No.
No, no, no…
I thrash with everything I have left, catching the edge of the doorframe with my boot hard enough to jar my whole leg. He swears, shoves me harder, and I go down awkwardly into what feels like the back seat or cargo space, my shoulder slamming into metal, my hip into rubber matting.
Hands on my wrists.
Plastic biting skin.
Zip ties.
I jerk, twist, try to wrench free before they cinch tight, but he’s faster.
Always faster.
The first tie locks.
Then the second.
Too tight.
My breathing goes ragged and ugly under the hood, every inhale hot and trapped and not enough. My boots scrape uselessly against the floor. I hear him climb in after me for one second, close enough that his breath reaches my cheek through the fabric.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says, conversational like we’re discussing weather and not the complete collapse of my life. “You’re going to stay quiet. You’re going to stay useful. And if you make me work harder than necessary, I’ll stop being polite.”
My whole body is shaking.
I force air in.
Force it out.
Think.
Outside, I hear a burst of laughter from farther up the street.
A car door somewhere else.
The ordinary sounds of a town still existing.
So close.
So close and not enough.
Then the engine starts.
The vibration shudders through the floor under me.
I throw myself sideways, slam my shoulder into the door, kick wildly, try to make noise, make impact, makeanythinghappen.
Cole catches my ankle and yanks hard enough to wrench a cry out of me.
“Careful,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you hurt before they get to see you.”
He’s right… they will come.
That thought should calm me.
Instead, it breaks me open right down the middle.
