The next thing Rush knew, his head was being pushed down to avoid clocking his skull on the frame of the door as he was shoved inside. He was panting as he slid onto the cold leather seat, aware that the man who’d exited the car joined him.
“Be good, Serpa,” the guard suggested. “If you end up back here, your next sale won’t be desirable. We don’t like returns.” He chuckled, the sound cutting off only when the door was shut.
“Where are you taking me?” Rush asked the moment he was alone with the man. He could easily lift his hands and shove the hood off his head, but he didn’t think it was a good idea.
“If I wanted you to know that, I wouldn’t have covered your eyes, asshole.”
Rush sucked in a breath. He wasn’t a violent man by nature, but lately, he’d grown a spine, and he was pissed the fuck off.
He flinched when the guy reached across him, holding his breath until he realized the man was simply buckling his seatbelt. Interesting. His new owner cared about his safety.
Rush hadn’t gotten a look at the driver, but as the limo took off, he realized there had to be another person in the car.
“Okay. Can you at least tell me why? I’m a medic. I assumed I’d been captured for my medical training. So far, I’ve been kept in a prison cell. That’s not a very good use of my skills,” he pointed out, hoping by sharing his abilities he might avoid being mistreated.
No matter what side of history anyone was on in this fucked-up world they lived in, physicians were in short supply. No one from any side of the political spectrum would risk injuring a man with medical skills.
The man chuckled. “If you’re lucky, you’ll be used for a skill far more valuable than your medical knowledge. Now, I suggest you shut the fuck up and behave yourself. I’m not in the mood to talk. If you can sit still, keep your lips closed, and not give me any trouble, I’ll take a nice nap. It’s been a long day. If you piss me off with your jabbering or movement, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
Rush rolled his eyes behind the hood. Fucking asshole. He decided it was in his best interest to sit back and leave the fucker alone though. He couldn’t exactly put up a fight with a hood and handcuffs.
Lips pursed, he leaned back and took several deep breaths. It was impossible to relax, but at least it didn’t seem he was being led toward an untimely death.
What the hell skill did he have that was far more valuable than his medical training? The man spoke in riddles. He made no sense. Rush didn’t have other trade skills. He supposed he was strong, but were they likely sending him to work in a field?
He’d been sold. To whom? What did that mean?
Fuck.
With nothing else to do, he focused his attention on the passage of time so he’d have at least some idea how far they’d traveled. Granted, what good would that do him anyway? He hadn’t been conscious when they’d brought him to this prison. He had no idea where he was in the country nor how far from The Wanderers he’d been taken. Did it really matter if they were traveling east, west, north, or south?
It turned out the drive was only about two hours by his calculation. He’d spent all of that time counting seconds and listening to his guard snore. As soon as the car came to a stop, the guy jerked awake with a groan. He quickly exited the limo before reaching in to unbuckle Rush and yank him out by his cuffs.
Rush said nothing. Less was more, he decided. Pissing off the guard wouldn’t help his situation.
The night air was cool. Maybe they’d gone north. He wasn’t outside for long though. Seconds later, another door opened and he was yanked into a warm building.
“You’re back,” a male voice stated.
“Yep. Where do you want him?”
“The cell in the basement is ready.”
Rush was jerked forward again. “Watch your step on the stairs, medic,” his captor stated. “We wouldn’t want you to fall and ruin any of your skills.” He chuckled.
What the fuck? Rush tentatively stepped forward, the guard holding on to the back of his shirt at the collar. When his foot hit the first step, he felt the difference between what he assumed was tile to what now had the feel of wood beneath his feet.
“Let’s go, Serpa. I don’t have all night.”
Rush carefully made his way down the stairs, not wanting to fall. The last thing he needed was a broken arm or leg. He’d set many of them in the last decade, but none had been his own.
He knew when he reached the bottom because the surface changed to what he suspected was concrete.
The guard stepped around him, jerked him by the cuffs again, and hauled him forward.
Rush cringed at the sound of yet another metal door that indicated another jail cell. But where was he? Was this a prison like the one he’d just left? Or a private basement with only one cell?
Finally, the hood was yanked off his head and the cuffs removed. “Make yourself at home, Serpa,” the guy stated before turning to leave the cell, shutting it and testing to make sure it was secured. “If you’re lucky, we won’t meet again.”
Why did people keep saying that?
Rush watched as the man ascended the stairs and disappeared. When the door at the top shut with a resounding snick, Rush flinched and looked around.
Great. Another prison cell. This one was different though. It was definitely in a private basement. Just the one cell. One wall was concrete. The other three sides were metal bars. At least it wasn’t as boring. He lowered himself onto the narrow bed as he took in his surroundings.
What the hell was he doing here? Sold to whom for what purpose?
He shuddered. His mind refused to come up with a realistic possibility, but he doubted he was going to like it.