Wrath (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 30) by Jonas Saul

Author:Jonas Saul [Saul, Jonas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Imagine Press Inc.
Published: 2022-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

The only reasonable explanation for such a headache was there had to be a nail jammed into his forehead. He had questions, but there was a fog in his brain he couldn’t overcome.

It hurt all over—the needles—they’d been injecting him with something. A pain killer? Didn’t he break his wrist?

Wait, they had been rough. Dropped him on the ground?

No, they beat him when they got him to wherever the hell it was they drove to that night.

He’d passed out, and they were still on the road when he came to.

A highway. It felt like a long trip, but that might’ve been the pain in his wrist.

When he opened his eyes and tried to look at his wrist, something smashed into his face, and he remembered falling back to sleep.

That was days ago, wasn’t it?

Two? Five?

He had no idea. The drugs they’d shot into his arm were powerful. They took all the pain away—a blessing.

But now, the pain was back.

And they were on the road again.

He blinked and tried to open his eyes. It was dark out.

When he turned to look toward the light, he understood that he was in the backseat of a car. Two men sat up front—a driver and a passenger.

Both were large men, their thick shoulders and arms framing the car seat.

He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

Something held his legs together. When he tried to look at the length of his body, he saw his wrists were bound as well.

But that wasn’t his wrist, was it? The damn thing looked like a fleshy cantaloupe. Why was it so big?

The car accident.

Sarah!

All of it came rushing back, and he inhaled a quick breath as waves of pain coursed through him.

The drugs were wearing off, and he was in bad shape.

“He’s awake,” the passenger said.

Parkman turned to look at him. “What’s …” He tried to ask what was going on, but his mouth was so dry, and his face ached for some reason.

Did they starve him? Was his face injured in the car accident, or did these men beat him?

“How?” He spoke slowly, maintaining control of his voice while limiting the movement of his swollen lips. “Long?”

“How long what?” the man asked, turning more in his seat to look back at Parkman. “How long were you out? How long since you ate last? How long since you were living a normal life?”

Parkman closed his eyes—too hard to keep them open with the pain in his head—and nodded slowly.

“One full day, asshole. Your car accident was last night. Hey, count yourself lucky, though.”

Last night? How was that possible? It felt like days since he’d seen Sarah last.

“Lucky?” he whispered.

“You’re supposed to be dead already.”

Dead? How? Why?

“Oh,” was all he mumbled back.

Sleep was retaking him. So tired. Maybe rest longer, talk later. Being asleep was like a natural painkiller. He didn’t feel like shit while sleeping.

Drifting off, he heard the men talking. They laughed, said something else, then laughed again.

His last thought was a question, then he was gone.

Why

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