Emily
I swear we’ve been driving in circles. Maybe they just want to get me disoriented, so I don’t try to run. If they are, it’s definitely working.
We finally pull to a stop and looking through the window makes me want to curl up and die. It’s a shabby, dimly lit street. Crumbling houses line both sides, boards over the windows from the last big hurricane.
They’ve brought me here to kill me.
Which is a stupid first thing to think. If I was going to be murdered, the arrogant bastard who came to get me wouldn’t have worked so hard to get me out of that place in one piece. And I doubt anybody would pay sixty-five thousand dollars for the privilege.
The car door opens, and a man I’ve never seen before stands waiting. There’s a bulge in his black suit jacket I can only assume is a gun.
“Get out.”