Then it's gone.
"Get in the car, Holly. Don't make me force you."
I want to run. Want to scream. Want to fight.
“If I climb into this car, then I’m dead.”
“No, Holly, you’re dead if you don’t.”
His warning shoots fear into every nerve and fiber of my being. I don’t doubt he means it.
So I climb into the car.
He slides in beside me, close enough that his thigh presses against mine. The door closes with a final-sounding thunk, and the driver pulls away from the curb.
I press myself against the opposite door, putting as much distance between us as possible.
We drive in silence through the rain-wet streets. Christmas lights twinkle from lampposts and storefronts, cheerful and bright, a stark contrast to the darkness inside the car. Couples walk hand in hand, laughing and smiling, heading home from holiday parties.
Free.
They're all free, and I'm trapped in this car with a killer.
I take stock of the men inside the car. My captor to my left. And two men in the front.
Three men standing between me and freedom.
"Where are you taking me?" My voice comes out steadier than I expect.
"Somewhere safe."
"Safe for who?"
He turns to look at me, and in the passing streetlights, I can see his face clearly. He’s all brutal beauty and cold precision, without an ounce of emotion. "For you, actually. Whether you believe that or not."
"I don't."
"You will."
The city doesn't give way to suburbs or highway. Instead, we're heading south, toward the airport. My stomach drops.
"We're flying somewhere?" The question comes out small and frightened.
"Yes."
I hate flying.
But just add that to the list of terrors tonight.
"Where to?”
"You'll see when we get there."
Panic claws at my throat. If he puts me on a plane, I could end up anywhere. Russia. Europe. Somewhere I'll never be found.
"I need to use the bathroom," I try.
"We will be on the plane within ten minutes."
