I shivered in the back of the truck as we rumbled toward our destination: some god-awful place in the middle of nowhere, picked by Dewey of course. I was on my own while Gauge and T-Bone were up front. I had thick duct tape wrapped tightly around my wrists — We want it to look realistic — and my ankles — he said to make sure she can’t run.
I hoped to fuck the plan was everything they said it would be. As far as I understood it, I’d be dropped off, they’d drive away, and an indeterminate amount of time later Dewey would show up with Red. When that happened, Bottle would take him the fuck down.
Would it work? Fucked if I know. I hoped those guys knew what they were doing.
I rubbed my head against the hoodie I was wearing, trying to get the hood to come up over my hair and help keep me warm. It would have been much easier if my hands were free, but they weren’t, of course.
As we hit a pothole my head bounced up and then smacked down again onto the hard metal bed of the van with a thud far quieter than it seemed it should have been, considering the pain that shot through me. “Mmmph!” There was a rag (clean, thankfully) shoved into my mouth and more tape keeping it in place, and this had thwarted my attempt to curse like a sailor’s whore.
Why the hell was my life like this? It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want anything special, I didn’t need to be the child of a billionaire, or a European princess, or a talented Olympian. Why couldn’t I have just had a normal life? A normal boyfriend? Parents who didn’t die far too early?
It just wasn’t fair. At least you’re not an Ethiopian, I heard my mother echo in my mind. It’s what she used to say to me as a child, referencing the famine in the eighties whenever I complained about something not being fair. She was right then of course, but she didn’t know what was coming.
I may not have died of starvation, but I was still devastated in a different way. By him. By Dewey.
And where was I going now? Were these bikers really using me as bait to trap him? Or were they actually going to turn me over in exchange for their boy, leaving me to Dewey’s cruel mouth, cruel hands and crazy mind.
All I knew was that right then, tied up in the back of the van, it was all out of my hands. It may sound crazy, but it was a relief to be out of control, to know that the decisions were now being made by other people and that, come what may, whatever happened next was no longer up to me.
We hit another pothole but this time I was a little more ready for it and managed to hold my head straight instead of allowing it to bang onto the floor again. I shoved myself with my feet up against the side of the panel-van, using the wall to give myself a little more support in avoiding being smacked around too much by the ride.
In my mind the dark and dusty interior of the panel van stood in stark contrast to yesterday’s exhilarating rides on the back of Bottle’s motorcycle. As we had traveled back and forth the day before I had felt a freedom I’d never felt before when traveling inside a vehicle. It’s not just a different form of transport, it’s a different way of looking at the world, a different way of living. It’s only when you feel the wind in your hair and on your skin that you realize how passive it is to ride in a car. It’s like watching a basketball game on TV rather than actually playing it. On a bike you’re there, in a car you’re simply watching. And tied up in the back of a panel-van? Well, that’s just fucked.
The potholes got more frequent, until suddenly the entire road seemed to be potholes. I braced myself as best I could as I was bounced up and down, up and down, up and down. I knew I’d have even more bruises on me tomorrow. In fact, would there be anything but bruises I wondered? My musings terminated abruptly when a particularly deep hole flung me completely off the floor of the truck before I landed back down hard, letting out a grunt that was the closest I could get to the “Motherfucker!” I wanted to scream out.
The journey seemed endless, but like all seemingly endless journeys it finally had one, and we pulled to a stop god-knows-where. Even though the vehicle had stopped moving, I hadn’t. My body was shaking from the trauma of being tossed around, the chilly pre-dawn air, and, of course, fear.
The last time I’d seen Bottle he’d held me, and whispered in my ear that he wouldn’t let this motherfucker take me away. His arms had wrapped around me, I’d buried my face in his chest, and I’d believed him.
The rear doors swung open and I saw the unreadable faces of T-Bone and Gauge peering in. Were they really going through with a plan, or were they just going to toss me out like carrion? Is that why Bottle wasn’t there? Was he too ashamed to look me in the eye as he gave me over to my tormentor?
“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” said Gauge as he reached in and pulled me toward them. My body slid across the flat bed of the van to the doors. T-Bone grabbed me by the legs and Gauge my upper arms, and I let them carry me. I didn’t struggle.
They took me around the front of the van to a large, dark, almost black rock that jutted out of the sandy dirt like an old decayed tooth. They put me down next to it, sitting up so I could lean my back against it.
“This rock should give you some shade once the sun comes up, as long as he doesn’t take too long getting here.”
I bowed my head down into my knees. I couldn’t speak to them and I wasn’t about to thank them anyway. At best, I was bait in their trap, and who’d thank them for that?
I opened my eyes wide with fright. Gauge had tied something around my leg. I watched on with scared eyes as T-Bone hammered a heavy wooden stake into the ground, to which Gauge tied the cord which he had just attached to my leg. “Don’t worry hon, we’re just doing what he told us. He doesn’t want you running away.”
Their words were not at all reassuring. Of course, they had to say that, in case Dewey was listening. They knew he was clever — he had outwitted them a couple of times already — and there could be no talk of a plan while we were out here. Then again, maybe they were just going to hand me over, and they were being completely honest.
“It’s been a pleasure.”
With those final words I watched the two bikers walk back to their vehicle. They clambered inside without even once looking back.
If the plan had been as they said, then Dewey would come out here, grab me and dump Red. Hopefully at that point the part they hadn’t fully explained to me would happen: Bottle would do something, and they’d get rid of Dewey and save both me and Red.
I didn’t have to wait too long, perhaps half an hour. It was long enough though, because even in the shade it was getting hot when I heard the vehicle approaching.
A car pulled up and stopped where the Sons’ panel-van had previously been parked. I knew he was there. I knew he was inside. I prayed it wasn’t him, prayed that it was Bottle, prayed that he’d put a different plan into effect, killed Dewey, and was now there to release me and take me away.
I stared at the vehicle, unable to see through the glass as the sun bounced glaringly off the windshield into my eyes. I still didn’t have any sunglasses.
A moment later the door opened, and he stepped out. Him. Dewey. Unlike me he had on a big pair of aviators, and he let out a white toothed grin when he saw me.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the runaway bride.”
I glared at him, unable to spit my contempt or hurl abuse at him. He was wearing neatly pressed jeans with a brown belt, and had a smart white dress shirt tucked in. He had the sleeves perfectly rolled up revealing his strong, lightly tanned, tattoo-less forearms. The boy-next-door was now a fully formed hunk. A fully formed hunk of shit.
The bastard came over to me and bent down, looking me in the eyes. I stared at my reflection in his mirrored glasses, as usual not recognizing who the hell I was or what the hell had happened to me.
He shook his head in disbelief and disappointment as his eyes ran over me. “They didn’t treat you right in prison, did they?” He paused as if waiting for a response, then gave a chuckle as if he was only just noticing that I was gagged. “Look at you. No lipstick, no nail polish, and your hair?” He let out a sigh. “Where’s my beautiful blond?”
I felt sick in my stomach. Where the fuck was Bottle? What was the fucking plan? Were they actually leaving me with this fruit loop?
“We’ll fix you up hon, don’t worry. Just wait until I get you home.” Despite the warmth of the morning I shuddered.
By the time he had me lying across the backseat of the car I knew there was no plan. Bottle never came.