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VERONICA'S boots were completely ruined after the Russian soldiers had dragged her to another room. So now she had scuffed shoes, a pounding headache, oh – and she was strapped to a chair with her ex-boyfriend. How could things get any worse?
Steve had fallen into an unconscious state. The head officer had laughed at him once his comrades bound the teenagers to an uncomfortable seat. Veronica tried fighting against her restraints again, but she knew it was completely useless. "I think your friend needs a doctor," the officer said, clicking his tongue. He picked up Steve's head by the root of his hair, and Veronica could do nothing but allow a fresh set of tears to gather in her eyes. She hated crying – oh, god, did she hate it – but the waterworks were flowing and she couldn't stop them.
The officer set down Steve's head, which fell limp onto his chest, before spinning on the heel of his boot. He circled around them and crouched in front of Veronica, meeting her eye level. She turned away. Shaking his head, he jerked her chin back over to him and whispered, "Don't fret, girl. Good thing we have the very best." He moved her chin from side to side, taunting her like a cat.
Veronica Moreda would never be a cat. She was a piranha.
The Russians left after that, but she could only guess that they would be back with their best doctor. Veronica assumed that meant nothing good. She let a few more tears fall onto her lap before sucking them up and blowing out a steady breath of air. There wasn't enough time to cry. She needed to stay focused.
Veronica looked over her shoulder, watching Steve's head bob back and forth. Biting the inside of her cheek, she began to rock their conjoined bodies back and forth, attempting to make as much movement as she could with her arms and legs tied. She rocked them side to side, forward and backward, but it was no use. Steve wasn't waking up.
"Fucking hell," she muttered under her breath. Licking her lips, she looked over her other shoulder at Steve again. He was still breathing. "C'mon, Steve," she whispered, struggling to hop up and down in the seat. "You've – well, tried to – beat up Billy Hargrove. You can beat up a few Russians."
She wiggled around, seeing if that would at least loosen the straps that bound her, but that, too, did nothing. "Dammit," Veronica grumbled, abruptly stopping her own movements. She leaned her head back and watched the ceiling. "Guess I'll just fucking die here –"
"G – God, Ronnie. You can't kill the swearing for just one m – minute?"
Veronica gasped, looking back at her ex-boyfriend, who swung his heady around lazily. From the corner of her eye, she thought he was still sleeping, but his lips were moving, whispering words she couldn't hear. "Steve? Steve! You there?"
"Physically, yes," he slurred. "Mentally, I feel like cow shit. My ears are ringing, and I can't really breathe. My eye feels like it's about to pop out of my skull, but – you know, apart from that, I'm doing pretty good."
