Remembering everything Archer taught me about self-defense, I spin around to face the bastard, driving my knee into his balls with every ounce of twelve-hour shift rage. Heimmediately drops to the ground in agony, but his arms still work just fine. Reaching out, he grabs my lower leg. And no matter how much I tug to pull it free, he hangs on, keeping me from running again.
The other guy, bigger with gray hair, slows to a walk when he catches up to us. I don’t think, I just act. Lunging for him, I slam my clenched fist into the front of his throat.
Eyes bulging, he makes a gagging sound and clutches his neck with both hands. Behind him, I see a flash of headlights. It’s that damn SUV they rode up in moving closer. Who knows how many more sons of bitches are inside of it!
Unfortunately, my moment of distraction gives the kneeling man time to recover. He snatches my other leg and jerks both of them out from underneath me.
My ass hits the pavement so hard my teeth chatter. My right elbow throbs from taking the brunt of my weight since my fingers are holding onto my phone for dear life.
“SOMEBODY HELP ME!” I scream at the top of my lungs and then lift my boots to try and shove the heel into the man’s face. One kick lands, slamming into his chin and mouth hard enough that he thankfully, finally, swears loudly and releases my legs.
As I scramble to my feet, my tote slips off my shoulder. I make the snap decision to leave it behind and run when an iron band wraps around my waist from behind. I’m yanked clean off my feet and hauled up against a solid chest.
“STOP! HELP!” I shout while struggling. My phone is ripped from my hand and hits the ground. I grieve its loss, but at least my hands are now free to put up a fight. My fingernails frantically claw at the arm holding me, now carrying me toward the SUV. The passenger door is left open…waiting.
No. Nope. I’ll be damned if I’m going in there.
“Let me go!” I ram my heels against my captive’s shins then throw my head back, trying to catch him off guard by busting his face.
“Enough!” he growls into my ear, tightening his grip until my ribs protest.
The closer we get to the SUV, the harder I fight and the louder I yell. I throw elbows into his gut, and my boots aim for his kneecaps, while shredding the back of his hand with my nails, anything to make him let go. Nothing fucking works.
“You’re making this more difficult than it needed to be!” he grumbles.
Is he fucking kidding? The asshole is annoyed that I’m making my kidnapping more difficult?
Fuck him.
I’m about to say as much when his heavy hand presses on the back of my head, slamming my face down onto a leather passenger seat.
Oh shit. I’m in the damn SUV.
I scream for help, for the police, for anyone to save me now.
Around me, the men speak to each other in an unfamiliar language I wish I understood over my shouts. The arm around my waist pulls free, then my arms are wrenched behind my back so hard that tears fill my eyes. A second later, my wrists are held together, bound.
“This is to keep you from hurting yourself,” the annoyed man behind me says. He’s tying my hands so I can’t hurt myself? He’s so full of shit.
He then speaks to the others, giving them what sounds like orders I can’t interpret.
An arm wraps around my knees, binding them together with something tight, limiting my ability to kick anyone else in the face before my ankles are restrained as well.
Shit.
In the quiet that follows my defeat, everyone is breathing heavily, myself included. But I’m not giving up yet. I roll myself over, falling down into the floorboard…and getting stuck on my back.
Above me, an intimidatingly large man in a dark suit hovers. He takes a step closer, his chest heaving from exertion or in anger, maybe both. When the streetlamp illuminates his face, it’s all hard edges and brutal authority. The blood pouring from his nose down his lips and chin makes him even more menacing.
I did that to him.
I should be proud of myself for busting his nose. Archer would be. He would tell me that the fucker deserved it and that he hopes it hurts like hell.
“Hello, Alina,” the suit says. Despite his greeting, his tone is cold, face expressionless as if this is all a completely normal encounter, and I’m now what I can only assume is zip tied, lying on the floorboard of my kidnappers’ car while his nose pours blood.
Maybe this is all normal for him.
I open my mouth to scream again, but he immediately leans over me, slapping his palm securely over my mouth to muffle the noise.
