Their Thief

Twelve

Damaris Rana

"Cupcake, wake up."

I was awakened by Simon's voice and him gently shaking me. We're still in the pick-up, me in his arms as he drives. I can see flashing red and blue lights in the distance in front of us lighting up the dark sky that looks like it's just beginning to brighten as the sun rises.

"What's going on?" I ask with a thick, sleep filled voice as I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

"Looks like a roadblock," he replies, before turning to look at me. "I don't know what happened and I won't until your ready to tell me," he says referring to the shit I've been put through the last few weeks, "but by any chance would it warrant a roadblock being set up to look for you?" He asks, afraid of what my answer will be.

I instantly sit up straight, eyes wide at what he's insinuating. I look at him panicked. The three King brothers no doubt have enough money and power to use the police in their efforts to find me.

"Fuck," Simon mutters while letting out a sigh of frustration. "You need to hide," he says, stating the obvious.

His eyes dart around the truck as we slowly approach the roadblock. He runs his hand through his hair trying to come up with a solution to our problem, while I'm busy panicking.

"I'm going to move the seat slightly forward. I want you to squeeze yourself behind it and lie down. Be careful of the tools and stuff on the ground and put your hood up to hide your head," he says, pointing to the small space behind the seat and the metal, back wall of the cabin.

I follow his orders without asking any questions. Whatever his plan was, it was better than mine which just consisted of turning the fuck around. That would most definitely draw the cops unwanted attention towards us.

He pulls a lever underneath his seat and uses his legs to pull the entire long seat forward, making more space for me to squeeze into. He then pulls a lever on his side of the seat that causes the backrest of the seat to fold forwards.

I put my hood up and stand on the seat bent over at the waist before moving one of my legs over the partially folded seat. My hand grabbed Simon's shoulder for balance, pushing him further forward in his awkward position up against the steering wheel.

Once I'm lying on the ground with my back against the seat and my front facing the metal wall separating the cabin of the truck from the cargo bed, Simon puts the backrest of the seat back up. I hear him rustling around and see him trying to pull a duffle bag from the back through the small window above me. After he succeeds, I feel something drop on top of my lower body.

"Try to shove your legs under the seat as far as you can," he says. "Cover the parts of your body that are sticking out under he duffle bag. Once you're done let me know, I'll cover your head."

It takes me a while to shove my legs under the seat, having to kick some things out of the way while tools and materials poke into my side. Once I hide as much of myself under the seat that I can, I let Simon know. He drops the snack he got from the gas station onto my head, covering it so my entire body is hidden.

"Now don't move or make a single sound," he warns me as he drives the truck closer to the roadblock.

I breathe as quietly as I can, the sound of my pounding heart pumping blood fills my ears. I'm absolutely terrified. If the roadblock is in fact to find me, then there's a very possible chance that I'll be returning to a life of torture for an undetermined amount of time, most likely until I die, which would be very soon seeing that I'm fully prepared to kill myself to escape having to suffer at their hands once more. I know that most people would call me weak for resorting to killing myself, but I'm not. I've been through things that most grown men wouldn't be able to handle and survived, I am anything but weak, I am resilient. But I've been resilient for too long, I'm tired now. I can't handle anymore.