Finale by Becca Fitzpatrick Read Free Book Online

be back in a few hours!” I called to my mom.
    “Pot roast comes out at six, so don’t be late,” she returned from the kitchen.
    Twenty minutes later I strolled through the doors of Pete’s Locker Room and headed toward the shoe department. I tried on a few pairs of cross-trainers, settling on a pair from the
clearance rack. Dante might have my Monday morning—a day off school, due to a district-wide teacher in-service day—but I wasn’t going to give him the sum total of my allowance,
too.
    I paid for the shoes and checked the time on my cell. Not even four yet. As a precaution, Patch and I had agreed to keep calls in public to a minimum, but a hasty look both ways down the
sidewalk outside confirmed I was alone. I dug the untraceable phone Patch had given me out of my handbag and dialed his number.
    “I have a free couple of hours,” I told him, walking toward my car, which was parked on the next block. “There’s a very private, very secluded barn in Lookout Hill Park
behind the carousel. I could be there in fifteen minutes.”
    I heard the smile in his voice. “You want me bad.”
    “I need an endorphin boost.”
    “And making out in an abandoned barn with me will give you one?”
    “No, it will probably put me in an endorphin coma, and I’m more than happy to test the theory. I’m leaving Pete’s Locker Room now. If the stoplights are in my favor, I
might even make it in ten—”
    I didn’t get to finish. A cloth bag dropped over my head, and I was wrestled into a bear hug from behind. In my surprise, I dropped the cell phone. I screamed and tried to swing my arms
free, but the hands shoving me forward and into the street were too strong. I heard a large vehicle rumble down the street, then come to a screeching halt beside me.
    A door opened, and I was thrust inside.
    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