22
“Mars!”
I heard the voice. It had to be Jack’s. Something pushed against me, swinging me. My wrists hurt. So did my shoulders.
“Mars!”
I cracked open my eyes to darkness. “Where am I?”
“In the gas station garage,” Jack said. “Wade took Hank. We have to get out of here.”
By this time, I realized why my arms hurt. I was strung up by my wrists, hanging in the air. Muscles and joints strained, threatening to pop and break from my weight.
In full panic, I grappled to find anything that I could rest against. Anything that’d relieve the pull of my cheesecake-loving poundage.
“Get me down!” I yelled.
“I’m stuck up here with you,” he said.
“How do we get down? My arms are killing me.”
He extended his leg to touch mine. “Can you swing over? Wrap your legs around me. It’ll relieve some
