After ten more seconds of silence, Beverly groaned aloud and called out, "What happens if I come out?"

The raspy chuckle she received in answer to her words was almost more unsettling than the gunshots. "I'm not sure, sweetness—why don't we find out together?"

It was Dennis. Oh, it was absolutely, definitely, one-hundred-percent Dennis.

Creepy, creepy Dennis.

Dragging in a shaky breath, she replied, "I'd rather that I stay in my spot, and you stay in yours, actually."

"Would you?" A pause, a shuffling of feet, and then a quiet shriek from one of the girls in the lounge. Taking a peek around the bin, Beverly gulped audibly when she found Dennis, surrounded by five of his lackeys, holding one of the girls by her hair, his gun against her temple. "I've gotta tell you, sweetheart, you and Deborah have pissed me the hell off today. I'd say you have a lot to make up for, don't you agree?"

"And if I say I'm not interested?"

Dennis smiled, far too sweetly, and she wondered in the back of her mind if he'd ever considered attending an audition for The Joker. "And if I shot this bitch?"

Right.

Standing on shaky legs, Beverly met eyes with the girl, mouthing the words, I'm so sorry, as she stepped away from her metal bins of protection. "I don't have anything for you," she told him honestly as she stepped closer.

Dennis' grin didn't falter. "Oh, don't say that, gorgeous; I'm sure we can figure out an arrangement. Like I said, you've been a bit of a problem."

Beverly didn't respond as she edged closer, noting in her peripheral vision as the other of the two girls slunk away. Inwardly releasing a sigh of relief, Beverly stopped two feet from Dennis, somewhat surprised when his lackeys didn't immediately pin her down and punch her around. "I assume this is a 'me for her' type of situation?"

Dennis hummed. "Aren't you a conundrum? I don't think I've ever met a smart blonde before."

She couldn't stop a scowl from forming. "Well, I have yet to meet a smart drug dealer, so I suppose some of us are luckier than others."

Oh, damnit, Beverly, are you freaking serious right now? Shut the hell up! Now is not the time to act like Deb!

It was too late, of course.

Dennis sneered at her. "When I said 'smart,' I didn't mean 'smart mouth,' doll. Shut up."

Beverly sucked in a scared breath and nodded once stiffly. "That's better," the man crooned, sending a shudder down her spine. "Now, I'm going to let this girl go," he released said girl's arms, angling his gun at the back of her head, "and you're going to switch places with her very slowly."

Beverly did as ordered, her steps careful even as she leveled the other girl with a look that hopefully conveyed the message of, Hang in there, and please don't do anything stupid. That's my job.

Well, she hoped the first part of that thought was conveyed, anyway.

Once she was close enough, Dennis clutched her shoulder and pushed her to the left, until she slammed into one of his lackeys. "Red," Dennis grumbled, eyeing the man holding her. "Bring her downstairs; I'll be right behind you." He turned to the other men, and began to provide them with additional orders, but Beverly was already being dragged away.

The man who held her, Red, had on hand on the back of her neck, his fingers tight but thankfully not enough to cut off her airway. "Come on," his voice wasn't quite as deep or creepy as Dennis', but Beverly still didn't want to risk messing with him unless she had to do so.

They stumbled down the stairs awkwardly, and Red pushed her against the wall by the exit while he peeked outside the door to ensure no on was nearby.

For once, Beverly mused, I wish more students stayed at campus over break.

Once he determined the path was clear, Red peeled her off the wall and began to guide her across campus and toward the parking lot behind the dorms. "Don't even try to get out of this," he hissed when she tilted her head towards a nearby emergency blue light box unconsciously.

Damn.

He stopped in front of a sleek black Lexus, and Beverly rolled her eyes. How inconspicuous was such a car on a college campus filled with beat-up Hondas and Fords?

Honestly.

Wait, Beverly's mind nearly short-circuited. I'm at a car. They're taking me off campus.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

What the hell was she supposed to do if they got her off campus?! She'd probably be killed! What was that rule her dad had always told her? "Never let them take you to a second location, Bev. Chances of death go way up."

Oh, like hell.

They were not about to murder her before she got the chance to apologize to both Cynthia and Griffin for her inability to mind her own business. Or before she strangled Deb for getting involved in such nonsense. Or before she got to thank Francis for being such a wonderful friend.

Waiting until they were just beside the vehicle, Beverly shot her legs up, planting her shoes on the shiny black paint and pushing against it as hard as she could to throw herself backwards. The action caught Red off guard, and he cursed as they tumbled back.

Her momentum was enough to remove Red's grip from her body and send him staggering away. Unfortunately, it sent him far enough that he wasn't near to block her fall, and Beverly's head slammed into the asphalt of the parking lot with a sickening Thud!

Crap on a carpet, that hurts!

Well, there went her first attempt at escape.

Blinking spots from her vision, Beverly squinted in the suddenly too-bright glare of the day, idly wondering when the dark clouds of winter had become so disgustingly obnoxious. Red came to stand over her after a beat, looking like a competitive fisherman who'd just caught an award-winning bass.

"You're a bitch," he noted. "And an idiot."

She couldn't move anything except her facial muscles, and she scowled as fiercely as she could manage with the pain in her head.

Another figure suddenly stood beside Red, but it took Beverly a few minutes to clear her vision enough to recognize it as Dennis the damn menace.

"Don't be difficult, Beverly," he chuckled. "Now," he plucked her up, and she bit back the urge to vomit at the abrupt movement and the way it sent her brain jostling around in her skull. "I have no doubt that you sent Deb away to protect her. As you must know, we need to get rid of her—she knows just a bit too much. I'll keep you for a while, though: I like the entertainment you provide. Get her in the car." The words were snapped, and Beverly was shifted into someone else's—Red's, probably—hold a moment later, mentally screaming at herself to Get it together, Beverly, God!

She was jostled violently as Red shoved her in the car, and Beverly (partly to spite them and partly because they'd been too rough with her most-likely-concussed head) threw up over the leather seats.

"Ah, shit!" the man who'd tossed her in exclaimed. "Seriously?!"

Dennis's voice carried over the driver's seat: "Just get inside, Red; we'll take care of it later. Let's go."

Beverly groaned, eyeing the ceiling of the car and wondering why the image of it was so fuzzy. "Don' feel good—lemme go, dumbnuts."

There was a bark of laughter from Dennis. "Attitude even while concussed? I'm impressed. Off we go." The car started moving, and Beverly's fingers scrabbled against the leather seats, looking for something stable to keep her from sliding onto the floor. "Where did you send Deborah, Darling? I sent some of my guys after her and that fellow with her, but they—regrettably—lost the pair. I was hoping you could help me out."

Grunting when they took a curb too fast and she slid into the door, Beverly managed a derisive snort. "No telling. Lea' em 'lone."

"Damnit, Red," Dennis's curse was hushed as he spoke to the other man. "How hard did she hit the ground?"

"I didn't think it was that hard," Red mumbled like a guilty five-year-old, "It's not my fault she tried to be Bourne or some shit. I didn't realize how tiny she was when I tried to catch her, and I missed."

Dennis heaved a dramatic sigh. "Next time, take that into consideration, will you? I can't have—" he was stopped from scolding Red further by the ringing of a phone. A beat of silence, and then, "Hello?"

A pause as Dennis listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, and then he snapped, "This is the part where you tell me you're joking. What? Goddamnit!" A thump as he no doubt hit the steering wheel, followed by another slew of curses. "I should've known. Don't worry, we'll take care of the other girl—try to do some damage control on that end; we'll meet at the safe location tomorrow, alright? I'll bring the girl with me."

Even with a concussion, Beverly knew that wasn't good news for her. She was guessing the call had come from another one of the lackeys, probably informing Dennis that the police were investigating Joseph Harris, which would explain why he was so upset.

Or, the small, still sane part of her mind supplied, He was just told that Deb and Griffin went to the police and handed over a mine of incriminating evidence that would keep him locked up for life.

Had it just been the news of Harris, Beverly would have still had hope for herself. Surely they wouldn't realize her connection to that particular incident. But if the news had been about Deb and Griffin . . . .well, her chances were next to none. Dennis would blame Beverly for getting Deb out of the situation, and—if the call had been any indication—fully intended to make her pay for interfering.

In other words, she was screwed.

Well. Damn.

***

Beverly fell unconscious at some point in between the noise of squealing tires and another sharp turn. When she came to, the car was still moving, but there were no other sounds. The first emotion she felt was unadulterated panic.

If the world outside was silent, it meant they were away from the city, in a who-knows-where location where Beverly would probably end up dead in a ditch after getting beat up by Dennis, Red, and any other men or women who would meet up with them.

Keeping her eyes shut (it would help keep the nausea at bay, as well as ensure that Dennis and Red remained unaware of her consciousness), she made sure her breaths were slow and even, then waited patiently.

The car slowed, then started again several breaths later, meaning they were still in the presence of streetlights, or—at the very least—four way stops.

Good, Beverly mused. So, there should be some form of civilization nearby, even if it's just a tiny town with fifty people.

People meant medical services and police officers, which meant Beverly still had a chance to get out of this disaster, so long as she kept what was left of her concussed head on straight. Cracking open one eye, the first thing she noted was the she had somehow ended up on the car's floor, the vomit she'd expelled earlier dangerously close to her head.

The outlines of Dennis and Red weren't hard to make out; Dennis was still driving, while Red was scrolling through his phone. Beverly's position meant that, while she could see the backs and side of their heads. The two couldn't see her unless they peeked over the center console.

She'd finally caught a bit of a break. Opening both eyes, she shifted her gaze to the handle of the doors on either side of her. Unfortunately, the locks were embedded in the plastic of the door, meaning she wouldn't be able to unlock it unless she had the car keys, or used the master console settled by the driver's seat.

It wouldn't matter if she managed to unlock the door anyway, of course—they were still moving, and she didn't fancy jumping from a moving vehicle and adding another slew of injuries to go along with her busted head.

She'd have to get them to stop somehow.

Eyeing the vomit by her head almost evilly, Beverly was pleased to know that her brain—for as sluggish and disoriented as it felt—was working just fine.

Perfect.