Whenever I’m watching a movie, and someone is being grabbed or taken, I yell at the screen, willing the character to fight or kick their attackers. I always thought that I would scream at the top of my lungs if something like that happened to me.
But my body has its own, independent reaction to danger. It’s slowly becoming clear to me that I have absolutely no control over it. For the second time tonight, I’m frozen and unsure of what’s going on.
There’s cloth covering my eyes, nose, and mouth. All of my face, actually. I’m walking, or rather, being dragged somewhere, then I enter what sounds like a car. My mind is racing, but the rest of me is utterly still. I feel the vehicle moving, and despite the fact that I can’t see anything anyway, I shut my eyes.
Was this what Dylan meant when he said he was “taking care of it”? Is my son’s father trying to get rid of me? I sit up at the thought, and whoever is holding my upper arm jabs something into my ribs.
I’ve seen enough movies to know it has to be a gun. Hysterical laughter wants to erupt from my throat. Someone’s holding a gun to my ribs! I’m a lunch lady at a high school cafeteria, and I’m being held at fucking gunpoint.
After we exit the vehicle, we walk for a bit, doors are opened and closed, and I’m led up several flights of stairs. Since I can’t see, I make a misstep and stumble whenever we reach a landing, but the strong, bruising grip on my upper arm keeps me from falling on my face.
Then, I’m shoved onto a chair. As each of my ankles is tied to a chair leg, I thank God I changed my mind at the very last minute and wore shorts instead of a miniskirt. My legs being spread like this, leaving me vulnerable to anything…
I squeeze my eyes harder, like that’s going to be effective against whatever these kidnappers have planned for me, and it helps dispel at least some of the dark thoughts.
The tips of my fingers are freezing cold and numb. The rope is tightening around my waist and upper arms, then snakes around behind me to secure my wrists. When the fabric is yanked off my face, my stupid eyes decide to open really wide, only to be assaulted by a bright beam of light.
The two masked men standing in front of me start laughing when I wince and squirm helplessly. The air in the room is stale and kind of gross.
“What’s wrong, princess, the accommodations not to your liking?” one of them taunts me cruelly.
“Are you with the club? Is this…? Can you tell Dylan I want to talk to him?”
They look at each other. The light and the ski masks make it hard to discern their facial expressions.
“The only person you need to talk to is the Preacher, and we’re about to let him know you’re here,” the other man, the one shining the flashlight into my face, informs me.
“Why would I need a preacher? Oh, God, don’t kill me, please! I have a son, please… I won’t make any problems with custody, I swear on my son’s life!”
“Bitch must be high,” the cruel one says. “Let’s go, man. I still have deliveries to make.”
The door closes, and I’m left alone in the dark room. I don’t bother screaming or calling after them; I’m glad they left without beating or assaulting me. This time, I think, and I shudder.
As my eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, I see that there is a skylight on the ceiling, but no windows on the walls. I hear a sound to my right, and I still.
Please, God, don’t let it be a rat or some equally disgusting animal that’s going to come and start eating me.
I slowly turn and focus my eyes, and I see another chair with a person in it. A man, large and muscular, but hunched over weirdly. I can only see the top of his head; it looks like he usually shaves it, but hasn’t in a few days.
I gasp, and he lifts his face to look at me. His right eye is swollen shut, and he has a bloody lip.
“Who are you?” He rasps out.
Chapter 5
Hawk
When I hear the lock turn in the middle of the night, I assume the worst. Lord knows I’m not ready to die yet, but then again, who is?
I decide to keep my head down and fake sleep. Maybe they’ll untie me for transport; then, I’d have a fighting chance.
They shuffle around the room, and when I manage to take a peek, I see that they’re tying a hooded woman to the chair. Shit.
She looks to be 5’5 or 5’6, around 140-145 pounds. She’s wearing high-heeled boots, fishnets, a pair of tiny shorts, and what looks like a corset.
Cold dread seizes my gut. Are they going to rape or traffic her?
God, please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, I chant to myself to keep from freaking out.
