Sharon Keonie Nakai drifted into consciousness, helped along by the bouquet emanating from the stained sofa where she lay. She tried to move but couldn’t. In place of the cable, a black nylon rope crossed over the top of one foot and under the arch of the other, then wound around her ankles and looped through the binding that held her wrists behind her back. Every time she moved her feet, it pulled her hands back, tightening the bonds. Her hands and feet tingled, and the duct tape covering her mouth smelled of adhesive and thick saliva, which had a nauseating effect every time her tongue tried to push between her lips.
The first thing tumbling through her foggy memory was that the car had come to a stop, a door had opened and shut, and then there was only the feeling of helplessness as she lay in the dark, smelling oily rags and tire rubber. She had no way of calculating how much time had passed or how far they had traveled before the trunk lid sprang open and the man stood above her, staring down and smiling. She remembered struggling with him as he pulled her from the trunk, and him dragging her toward the cinder-block house underneath the carport. And then she recalled the moment his big hand smacked the side of her head with a force that turned everything black.
She looked around the room. It was Navajo Housing Authority construction. Sand-colored walls, garage-sale mismatched chairs and sofa haphazardly arranged, windows covered in what appeared to be aluminum foil and duct tape. No telephone that she could see. She registered the location of the front door and how many foil-covered windows were visible. Then she looked for anything that could serve as a weapon if she somehow managed to get free of the ropes that bound her. She also noted the pile of camping gear, flanked by two duffel bags, in a corner of the room. Maybe one of them contained a gun, not that it would do her any good at the moment.
“What the hell did you bring her for?” an angry Latina voice said. “I mean, what the fuck?”
“She’s our insurance policy,” Kanesewah replied bluntly. “She stays.”
Sharon’s eyes moved to the woman’s face as she leaned into view from the kitchen doorway and then disappeared.
“Your insurance is awake,” the woman snapped.
Kanesewah stepped into the room, a stick of beef jerky moving in his mouth as he gnawed on the end. He stopped a few feet from the sofa, reached up and grabbed the moving jerky, tore a piece off, and chewed it. He squatted down in front of Sharon, both feet flat on the floor, and balanced his forearms on his knees, his head at a slight tilt as if he were examining her.
“You, me, and my woman are going to be leaving soon,” he said, pointing at Sharon with the remaining bit of jerky. “And don’t even think about running, because you can’t. Those ropes are nice and snug. I’ve had a lot of practice.” He popped the last piece of jerky into his mouth and chewed. “It’s funny what turns a woman on these days. Tie ’em up and they get all hot and wet—that is, until they realize it’s not foreplay. Then the ropes become more pain than pleasure because the more they struggle, the tighter they get. And when they finally lose strength from exhaustion, they strangle themselves. It’s really something to watch. What I remember most is that they all died with their eyes wide open, staring at me while I watched them struggle for that last breath.” He gave a dry laugh. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m saving you for something special. You’ll see.” He reached out and gently caressed Sharon’s cheek with the backs of his curled fingers. She didn’t recoil—just tolerated his rough touch as it ran slowly down to her chin. He grabbed her jaw in his thick fingers, which smelled from the greasy jerky and set off her hunger. “And if you even try to signal anyone we come across for help, I will kill them. And then I will kill you, insurance or not. Do you understand?”
Sharon nodded.
“Good.” His hand moved from her jaw to test the fullness of each breast as it filled his palm. Sharon watched as his breath quickened and his eyes locked with hers. “Like I said, I’ve got real sweet plans for you. And I don’t want you to miss one minute of them.”