go. Now,” Weevil ordered sharply.
“What about her?” Nervous Guy asked.
“Leave her. The cops’ll find her soon enough.”
“No way,” Jack argued. “If they’ve made us, I want leverage.”
“She’s not leverage, asshole. She’s a federal offense. Kidnapping? Ring any bells?” Weevil was moving and she could hear shuffling, like clothing being shoved into a gym bag.
“You want to stay here with her, that’s fine. But I’m leaving and I’m taking her with me.”
Metal clicked against metal; Veronica didn’t have to guess at what that sound was. This Jack, or whatever his name was, was the worst kind of stupid. He was the kind of stupid that lit his hand on fire just to see if it would burn and then ended up burning the house down. Left to his own devices, she had no doubt he’d remove his sorry ass from the gene pool. Until then, she just had to pray that Weevil could talk some sense into him.
“Fine. But you keep your fucking hands off her,” Weevil relented grudgingly. “Throw everything in the car, I’ll take care of her.”
“Put her in the trunk. Don’t want to risk nobody seeing her.”
Cringing, she only managed to keep from screaming by counting back from one hundred very slowly. Weevil mumbled an apology against her hair when he picked her up and carried her through the darkened house. She resisted the urge to squirm and possibly kick him. Even as gently as he laid her in the trunk of a car, she still bumped painfully against sharp metal edges.
“It’s an old car,” he whispered. “Trunk won’t be airtight, but try to breathe shallow. I’ll think of something.”
A desperate whimper slipped out before she could swallow it. The trunk slammed above her and left her in darkness that smelled of motor oil and gasoline. This was it; she really was going to die. Alone, in the darkness, miles away from her bed and everyone she loved.
The sound of the exhaust was a raging tornado through the metal beneath her and the bumping of the tires jostled her back and forth, new bruises forming with every crack in the road. She prayed for sirens, for anyone to see the car and wonder about its driver, for her father to have cracked Layla like a nut and be on his way to save her. What if Lamb hadn’t let her father talk to the crooked teller? What if he’d insisted on doing the interrogation himself? She’d be dead for sure by the time Lamb managed to solve a crime.
Forcing herself to calm down and take slow, shallow breaths only put her fear at simmer instead of boil. She needed to do something. Very slowly, she began to feel around the trunk as far as she could reach. There was a toolbox; that’s what kept jutting into the back of her thighs. Her fingers fumbled with the latch but couldn’t flip it over with the rope still tight around her wrists.
She twisted and pulled, gradually working the bottom loop of the rope further down her hands. If she could get it to slip over her fingers, she could loosen the next and the next. She’d still be locked in the trunk of a moving car, but at least she could dig around for a weapon.
Halfway through her rope wrangling, she got stuck at a knot and silently cursed a blue streak at Weevil. It wouldn’t have killed him to give her a little slack. Enough to get free, definitely cause trouble, and possibly get them both killed. That, of course, was why he hadn’t. He knew her. She stopped moving and closed her eyes to force back the sudden tears. Whether it was the pain in her shoulders from being tied up or the helpless despair, she wasn’t sure.
The crack of a gunshot sent her heart racing and in the next moment she was crashing head first into the side of the trunk while tires screeched beneath her. Twice more she bumped across the rough carpet, crying out when the toolbox slammed into her side, before her back collided with the side of the trunk hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.
Then there was silence.
It stretched out interminably, that same silence from her nightmare where she’d been stranded in the middle of the woods with nothing but whispering trees above her and the hunger of a wolf pack behind her. She could run and run, hearing nothing but her own heartbeat, and still never get far enough away to escape the snapping jaws waiting to tear her into ribbons.
Suddenly frantic, she began working at the rope around her wrists with all the determination she could muster. Her skin was slick from sweat and her skin was raw by the time she wrenched one hand free.
Footsteps.
She froze, unable to move or even breathe as they came closer and closer to the back of the car. A key turned in the lock, grinding against the mechanism before it caught and released. She kept her hands behind her back, balled tight into fists just in case. Faint light seeped through her blindfold.
“Veronica?” Warm hands brushed against her face, tugging away the blindfold and gag.
Almost sobbing with relief, she grabbed onto Weevil’s shoulders and held on as tightly as she could. He pulled away to take her hands in his and inspect the rope burns on her wrists, shaking his head with exasperated amusement. “You even know the meaning of patience?”
“Very funny,” she said hoarsely. Her lips and throat were dry as the desert around them. Where exactly had the desert come from? “Where are we?”
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and before Weevil could answer her, Jack tackled him and the two men hit the ground snarling. The sound of fists meeting flesh spurred her into action and she clawed at the rope around her ankles, tugging at the knots until they finally gave way. Ignoring the protests of her stiff muscles, she scrambled out of the trunk and grabbed the first good-sized rock she could find.
“Hey!” she screamed as she hurled the rock as hard as she could toward Jack’s back.
He yelped when it hit him between the shoulder blades and stopped hitting Weevil long enough to glare over his shoulder. “You bitch!”
She reached for another rock.
The gunshot made her jump. Fingers still wrapped around the rock, she stared at the tangle of limbs and waited for one of them to move. Jack shifted awkwardly and then fell away as Weevil pushed his dead weight to the side. There was blood on his face and sprayed down the front of his t-shirt in gruesome abstract. The gun in his hand hit the dirt with a thud.
They stared at each other, both turned honey and crimson in the bright desert dawn. Her feet started moving without thinking about where they were going. She met him half way, grabbing onto him as her knees buckled. Locked together, they sunk to the ground and held on as the world kept spinning. She was sobbing and swallowing down great gulps of air. His shoulders were shaking under her arms; she knew there would be tears mixed the blood and sweat on her skin.
When the sun had pulled itself completely up over the horizon, he slowly let go of her, eyes a little too bright. “You gotta go.”
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“Better if you don’t know.”
“Tell me what you’re going to do.”
He didn’t answer her. Helping her back to her feet, he guided her back to the car and picked up the rag that had served as a gag. Gently, he wiped away the blood that had transferred to her skin. “Sorry about the shirt.”
“I didn’t like it anyway,” she responded numbly.
“Got a spare if you want.”
She followed him around to the side of the car and he didn’t stop her. The sight of Nervous Guy, now with an unmasked face and eyes that were far too vacant, nearly sent her tumbling to the ground again. Blood had turned dark around the bullet hole in his chest.
There was more blood on the dashboard, on the seats, sprayed over the windows. The windshield was a tangled web of cracked glass. Her fingers shook as she accepted the cotton t-shirt Weevil handed her and she hurried away from the blood as quickly as she could. Stripping off her own t-shirt, she pulled the warm fabric down over her head and wished it could take away the chill that was settling into her bones.
“We passed a town about five miles back. That way.” He pointed down the road. “Call the cops as soon as you get there.”
“What’s going to happen to you?”
“I need to buy some time…need your help to do it.”
“Eli.”
His hand was warm and rough at the same time, pressing against her cheek. There was a smile on his lips, an enigmatic, unfathomable smile that she would wonder about for the rest of her life. And then his lips were pressed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss.
Wavering precariously when he pulled away, she caught his hand and kept it pressed against her face. This was the end. The point of no return, no going back, and never having the chance to ask him why. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes; she brushed them away impatiently. “Five miles?”
“Stick to the road. I want you to run. Fast as you can, as far as you can.”
She nodded, taking him at his word because this was it. Any more words and she’d have to say goodbye. She hated goodbyes.
“No matter what happens, you keep running.”
Nodding again, she let go of his hand and took a step back. She knew he was going to watch her until she was out of sight, just in case she decided to turn around. Taking a deep breath and crossing her fingers that her legs would hold her, she turned away before she could change her mind and started running.
She ran until her lungs were burning and her legs were wobbling unsteadily, stopping to bend over and gasp for breath. The car and the embankment it had collided with were merely specks in the distance now. She jumped involuntarily when two more gunshots echoed through the still morning air. Through sheer force of will, she managed to keep her feet moving away from the crash. Moments later, she heard what couldn’t be a gunshot and when she stopped to look back, there was an angry, black cloud of smoke mushrooming up into the sky.
Dragging her eyes and her heart away from the pillar of smoke and death, she turned her face back toward the horizon - home - and ran.
Epilogue
Author: Aeneas
Rating: R (language, violence, death, attempted rape)
Summary: Veronica and Weevil share celebratory milkshakes after he gets out of prison, not knowing their lives are going to collide in a much darker way only days later. (10,066 words)
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Pairings: Veronica and Logan are still together but not “onscreen”.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Rob Thomas and all the wonderful people who make Veronica Mars possible.
Notes: It’s an odd fic. A lot more happens in the spaces between the words than in the words themselves. Despite my best attempts, it’s Veronica-centric. Also, you can expect a follow-up that is Weevil-centric, but probably not until November.
It might have been Mexico.
Veronica couldn’t tell the difference between Mexican dust and Southern California dust. She’d been blindfolded, gagged, and bound to a wooden chair that shifted unsteadily beneath her weight. Where was a very good question but the only road map she had was her own fuzzy memories of how many times her shoulder collided with the car door. That left her fourteen left turns away from the bank with long stretches of straight and nearly twice as many right turns in between. Add all that up and she had exactly no idea of where she was.
There was water dripping in the background, a leaky faucet or showerhead, and the smell of mildew emanating from the carpet under her feet. She’d guessed on the carpet when her toes hadn’t made any noise tapping on the floor. It squished a little too. It was very scientific, this method of hers.
Trying to figure out where she was kept her from thinking about what was going on in the next room, what she could barely hear through the wall and closed door. They were trying to decide whether or not to kill her.
At least one of them was voting for no. He apparently had the brains of the group because prison for murder sounded worse to him than prison for armed robbery. Of course, as the one with the loud mouth pointed out, he already had one murder under his belt. That didn’t make Veronica feel any better. Loud Mouth wanted her out of the picture one way or another, but the One With Brains was trying to convince him there was no way Veronica could identify them and they’d be long gone by the time the cops found her. That left Nervous Guy as the swing vote and he wasn’t saying much of anything.
Time passed, doors opened and closed, and footsteps paced back and forth in the other room. They’d stopped arguing about putting a bullet through her skull but she was pretty sure that didn’t mean they’d decided not to. As far as she could tell, the plan was to lay low and wait.
It wasn’t until she’d sat there long enough that her body was achingly stiff despite shivering against the cold and she really, really had to pee that she began to lose her optimism. She knew the statistics; the more time passed, the more likely it was that they’d be fishing her body out of the ocean.
The sound of the door opening jerked her to attention, every muscle tensed in anticipation of the end, and the sounds of late night news filtered in from the other room. She tried to swallow against the gag, the aroma of pizza making her mouth water.
“What’re you doing, man?” Loud Mouth shouted.
“She’s gotta eat, asshole,” the One With Brains snapped back. He sounded vaguely familiar when he wasn’t shouting, but then again, she’d been listening to them bicker for hours so she’d probably be hearing their voices in her nightmares for the rest of her life.
“No, she don’t. You plannin’ on having a little fun with her? Cause I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a piece of that.”
“Fuck you.”
The door slammed shut, muting both the news broadcast and the raucous laughter. She was focused so intently on trying not to panic that she jerked violently when something warm brushed against her cheek.
“I can’t untie you,” he whispered close to her ear and now she was certain she knew that voice. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold first. If you promise not to scream, I’ll take the gag out.”
She nodded quickly, wanting to see his face and the room she was in. A click turned on the lights and even before the blindfold was gone, she was squinting against the harsh brightness. Blinking and trying to focus, the first thing she saw was a plate with two slices of lukewarm pizza and a can of Coke. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of food. Twisting her head to the side, she blinked the image of her captor into focus and suddenly all thought of food was gone.
This could not be happening. It couldn’t be real. Her world was small and terrifying enough and now it was crashing down around her in ways that couldn’t possibly be real. Aching muscles faded against the metaphysical aching of realizing that someone she trusted had kidnapped her. Now it all made sense. The deposit slip, her father’s admonishments, and exactly how the guy who’d left boot marks in her back knew the Sheriff’s department was mere seconds away from the bank. Her stomach twisted, making her nauseated.
Weevil held one finger up against his lips, shaking his head sadly. His voice was so low that she could barely hear him when he spoke. “If Jack thinks you know who I am, he will kill you.”
Suitably terrified, she nodded once and waited patiently for him to undo the gag. Her jaw ached and her eyes were watering from pain and shock.
“Why?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Cause I’m a fucking idiot, V.” His eyes closed for a second, lashes lowered and dark with shadow against his cheeks. There was fatigue written in every line of his face and a little bit of worry too. She wondered if that was for her or for himself. When he pulled away, he reached for the plate and picked up the first piece with an apologetic look in his eyes, holding it out for her to take a bite.
Even room temperature, it might have been the best pizza she’d had in her life. Maybe the odds of it being her last pizza made the greasy cheese taste better. She only got tomato sauce on her chin once and looked directly at the floor as Weevil wiped it away with his thumb. The Coke was more of a challenge and by the time she finished, she needed to find a bathroom more than ever.
Glancing around, she decided that her prison was a closet masquerading as a bedroom. There was a twin mattress covered by a stained comforter in one corner, a lamp that had probably resided on her chair had been tossed onto its side and looked forlorn against the dated brown shag carpet. Strips of wallpaper had peeled away to reveal flaking plaster and only a bare bulb shone above her. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she wondered why such a little thing had seemed so bright. She exhaled with relief when she saw the familiar shape of a sink and medicine cabinet through a darkened doorway.
“Tell me that’s a bathroom, because unless you want to run out and buy a pack of Depends.” She let him fill in the blanks.
“Just keep quiet,” he sighed.
She was surprised that he made sure to hold her wrists firmly even after he untied them from the chair, ensuring that she was still captive. Easing one and then the other around to her lap, he tied them tightly together before moving to untie her ankles. Free from the chair legs, he tied the rope together with only enough slack to let her take baby steps. Now she was getting annoyed. “Where do you think I’m gonna go, Weevil?”
He winced at the sound of his name and glared up at her. “Figured you’d try to kick me or scratch my eyes out.”
“I knew you were the one with a brain,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
Once she was free to stand, she nearly fell over when she tried. He helped her hobble into the small bathroom, closed the door behind them and turned his back toward her after only a moment’s hesitation.
“Tell me you can wait outside,” she said with disbelief.
“How do I know you won’t climb out the window?”
“I can barely walk,” she seethed. It didn’t seem to sway him.
Truth be told, she hadn’t even noticed the window, so focused on the pain in her limbs and getting to the toilet. Gritting her teeth against the humiliation, she promised herself silently that she would kick his ass into next week once this was all over and clumsily unzipped her jeans. She had to give him credit for not moving a muscle or laughing in the awkward not quite silence. Her cheeks were burning and stress-induced laughter was bubbling up in her throat.
Determined not to end up giggling like a moron, she managed as well as she could with her hands tied, shaking with the relief of the ordeal being over when she zipped back up and flushed.
“I hate you,” she told his back wearily.
“Sticks and stones, V.” He smiled a little over his shoulder before opening the door and helping her hobble back into the room. At least he spared her the chair again, waving her toward the bed. When she lay down, he took out the slack between her ankles and retied her hands behind her back.
“Weevil?” she asked when he picked up the gag and blindfold, her voice shaking. “Do you think they’re going to kill me?”
He lifted her head up gently to slip the blindfold over her eyes. “I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you, I swear on my abuela’s grave.”
“Does that include you?”
His hands paused, warm against her face, and he brushed her hair behind her ear before tugging the gag back into place. “I’ll get you out of this, Veronica. Just gotta trust me. Try to get some sleep.”
***
A nightmare of being hunted by wolves woke Veronica up from a restless sleep. Someone’s breath was hot against her throat and she went rigid when she realized that hot, sweaty hands were pawing at her clothing. Twisting away, she brought her knees up hard to connect with whomever, or whatever, was attacking her. She hit something solid, not sure if it was a shoulder or a head, and started screaming against the gag. It was pathetic as far as screaming went but better than silence
“You little bitch,” a male voice snarled.
Her head jerked painfully when she was struck across the face with what felt like a fist, seeing stars against the black of her blindfold. She managed to keep twisting away, evading hands she couldn’t see, and kept screaming mutely until she thought she’d pass out.
“Get off of her!” That was Weevil’s voice and then the hands were gone. The crunch of chair legs buckling and snapping was followed by a heavy thud.
“What the fuck?” Loud Mouth - Weevil said his name was Jack - demanded angrily.
“What if someone heard her? You’re making too much goddamn noise,” Weevil hissed. He was none too gentle when he pulled Veronica away from the wall, ordering her roughly to keep quiet. She feigned obedience and fell silent.
“Jesus, no one heard her. What’s your problem, man?”
“My problem is you thinking with your dick instead of your head. We got cops on us and they probably got your girl by now.”
Jack grunted and tossed something, probably a piece of the demolished chair, at the wall. “No way. Layla’s probably just lying low. Like us.”
“Then why ain’t she here yet?” Weevil countered. “Been over six hours.”
“She’ll fucking be here.”
Veronica felt Weevil move away from the bed and almost wished she could see what was going on. Knowing that it would probably be much worse than she was imagining, she curled up as tightly as she could and tried to think happy, fluffy, knowing the bastard was going to rot in jail thoughts.
“She’ll be here,” Jack repeated stubbornly. “Don’t see why you’re protecting this girl anyhow. Now that I think on it…seems a bit strange. I might start wondering just what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“What’s going on is me not wanting to go to jail because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” She was amazed that Weevil managed to sound completely calm.
Soft footsteps moved over the carpet and Jack’s voice was further away when he spoke again. “You better watch your back, boy. I cut you in on this deal as a favor--”
“Don’t need your favors,” Weevil growled.
“Hey, guys!” the third voice, Nervous Guy, whispered frantically. “Cop car just drove past real slow.”
“So?” Jack snorted.
“That’s the second time he’s done it.”
Weevil cursed low and in Spanish, mostly words she didn’t understand. “Fucking told you they got that dumbass girlfriend of yours.”
“You shut your mouth.”
“We gotta go. Now,” Weevil ordered sharply.
“What about her?” Nervous Guy asked.
“Leave her. The cops’ll find her soon enough.”
“No way,” Jack argued. “If they’ve made us, I want leverage.”
“She’s not leverage, asshole. She’s a federal offense. Kidnapping? Ring any bells?” Weevil was moving and she could hear shuffling, like clothing being shoved into a gym bag.
“You want to stay here with her, that’s fine. But I’m leaving and I’m taking her with me.”
Metal clicked against metal; Veronica didn’t have to guess at what that sound was. This Jack, or whatever his name was, was the worst kind of stupid. He was the kind of stupid that lit his hand on fire just to see if it would burn and then ended up burning the house down. Left to his own devices, she had no doubt he’d remove his sorry ass from the gene pool. Until then, she just had to pray that Weevil could talk some sense into him.
“Fine. But you keep your fucking hands off her,” Weevil relented grudgingly. “Throw everything in the car, I’ll take care of her.”
“Put her in the trunk. Don’t want to risk nobody seeing her.”
Cringing, she only managed to keep from screaming by counting back from one hundred very slowly. Weevil mumbled an apology against her hair when he picked her up and carried her through the darkened house. She resisted the urge to squirm and possibly kick him. Even as gently as he laid her in the trunk of a car, she still bumped painfully against sharp metal edges.
“It’s an old car,” he whispered. “Trunk won’t be airtight, but try to breathe shallow. I’ll think of something.”
A desperate whimper slipped out before she could swallow it. The trunk slammed above her and left her in darkness that smelled of motor oil and gasoline. This was it; she really was going to die. Alone, in the darkness, miles away from her bed and everyone she loved.
The sound of the exhaust was a raging tornado through the metal beneath her and the bumping of the tires jostled her back and forth, new bruises forming with every crack in the road. She prayed for sirens, for anyone to see the car and wonder about its driver, for her father to have cracked Layla like a nut and be on his way to save her. What if Lamb hadn’t let her father talk to the crooked teller? What if he’d insisted on doing the interrogation himself? She’d be dead for sure by the time Lamb managed to solve a crime.
Forcing herself to calm down and take slow, shallow breaths only put her fear at simmer instead of boil. She needed to do something. Very slowly, she began to feel around the trunk as far as she could reach. There was a toolbox; that’s what kept jutting into the back of her thighs. Her fingers fumbled with the latch but couldn’t flip it over with the rope still tight around her wrists.
She twisted and pulled, gradually working the bottom loop of the rope further down her hands. If she could get it to slip over her fingers, she could loosen the next and the next. She’d still be locked in the trunk of a moving car, but at least she could dig around for a weapon.
Halfway through her rope wrangling, she got stuck at a knot and silently cursed a blue streak at Weevil. It wouldn’t have killed him to give her a little slack. Enough to get free, definitely cause trouble, and possibly get them both killed. That, of course, was why he hadn’t. He knew her. She stopped moving and closed her eyes to force back the sudden tears. Whether it was the pain in her shoulders from being tied up or the helpless despair, she wasn’t sure.
The crack of a gunshot sent her heart racing and in the next moment she was crashing head first into the side of the trunk while tires screeched beneath her. Twice more she bumped across the rough carpet, crying out when the toolbox slammed into her side, before her back collided with the side of the trunk hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.
Then there was silence.
It stretched out interminably, that same silence from her nightmare where she’d been stranded in the middle of the woods with nothing but whispering trees above her and the hunger of a wolf pack behind her. She could run and run, hearing nothing but her own heartbeat, and still never get far enough away to escape the snapping jaws waiting to tear her into ribbons.
Suddenly frantic, she began working at the rope around her wrists with all the determination she could muster. Her skin was slick from sweat and her skin was raw by the time she wrenched one hand free.
Footsteps.
She froze, unable to move or even breathe as they came closer and closer to the back of the car. A key turned in the lock, grinding against the mechanism before it caught and released. She kept her hands behind her back, balled tight into fists just in case. Faint light seeped through her blindfold.
“Veronica?” Warm hands brushed against her face, tugging away the blindfold and gag.
Almost sobbing with relief, she grabbed onto Weevil’s shoulders and held on as tightly as she could. He pulled away to take her hands in his and inspect the rope burns on her wrists, shaking his head with exasperated amusement. “You even know the meaning of patience?”
“Very funny,” she said hoarsely. Her lips and throat were dry as the desert around them. Where exactly had the desert come from? “Where are we?”
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and before Weevil could answer her, Jack tackled him and the two men hit the ground snarling. The sound of fists meeting flesh spurred her into action and she clawed at the rope around her ankles, tugging at the knots until they finally gave way. Ignoring the protests of her stiff muscles, she scrambled out of the trunk and grabbed the first good-sized rock she could find.
“Hey!” she screamed as she hurled the rock as hard as she could toward Jack’s back.
He yelped when it hit him between the shoulder blades and stopped hitting Weevil long enough to glare over his shoulder. “You bitch!”
She reached for another rock.
The gunshot made her jump. Fingers still wrapped around the rock, she stared at the tangle of limbs and waited for one of them to move. Jack shifted awkwardly and then fell away as Weevil pushed his dead weight to the side. There was blood on his face and sprayed down the front of his t-shirt in gruesome abstract. The gun in his hand hit the dirt with a thud.
They stared at each other, both turned honey and crimson in the bright desert dawn. Her feet started moving without thinking about where they were going. She met him half way, grabbing onto him as her knees buckled. Locked together, they sunk to the ground and held on as the world kept spinning. She was sobbing and swallowing down great gulps of air. His shoulders were shaking under her arms; she knew there would be tears mixed the blood and sweat on her skin.
When the sun had pulled itself completely up over the horizon, he slowly let go of her, eyes a little too bright. “You gotta go.”
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“Better if you don’t know.”
“Tell me what you’re going to do.”
He didn’t answer her. Helping her back to her feet, he guided her back to the car and picked up the rag that had served as a gag. Gently, he wiped away the blood that had transferred to her skin. “Sorry about the shirt.”
“I didn’t like it anyway,” she responded numbly.
“Got a spare if you want.”
She followed him around to the side of the car and he didn’t stop her. The sight of Nervous Guy, now with an unmasked face and eyes that were far too vacant, nearly sent her tumbling to the ground again. Blood had turned dark around the bullet hole in his chest.
There was more blood on the dashboard, on the seats, sprayed over the windows. The windshield was a tangled web of cracked glass. Her fingers shook as she accepted the cotton t-shirt Weevil handed her and she hurried away from the blood as quickly as she could. Stripping off her own t-shirt, she pulled the warm fabric down over her head and wished it could take away the chill that was settling into her bones.
“We passed a town about five miles back. That way.” He pointed down the road. “Call the cops as soon as you get there.”
“What’s going to happen to you?”
“I need to buy some time…need your help to do it.”
“Eli.”
His hand was warm and rough at the same time, pressing against her cheek. There was a smile on his lips, an enigmatic, unfathomable smile that she would wonder about for the rest of her life. And then his lips were pressed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss.
Wavering precariously when he pulled away, she caught his hand and kept it pressed against her face. This was the end. The point of no return, no going back, and never having the chance to ask him why. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes; she brushed them away impatiently. “Five miles?”
“Stick to the road. I want you to run. Fast as you can, as far as you can.”
She nodded, taking him at his word because this was it. Any more words and she’d have to say goodbye. She hated goodbyes.
“No matter what happens, you keep running.”
Nodding again, she let go of his hand and took a step back. She knew he was going to watch her until she was out of sight, just in case she decided to turn around. Taking a deep breath and crossing her fingers that her legs would hold her, she turned away before she could change her mind and started running.
She ran until her lungs were burning and her legs were wobbling unsteadily, stopping to bend over and gasp for breath. The car and the embankment it had collided with were merely specks in the distance now. She jumped involuntarily when two more gunshots echoed through the still morning air. Through sheer force of will, she managed to keep her feet moving away from the crash. Moments later, she heard what couldn’t be a gunshot and when she stopped to look back, there was an angry, black cloud of smoke mushrooming up into the sky.
Dragging her eyes and her heart away from the pillar of smoke and death, she turned her face back toward the horizon - home - and ran.
Epilogue