Author's note-

Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. My muse is prodding me towards writing another novel. A historical novel. It's weird, because I usually don't write historical anything. Too much research! ;)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Everything is starting to kick off now. :D It's gonna be an explosive few chapters.

Lou

Chapter Thirty One

Hope clawed at the wooden walls around her, every breath tasting stale and sour in her mouth. Her nails were torn to shreds, blood painting her skin in vivid streaks. Exhausted tears rolled down her cheeks.

A noise outside of the small box made her pause, made her jam her ear against the warm wood and strain to hear. The distant beat of footsteps sparked hope in her chest. The lid opened, spilling bright white light into her small prison. Her eyes burned as they struggled to adjust to the sudden change.

She shrank back, leaning away from the figure standing outside. He smiled grimly at her and caught her arm, yanking her upright. Pins and needles shot through her cramped legs.

"I have a job for you, Hope," the man said. "If you refuse to do it I'll lock you back in that box and leave you there to rot."

Hope nodded, trembling. "What do you want me to do?"

He dragged her towards a table laden with clothes. Shoes littered the floor under it. "Find something to wear. You're going to deliver a package for me."

Hope stared at the table. The bright, rich colours seemed unreal after being locked in the silent darkness for so long. He slapped her, hand striking her cheek with enough force to knock her from her feet.

"I said, get dressed," he said in a slow, measured voice. Anger simmered under the words.

She scrambled away from him, using the table to pull herself to her feet. "Where am I going?"

"Back to your friends, the US Marshals." He raised an eyebrow. "If there's any of them left in this Godforsaken state, that is."

He crossed to the table and dragged his hand through the clothes there, yanking out a pale blue dress. Beads around the neckline reflected the light, throwing it across Hope's face in shades of blue and violet.

"Put this on," he ordered and threw it at her.

She caught it with one hand, crumpling the silky fabric. "I need underwear," she said quietly. "Please."

Fabric rustled against plastic as he grabbed a box from under the table and thrust it at her. "I'm sure something in there will be your size," he snarled. "Find it and get dressed. We're running out of time."

Time for what? She thought as she sorted through the box, finally coming up with a bra a size too small and panties in an ugly shade of violet.

She turned her back, slipping the panties on under the shapeless hospital gown she wore. Quickly, before she could think about it too much, she let the gown drop and reached for the bra, fastening it behind her back.

"I never would've figured someone in your profession being shy," the man said sarcastically.

Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away before turning and picking up the dress, sliding it over her head. The words she wanted but dared not say burned in her chest. "Shoes?" she asked, voice low and hoarse.

He kicked a pair of silver strappy sandals towards her and watched impatiently as she struggled with the tiny, fiddly buckles.

Finished at last, she straightened and faced him. He ran his eyes over her like he was examining a side of beef and grunted. "You'll do."

She stared at him, fear creeping into her eyes. "Where are we going?"

"I'm not going anywhere." He thrust a small, heavy box at her. "You're taking this to your friends, the Marshals."

Her fingers tightened on the box, cardboard warm against her sweating fingers. Some instinct, some primitive part of her brain was screaming at her to run, to escape and not look back. Her hands trembled, broken nails leaving smears of blood on the pristine brown cardboard.

She knew without looking what was inside of the box. It made nausea roll in her stomach, made a cold sweat break out all over her body.

He caught the look in her eyes and laughed. The sound rolled from him as if it would never stop, as if he had no control over it.

She looked closer at him, meeting his eyes for a second before flinching away, fear racing through her. Madness lurked in his eyes, tightly reined, but straining to break free. She looked down at the box and wondered if it would be the thing to break the leash.

He stopped laughing abruptly and grabbed her by the wrist. She struggled to keep up, tottering on the highest heels she had ever worn, desperate not to drop the box. Desperate to get away, yet knowing her only escape would be death. Knowing it, and welcoming it into her heart.

She looked at the box again and knew there would be no going back from this. No turning away from the things she was about to set in motion. No stopping the landslide her actions would create.

Her eyes burned, but she couldn't cry. There were no tears left inside of her. She had used them all up, spent them on other things. The time for tears had past. There would be enough wept for her once she had gone.

Stairs loomed in front of her, swaying dangerously in her sight as she started down them. His tight grip on her arm kept her on her feet as he knees weakened. They reached the bottom of the stairs.

He prodded her forward, towards a badly peeling door set into a bare brick wall. The door squealed as he pulled it open. It led outside. She blinked in the weak sunshine, wondering if it would be the last time she would feel it on her skin.

He forced her inside of a car. She watched the streets tear past in a blur, gaze fixed on the box that was going to change so very many things.