STORM’S POV
The van smelled like oil and old smoke. My wrists were tied behind my back and my ankles were strapped tight.
My shoulder throbbed and my side burned. I kept breathing through it. But I didn’t mind the pain. Pain meant that I was still alive.
The van turned left and then right. Then Stayed straight for longer.
I counted under my breath and not loud enough for them to hear.
Maybe two minutes on a smooth road and then gravel.
There was another hard right and the tires dipped through a pothole and my knee hit the metal floor making one of the men laugh.
“Comfortable back there?” He asked and I looked up at him.
“You need better suspension.” I saide and his smiled dropped.
“You always this mouthy?” He asked.
“Only when I’m kidnapped by amateurs.” I said.
The man a
