Twist My Heart, Brooke Taylor [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

struggling to focus. My brain reoriented the objects in front of me to account for my unusual position and vantage point. I was next to a bed, not far from a couch that backed up to a log wall. A cabin?

Moving could attract the attention of the man pacing with a limp in front of the television. From my position, I could only make out his legs. His stiff gait jerked without coordination as if the pain were fresh and still hit him unexpectedly. I recognized his voice. The man who had taken me from the gas station. Clay.

I couldn’t quite make out his hoarse words as he spoke into a cellphone, but his clenched, barking tone radiated annoyance.

A cool draft of air spun up as a door opened and closed.

“The Tahoe’s out of sight,” a woman’s voice said. Arching my eyes as far as they could go without visibly turning my head, I watched her sit down in a chair with her back to me. Blonde hair, but the strand of red peeking out let me know it was a wig. Then I caught sight of the tattoo. Aimee.

Seeing her shouldn’t have given me relief, especially considering her association with Clay and the Jane Doe. But even if she wasn’t on my side, at least I wasn’t alone with Clay. For some stupid reason it gave me hope for us both. Because, lord knows, if she was tangled up with Clay and this cult she needed help to survive as much as I did.

He jabbed the air as if firing a gun at the television, but the only noise was the sudden muffled voices of the people on the screen. Thankfully his attention was consumed by whatever the person on the phone was relaying, allowing me to take a quick assessment of my body. I was in pain, in the same places as I’d been from the tornado, as well as some new ones. Nothing fatal, nothing broken, but I couldn’t really move enough to fully test the assumptions. My hands were bound, behind my back this time. My ankles as well. My phone… I remembered it sliding to the floor as the car careened off the mountain roadway. My heart shattered. I had no way to get in touch with Nik now.

Chapter Forty-One

Clay wheeled from the television. His eyes bored hard at Thea’s lifeless body, certain he’d caught her move. Just in case, he landed a swift kick into her side. She rolled like a sack of potatoes. Nothing.

Sera’s voice burned through his cell phone. “This is insanity! They cut my segment! Stuffed me into the green room! Are you even watching this?”

He punched the volume up a couple more notches. “I’ve got it on now,” he grunted. Another coughing fit seized him, his throat still dry and scratchy from Thea strangling him. He grabbed a bottle of water from the dresser, unable to manage more than a few sips at first.

Michael “Mad Dog” Maddox’s darkened studio appeared on the screen. The camera panned the iconic set. Lights dimmed as the crew rushed about with last-minute prepping for the next segment. Sure enough, instead of Sera sitting at the renowned interviewer’s large desk, there was a sun-leathered country bumpkin with her gray hair pulled back into a ponytail more suited to a teenager.

Maddox’s identifiably deep voice filled the small cabin, competing with Sera’s irrational anger for Clay’s attention. He lowered the phone from his ear so he could hear the TV.

“The FBI has been instrumental in cracking down on human trafficking and sex trade industries, as we’ve shown in prior episodes. You’re here to say differently. And who are you?” Maddox asked his elderly guest.

“I’m not anyone and I’m not here to say nuthin’. The only reason I’m sittin’ across from you is because the little lady who does have somethin’ to say can’t be here.”

“Well, you got my producer’s attention. What do you have that will get mine?”

The woman lifted a cell phone from the desk, flashing its screen at Maddox. He made a show of putting on his ever-present reading glasses and taking it from her. After a quick look, he turned the screen to the woman as the camera directly behind her picked up the shot.

“Please, read what it says for our viewers.”

If I’m reported dead or missing, please do not go to the police or the FBI. Take my phone to Michael Maddox and insist the video be played live on his show as soon as possible. Use my badge for credibility.

“Cursed brat,” Sera shrieked. “Just like her to get one last spar in.”

Clay kept his focus on the television and Maddox.

“Does your being here on my show mean what I think it does?”

The woman solemnly nodded. “The girl who this phone belongs to is dead. The video on here is relaying her last words.”

“Did you know her?”

“No, sir. I don’t know her from Adam.”

Maddox reclined back in his chair as he assumed his signature pensive posture. “How then were you entrusted with such highly confidential information?”

“Well, now, that’s a very good question. I’d been helpin’ a friend sort some cows out for the day and had come back home to unload the horses. There, pillowed in the shavings right between their hooves, was a phone and an FBI badge. I sure as heck didn’t drop ‘em and neither did ol’ Marvel or Sylvester.”

“Couldn’t have been an accident?”

“Not likely. I was the only person who loaded or unloaded the horses and I would’ve noticed somethin’ so outta place. They had to ‘ave been put there when I stopped for gas in Goodland. Anyhow, I pressed a few buttons on the phone to see if’n I could figure out who it belonged to and the screen immediately went to that there note.”

“And now you’re here, hundreds of miles from Kansas, all because you found a phone with a note? You didn’t think maybe this was a prank?”

“Yes. Well, I didn’t know what