He’d blocked my number, but I still texted him the number to indicate an emergency anyway. I tried to type in the actual number tocall, but then I couldn’t feel my thumbs. And then the phone was taken out of my hand.
“Yeah, she’s just had too much to drink,” Pierre said to a passerby. “Just waiting for a ride.”
The people continued on, unaware that I was slowly losing all my motor functions. I was exhausted, but my body was also unresponsive.
What the fuck did this asshole give me?
Sometime later, a black van pulled up. The side panel slid open, and two guys got out and came toward me. “She looks healthy.”
“Get her in the car and check her blood type,” Pierre said.
What in the actual fuck?
Each guy hooked a hand underneath one of my arms and dragged me up.
In a burst of rage, I was able to shove one aside and scream. Scream bloody fucking murder.
The guy clamped a hand over my mouth and nose, so I was silenced and smothered.
Pierre joined in, grabbing me by the legs to help me into the van.
“Did you give her enough?” one guy asked.
“Yeah,” Pierre said as he walked backward toward the van. “Maybe she weighs more than I thought.”
When they got close to the van, I found another surge of strength and tried to free myself from their grasp, but all I did was tumble slightly and almost hit the ground. My dress was forced up to my waist, my thong was exposed, but my bare ass on the street was the least of my problems right now.
Headlights suddenly came toward us down the small alleyway.
“Fuck, hurry,” Pierre said. “Just throw her in.”
I tried to fight again, but whatever poison was in my body had reached critical levels, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.
Another pair of headlights came from the opposite direction. They grew closer and closer, a beam of light from both directions.
Oh, thank god. Surely no one would see what was happening and just leave me there.
The guys tried to shove me into the van, but only half my body made it. My head hit the edge of the van, and then my knees smacked into the cobblestones. One of the guys stepped on my wrist, and all I could do was groan, not even scream.
Doors slammed. The headlights stopped moving.
“Oh, we’re fucked,” Pierre said. “Guns, quick.”
I tried to crawl away from the van, but all I could do was drag myself an inch or two. Then I jerked when I heard gunshots, a machine gun firing a hundred rounds into the air in just a couple seconds.
I pulled myself away again, my broken body useless, and then I saw the silhouette of men coming near. I hoped they were friends instead of foes, because I couldn’t do shit right now. Not even write my own name.
Then I heard a voice I’d recognize anywhere, in a crowded room or in my dreams.
“You picked the wrong woman, boys.” The machine gun fired again, the noise so earsplitting I thought I went deaf. “Rocco, take Aurelia.”
“Con—Constantine?” I said it so quietly that no one could have possibly heard me.
A man came near, dark hair and eyes like Constantine, but it definitely wasn’t him. He pulled down my dress before he scooped me into his arms like I weighed less than the shirt on his back. He turned me away from the commotion and toward the headlights.
“Round them up,” Constantine ordered.
I heard the sound of fighting and a gunshot or two. I heard a man scream so high pitched he sounded like a woman.
