Flashes of a younger Jacob, crying openly at Grandma’s funeral and then hiding his tears at Grandpa’s funeral because he felt the need to appear grown despite being a teenager, fill my mind. He’d finally given in late one night when a bad storm scared us both, the lightning bringing Grandpa’s death back with a vengeance. Jacob had curled into my shoulder like the child he was, crying until dry sobs racked his bigger-than-me body.

I hope someone is there to hold him this time.

He’s eighteen and so responsible, but really, he’s a young man who’s lost so much. As much as I have . . . parents, family, Grandma and Grandpa.

And now, he’s going to lose me too.

Tears fill my eyes, burning hot and acidic. I wipe them away angrily, hating that they make me seem weak on the heels of my powerful ‘I will kill you’ speech.

Sebastian’s eyes ping-pong from me to Yvette, back and forth. “Kill? Nobody is going to die. That’s not what this is about. Tell her.”

His eyes land on Yvette, who’s still eyeing me like she’d be quite happy if I dropped dead right here and now.

“Vettie?” Sebastian warns when she doesn’t agree.

Begrudgingly, she huffs out, “Whatever.”

“Good,” he says soothingly. “How about we talk things out like adults?”

“Adults do not kidnap people, Sebastian,” I growl, bristling against his placating tone while I’m contemplating my mortality.

He turns hard eyes on me. “I’m trying to help here. Work with me.”

It’s an order, blunt and clipped. Any sense of kindness dissipated, both in his words and his eyes, which are cold now, freezing me in place. Yvette, I feel confident I can handle. I’ve got size, age, and desperation on her. Sebastian, he could turn me into a puddle of Zoey goo easily, probably without breaking a sweat.

Sweat . . . ew, that’s what that the bag of wet, smelly clothes was in the trunk. His workout clothes.

Absently, I wipe my hands on my scrubs again.

“Okay,” Sebastian says, taking my silence as agreement. “Vettie, tell Zoey what you want,” he prompts, playing the mediator.

I swallow down the questions I want to ask, trying to pick up any clue I can in the hope that it’ll help me get away safely. Because I don’t believe for a second that they don’t intend to kill me. It’s the second rule of kidnapping, just after don’t go to a secondary location . . . if you see the kidnappers’ faces, they can’t let you go.

And here I am in the middle of nowhere at a secondary location, not only able to see Yvette and Sebastian’s faces, but I know who they are. Hell, I’ve been in Yvette’s trash and likely have Sebastian’s junk in my work refrigerator.