The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

Chapter Five

I came to in a moving car. Something was pressing against my face that smelled of old socks and made the air stuffy and barely breathable. I opened my eyes, but it didn’t do any good; whatever was over my head blocked out the light completely. I was lying down, and my muscles ached like I’d been trampled by a crowd of drunks.

My heart thudded. What the hell had happened? I tried to piece together the last few moments I remembered.

Ah, right. That bloody little girl had tasered me. When I got out of this I’d have to have a stern talk with Peterson about appropriate toys for his niece.

I tried to stretch my arms, but it did no good. My wrists were tightly bound behind my back, and so were my ankles. I wriggled around and tried to sit up, but that just sent shooting pain flying through my head, so I gave up.

Hell. I was up shit creek without a paddle, a boat, or a pair of water wings. I tried to fight down a rising panic. If this car belonged to the man I thought it did, I was dead already. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Hello?” I said, my voice thin. “Any chance we can talk this out?”

No response. I doubted anyone could hear me. I had a pretty good idea I was in the trunk; whatever I was lying on wasn’t cushioned enough to be a seat. I squirmed again, managing to shuffle along a few inches before my head struck the inside of the trunk and sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through my skull.

“Ow,” I said. No point being stoic if I was by myself.

I could hear my rapid breathing even over the rumble of the car and the rain pounding outside. It was turning into a hell of a rainstorm. Not the kind of weather I wanted to die in, to be honest, but I supposed it fitted the mood.

All right, think, Miles. I could feel the handle of the folding knife digging into my hip, and the nightstick pressed against my ribs. It didn’t bode well for me if they hadn’t bothered to disarm me; it meant they weren’t planning on letting me live long enough to use them. But maybe if I could get my knife I could cut my bonds, and then…

Then what? I remembered seeing a TV show about what to do if you find yourself locked in a trunk. I was tired at the time, so I turned it off and went to bed. Why was it that I was always foiled by my desire to sleep?

Maybe I could get out through the back seat, if it was that kind of car, or maybe I could kick out the brake light.

Damn it, if only Tania hadn’t used the last of my Kemia, I’d be out of here in a snap. That girl had a lot to answer for.

No, that was just the panic talking. Maybe if I had a consistent income I’d be able to buy more than one bottle at a time. Here I lay, Miles Franco, freelance Tunneler, man who crossed worlds, trapped in a car trunk and struggling desperately to reach my pocket knife because I couldn’t afford a lousy bottle of Kemia.

It would have been funny if it wasn’t for all this imminent death.

I managed to touch the knife with the tips of my fingers when the car pulled to a halt and sent me tumbling over. Fat lot of good that did. The car engine stopped and doors were opened and closed. I waited and resisted the urge to start screaming.

There was a click, then a cool breeze washed over me and harsh artificial light came through the hood over my head. I caught a whiff of petrol and cigarette smoke.

“Think he’s awake yet?” a nasally voice said, the thick Vei accent obvious even through the hood.

Something hard jabbed me in the ribs, and I yelped.