The air inside the van held the tang of sweat masked by lemon air freshener. The heat was cranked up to high, blasting through vents at the front, making me sweat. Maybe that was the intent.
“What’s going on? What do you want?” I demanded angrily. The full weight of what was going on hadn’t hit yet, leaving me more outraged than frightened. No answer came, but I heard the steady breathing of two nearby individuals. Those two, plus the driver, meant three of them. Against one of me.
My arms had been twisted behind my back, pinned together by what felt like a tow chain. My ankles were secured by a similar heavy-duty chain. I was stretched out on my stomach, the bag still over my head, my nose pushed into the roomy floor of the van. I tried to rock onto my side but felt as though my shoulder joint would tear from its socket. I screamed out in frustration and received a swift kick in the thigh.
“Keep it down,” a male voice growled.
We drove for a long time. Forty-five minutes, maybe. My mind jumped in too many directions to keep track accurately. Could I escape? How? Outrun them? No. Outwit them? Maybe. And then there was Patch. He would know I’d been taken. He’d track my cell phone to the street outside Pete’s Locker Room, but how would he know where to go from there?
At first the van stopped repeatedly for stoplights, but eventually the road cleared. The van climbed higher, weaving back and forth on switchbacks, which made me believe we were moving into the remote, hilly areas far outside of town. Sweat trickled beneath my shirt, and I couldn’t seem to force a single deep breath. Each inhalation came shallow, panic clamping my chest.
The tires popped over gravel, steadily rolling uphill, until at last the engine died. My captors unchained my feet, dragged me outside and through a door, and yanked the bag off my head.
I was right; there were three of them. Two males, one female. They’d brought me to a log cabin, and they rechained my arms to a decorative wooden post that ran from the main level up to the tie beams at the ceiling. No lights, but that may have well been because the power had been shut off. Furniture was sparse, and covered in white sheets. The air couldn’t have been more than a degree or two warmer than outside, telling me the furnace wasn’t on. Whoever the cabin belonged to had closed up for winter.
“Don’t bother screaming,” the bulkiest of them told me. “There isn’t another warm body around for miles.” He hid behind a cowboy hat and sunglasses, but Knglm there his precaution was unnecessary; I was positive I’d never seen him before. My heightened sixth sense identified all three as Nephilim. But what they wanted from me . . . I didn’t have a clue.
I jerked against the chains, but other than producing a weak grinding sound, they didn’t budge.
“If you were a real Nephil, you’d be able to break out of the chains,” the Nephil in the cowboy hat snarled. He seemed to be the spokesman for the other two, who hung back, limiting their communication with me to glares of disgust.
“What do you want?” I repeated icily.
Cowboy Hat’s mouth curled into a sneer. “I want to know how a little princess like yourself thinks she can pull off a Nephilim revolution.”
I held his hateful gaze, wishing I could fling the truth in his face. There wasn’t going to be a revolution. Once Cheshvan started in less than two days, he and his friends would be possessed by fallen angels. Hank Millar had had the easy part: filling their heads with notions of rebellion and freedom. And now I was left to work the actual miracle.
And I wasn’t going to.
“I looked into you,” Cowboy Hat said, pacing in front of me. “I asked around and found out you’re dating Patch Cipriano, a fallen angel. How’s that relationship working out for you?”
I swallowed discreetly. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to.” I knew the danger I faced if my relationship with Patch were found out. I’d been careful, but it was starting to look like not careful enough. “But I ended things with Patch,” I lied. “Whatever we had is in the past. I know where my loyalties lie. As soon as I became a Nephil—”
He thrust his face in mine. “You aren’t Nephilim!” His eyes raked over me with contempt. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You don’t get the right to call yourself Nephilim. When I look at you, I see human. I see a weak, sniveling, entitled little girl.”
“You’re angry because I’m not as physically strong as you,” I stated calmly.
“Who said anything about strength! You don’t have pride. There’s no sense of loyalty inside you. I respected the Black Hand as a leader because he earned that respect. He had a vision. He took action. He named you his successor, but that means nothing to me. You want my respect? Make me give it to you.” He snapped his fingers savagely in my face. “Earn it, princess.”
Earn his respect? So I could be like Hank? Hank was a cheat and a liar. He’d promised his people the impossible with smooth words and flattery. He’d used and deceived my mom and turned me into a pawn in his agenda. The more I thought about the position he’d put me in, leaving me to carry out his demented vision, the more maddened I grew.
I met Cowboy Hat’s eyes coldly . . . then bucked my foot up with all the force I had and planted it squarely in his chest. He sailed backward into the wall and crumpled on the floor.
The other two rushed forward, but my anger had started a fire inside me. A foreign and violent power swelled in me, and I strained against the chains, hearing the metal creak a Kmetnger s the links snapped apart. The chains dropped to the floor, and I didn’t waste a minute before lashing out with my fists. I pummeled the nearest Nephil in the ribs and gave the female a roundhouse kick. My foot collided with her thigh, and I was amazed by the solid mass of muscle I found there. Never before in my life had I encountered a woman of such strength and durability.
Dante was right; I didn’t know how to fight. A moment too late, I realized I should have followed through, mercilessly attacking while they were down. But I was too stunned by what I’d done to do more than hunch in a defensive position, waiting to see what their response would be.
Cowboy Hat charged at me, thrusting me backward into the post. The impact knocked all air from my lungs and I doubled over, trying but failing to draw oxygen.
“I’m not done with you, princess. This was your warning. If I find out you’re still running with fallen angels, it won’t be pretty.” He patted my cheek. “Use this time to reconsider your loyalties. Next time we meet, for your sake, I hope they’ve shifted.”
He signaled the others with a jerk of his chin, and they all filed out the door.
I gulped air, taking a few minutes to recover, then staggered to the door. They were already gone. Road dust sifted through the air, and dusk crept across the skyline, a smattering of stars glittering like tiny shards of broken glass.
CHAPTER
4
I STEPPED OUT ON THE CABIN’S SMALL STOOP, WONDERING how I’d navigate my way home, when the sound of an engine roared up the long gravel driveway ahead. I braced myself for the return of Cowboy Hat and friends, but it was a Harley Sportster motorcycle that tore into view, carrying a single rider.
Patch.
He swung off and crossed to me in three quick strides. “Are you hurt?” he asked, taking my face between his hands and looking me over for any sign of injury. A mix of relief, worry, and rage blazed in his eyes. “Where are they?” he asked, his tone as hardened as I’d ever heard it.