Lord, be with me. Please. I need strength. Help me.
A hand closes around the handle of the door, and he pulls it open. A man I recognize from the mugshot of Cal Markson stands before me. His eyes widen in shock, but I don’t give him the chance to alert the others before I slam the fire extinguisher into his face. He stumbles backward, and the kitchen table splinters beneath his weight as he lands on top of it.
I sprint out, extinguisher still in hand.
The second man—a bald man with a terrifying neck tattoo—rushes toward me, a snarl on his lips. I sprint to the side, adrenaline surging through my body as I make a mad dash toward the front of the office building. It’s a busy street, so as long as I can get to the door, I can find help. Right?
A large arm bands around my waist.
I scream and thrash, but the fire extinguisher tumbles from my grip. Armed with just the knife, I stab backward into my attacker. His grip loosens on me, and I manage to slip free, but I don’t look back to see where the blade hit him. It doesn’t matter. Getting free does.
Getting help does.
My entire body goes rigid as sharp, sudden burning shoots through every one of my muscles. I fall forward, hitting the ground with enough force that it knocks the wind from my lungs.
“Keep fighting and I’ll happily tase you again,” Brenda says.
I grunt, the doorway within sight.
Until it’s not.
A hand closes around my ankle and drags me away from the light.
Away from safety.
My arms are tied behind my back again, and I’m pulled up against a hard chest.
“Get her out of sight,” Brenda snarls. “You, deal with him. He knows my face.”
Him? Who’s here?
A piece of duct tape is slapped over my mouth as the man holding me carries me just out of sight of the door. Brenda is with us, a firearm in her hand.
“Can I help you?” I hear a man ask, his tone friendly. Monster. He’s a monster! Help me! I want to kick and scream, but it’s useless.
“Agent Jack Weathers, FBI.” Hope floods my system at the sound of his familiar voice.
“What can I do for you, Agent Weathers?”
“We received a 9-1-1 call from this location. A woman who’s been missing since yesterday identified herself and said she was being held here.”
“Really?” The other man laughs. “There’s no one here,” he assures Jack.
I am! I’m here! Help!
“Do you mind if my team and I take a look around? I’d like to see for myself.”
“Stall for three minutes,” Brenda whispers, likely into an earpiece the guy currently talking to Jack is wearing.
“Agent Weathers, I’m not sure what kind of prankster you’re dealing with, but we’re in the process of clearing things out since we were shut down. I’m sure you heard that our owners were murdered.”
“And see, I’m the one working that case. I actually interviewed everyone who works here, and I don’t recognize you.”
Yes! Because it’s all fake! Help!
I try to scream against the duct tape, but no audible sound comes out as I’m thrown over a shoulder and carted up a set of back stairs.
Brenda moves up behind me. I can’t see her face, but her tall heels click on each step, all while my stomach rolls.
