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Reduce them.

Whoever did this needs privacy.

Not merely somewhere empty. Somewhere they have reason to believe will stay empty.

That removes most public businesses. Probably the church, unless the person taking me has lost considerably more perspective than I currently understand. Residential property carries neighbors, deliveries, passing traffic. The farther outside town we go, the easier this becomes.

Forest.

Abandoned property.

Something near the river.

The car slows.

Every muscle in my body wants to tighten.

I don't let it.

Instead, I count.

One.

Two.

Three.

The tires turn onto something rougher.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Gravel spits beneath us.

The engine cuts off, and the sudden absence of vibration leaves my body feeling strangely untethered. For several seconds there is nothing but the pounding behind my eyes and the faint metallic ticking of the car cooling around me.

Then a door opens.

Closes.

Footsteps.

I roll onto my side as quietly as I can and test my hands again. Whoever put me in here bound my wrists behind my back with something narrow enough to bite into the skin when I pull against it. Plastic, I think. Zip ties, probably.

The trunk opens.

Cold air rushes in, painfully bright daylight following it, and I squeeze my eyes shut on instinct. A hand closes around my upper arm before my vision has time to adjust.

I kick.

Or attempt to.

With my ankles secured, the movement is ineffective, but my heel connects with something hard enough to earn a sharp grunt.

Male.