The world lurches. My stomach rolls.
Moving. I'm moving.
The surface beneath me is hard. Cold. Metal maybe. Vibrating with the rhythm of?—
A vehicle. I'm in a vehicle.
My eyes crack open. Darkness. Not complete. Dim light filtering through from somewhere. Enough to see shapes. Shadows.
A van. I'm in the back of a van.
Why—
Memory hits like a fist.
The club. Nexus. Dmitri putting the ring on my finger. The toast. Then?—
Gunfire.
Screaming.
Dmitri pushing me down, his body covering mine.
The gun. I reached for a gun on the floor and then?—
Hands. Someone grabbed me. Dragged me. A man's voice in my ear, breath hot against my skin. The barrel of a gun pressed to my temple.
Dmitri's face. The way he looked at me. The way he tried to?—
The alley. Someone shot my captor. I tried to run but they were waiting. Two men in tactical gear. One of them hit me. I felt his fist connect with my face, felt myself falling, and then?—
Nothing.
Until now.
I blink, trying to focus. My vision swims. The pain in my head intensifies, sharp enough to make me nauseous.
Don't throw up. Don't make noise.
I force myself to breathe slowly through my nose. In. Out. In. Out.
The van hits a bump. My body slides across the floor, shoulder slamming into something hard. I bite down on my tongue to keep from crying out. Taste blood.
How long have I been unconscious? Minutes? Hours?
I try to move my hands. They're behind my back. Zip ties cutting into my wrists. Tight enough that my fingers are starting to tingle.
My ankles. Also bound.
Panic flares hot in my chest. I shove it down. Force it away.
Think. I need to think.
The van is still moving. I can hear the engine, feel the vibration through the floor. Hear voices from the front. Men talking. I can't make out words over the road noise.
Still moving means they haven't reached wherever they're taking me.
Still moving means I have time.
