Either I manifest an escape, convincing myself I can use the taser I shoved up my oversized sleeve when he was busy showing off his gun to terrified onlookers, or I crumple under the pressure and give up.
Which isn’t really an option at all, and certainly not one I’ll be taking.
“Move faster,” he snaps.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping back at him. We’re already walking faster than is comfortable for me, and believe me, if it meant removing the bruising force of the gun against my spine, I would be doing exactly that.
He guides me down another alley, the stench of garbage overwhelming me as we pass the back of several restaurants.
I don’t know these streets well enough to know where I am, and he’s counting on that.
I’m less likely to run if I don’t have a clear escape.
The taser will buy me thirty seconds if I’m lucky, but if I’m not, if I can’t get him somewhere without a thick layer of clothing, it might be significantly less than that.
This guy seems like he’s highly trained. From how he bypassed Cruz’s top-of-the-line security to how he effortlessly abducted me from a public place. He’s not some backyard stalker who is likely to make mistakes, which means the likelihood of me being able to hold the taser in place for five seconds or more isn’t likely.
Maybe I should have started carrying the gun Cruz bought me for my twenty-first birthday.
At least that has an almost guaranteed chance of incapacitating someone.
A stray tear rolls down my cheek, the only outward sign of the terror beating inside me.
I can’t stop thinking about the what-if.
What if I can’t get away?
What if Colten can’t get to me in time?
My phone is still sitting on the table with my bag at the café, so there’s no way he’ll be able to triangulate my location using that.
What if I’m about to say goodbye to everything I love?
I press my eyes closed for a moment, trying desperately to gather my composure, but my foot snags on something, andbefore I have a chance to catch myself, I’m hitting the damp ground with a cry.
My palms scrape across the bitumen painfully, causing a fresh wave of tears to fall.
Fuck. I was doing so well.
“Get up!” he snaps, grasping my bicep and tugging me to my feet. My shoulder screams in protest, but I barely manage to get my footing underneath me before he’s shoving me forward once more.
“I need to slow down,” I say carefully.
“No.”
We come to the point where two alleys meet, and I chance a look to my left, only to find a dead end at the other end.
I look down at my feet, focusing on the hole in my favorite leggings and the blood that seeps through the soft fabric, using the pain to ground me, to force my mind back to the task at hand.
Escape.
I wrap my arms around myself as subtly as I can manage before slipping the taser into my right hand. Each movement is slow and precise, and if my kidnapper is any the wiser, he doesn’t make it known.
“How much further?” I whisper. “I’m in a lot of pain.”
“Not my problem.”
“Well, it kind of is. I’ll need my cuts cleaned unless you want to be dealing with an infection.”
