"Not important right now. What's important is that you cooperate and don't make this harder than it needs to be."
They start pulling me backward, away from the office and its lights and its security. Away from any possible help.
Toward a dark van parked near the fence, nearly invisible in the shadows.
No, no, no.
Never let them take you to a second location. Easier said than done.
I try to scream again, drawing in breath to make as much noise as possible. A hand clamps over my mouth before I can make a sound, covering my nose too so I can barely breathe.
"None of that now."
I bite down hard on his palm, tasting blood and skin. He yanks his hand away with a curse. "Fuck!" He shakes his injured hand, blood dripping.
Someone hits me across the cheek. Not hard enough to knock me out, just enough to stun me. My head snaps to the side and my vision blurs. My ears ring with a high-pitched whine.
They drag me to the van while I'm disoriented. The back doors swing open with a metallic screech.
"No," I manage to say through the ringing in my ears. "Please—"
They throw me inside roughly. I hit the metal floor hard, pain shooting through my shoulder and hip. The breath leaves my lungs in a painful rush.
Before I can recover, before I can orient myself in the darkness, hands are on me again. Searching my pockets roughly.
"No—" I try to twist away, but there are too many hands.
They find my phone and yank it out of my pocket.
"Give that back!" My voice is desperate now, high and frightened.
My only connection to Santino is gone.
The doors slam shut with a finality and I’m enveloped in complete, absolute darkness. I hear the front doors open and close. The engine starts with a rumble I can feel through the metal floor.
We're moving.
I scramble to sit up, my hands searching frantically for something, anything useful in the darkness. A weapon. A tool. Anything.
Nothing. Just cold, empty metal floor.
My bag—where's my bag?
They must have taken it along with everything else. My pepper spray, my wallet, my ID. Everything.
The van turns sharply and I slide across the floor, hitting the side panel hard enough to bruise. I brace myself against the wall, trying to find some stability.
Panic claws at my throat like a living thing. I can't breathe properly. Can't think past the terror flooding my system.
Did Santino see my text before they took my phone? Will he come?
Or will he think it's another game, another manipulation in my long list of manipulations?
I've played too many games with him. Created so much chaos that when something real happens, when I actually need him desperately—
He might not come.
The van slows, then stops completely. My heart pounds even harder, if that's possible. Blood rushing in my ears.
