“No,” I shout.
He raises the unlatched top of the trunk and drops me into it. A piece of pre-cut duct tape is slapped over my mouth and my wrists are tethered behind me. A blanket billows and falls over me, plunging me into complete blackness. Then the trunk’s lid slams down.
I twist and try to yell from behind the tape, but the world is muffled.
A couple of moments later, the motor drowns out the sound of my feet kicking the sides of the trunk. I’m in a panic over my violin being left outside. I know I should be panicked for myself too, but I haven’t completely processed the danger yet.
Anvil Stroviak is kidnapping me.
Chapter Two
Rachel
When he opens the trunk, he puts a damp rag over my face that knocks me out.
When I wake, I’m fuzzy-headed and confused. My vision clears and I realize I’m on a mattress in a nearly empty room. There’s almost no light, and there’s something around my neck.
“Sasha?” I call, glad that he removed the duct tape. My wrists are free, too, but when I try to sit up, I can’t. I turn my head and find a metal chain attached to hook on the wall. It hangs down and trails over the mattress until it rises up to attach to the collar around my neck.
God!
I reach back, trying to find a way to remove it, but my fingers only find flat metal that’s locked down. I’m wearing a locked leather collar, like an animal. Or a sex slave. My stomach does a little flip at the thought.
I can’t believe C Crue has resorted to kidnapping me and keeping me in this condition. This isn’t some game they’re playing. I’m leverage, I realize.
“Sasha! C?”
A door opens, and I get a glimpse of another room that isn’t well lit either. For a split second, I see a charcoal-colored recliner. Then Anvil’s massive bulk fills the doorway and enters the room.
He pulls a metal stool to the foot of the mattress and sits on it. The stool looks too small for him, and I half expect the legs to collapse, but they hold.
“I can’t believe you guys have resorted to this.”
“Resorted?” he says, shaking his head.
“What do you call it?” I demand.
