How did Mark see through my disguise?
I closed my eyes, regretting for a fleeting moment that I hadn't let myself tumble out of the car when he slammed on the brakes. Still, a sliver of hope lingered—maybe he was bluffing. For now, I decided to stay silent.
Slowing my breath, I feigned unconsciousness. Mark's erratic driving was relentless, and the nausea that had been simmering in my stomach only grew worse.
"Not talking?" Mark let out a cold laugh. "You'd better pray you can keep that up, sweetheart. We're almost there."
I swallowed hard, desperate to suppress the urge to retch. With a burlap sack over my head, vomiting wasn't an option. The thought of being trapped in this space with the mess, spinning like a sock in a washing machine thanks to Mark's reckless driving, made my stoma
