But still, the air is relatively fresh and I take a deep breath, expanding my lungs, trying to shake away Ann-Marie’s issues. I can’t show up at the office already aggravated, it’d be a bad start to the day.
And at that moment, an unfamiliar black car creeps up the street at a slow crawl. The vehicle seems to have appeared from thin air, rounding the corner out of nowhere.
That’s weird. It’s almost like the car is casing me. There’s a dark figure at the wheel, but I can’t see what they look like despite squinting.
Putting my head down, I keep walking and try to focus on something else. The last thing I need is another item on my list of crap.
Maybe the person is just new to the neighborhood and decided to take a ride to learn his or her new surroundings. Maybe they’re lost and are driving aimlessly, trying to find their way back. Whatever it is, I pick up the pace, gripping my purse strap tighter.
But then the car speeds up, making my nerves prickle.
You’re being paranoid, Anna, the voice in my head says. You’re just riled up from this morning’s fight with Ann-Marie. You’re fine.
Suddenly, the driver comes to a screeching halt behind me. Maybe they’re going to ask for directions? But instead, someone jumps out of the car.
Shit.
Spinning quickly, I begin to run, but it’s too late. A few, calculated strides are all it takes for them to catch up with me.
There’s a dark presence near my back and chills erupt over my spine. Again, I try to get away but this time my wrists are seized before I can take a full step.
“Let me go!” I demand vehemently, panicky and paranoid. “Don’t touch me!”
My heart slams furiously against my chest.
Behind me, someone reaches around to fasten a gag just as I open my mouth to let out an earsplitting scream.
I still attempt to yell even though the sound is muffled by a rag covering my mouth. Terror pumps through my veins as my arms flail trying to hit something.
But it doesn’t work. The person behind me is much bigger. At least twice my size, and they’re clearly prepared for a struggle.
I’m not even able to turn my head and get a look at the person’s face because he shoves my head forward forcibly every time I try.
Somehow, I know it’s a man. There’s no other explanation for the brute force holding me in check every time I try to break free. And as if to confirm this, my captor swears harshly under his breath as I continue to struggle against his hold.
His deep voice comes out as an aggravated rumble.
“Hold still, bitch.”
With my arms pinned to my side and my back pressed flush against his chest, he begins walking back to the car he abandoned a little further down the street.
The man makes quick work of dragging me the entire way, my feet dangling precariously above the concrete sidewalk because he’s lifted me off the ground. I feel tiny pulled against him, like a limp rag doll.
When we get to the car, he drops me to my feet and I stumble forward almost hitting my head against the rising hunk of metal.
Dread seizes me and vomit rises in my throat, thick and ugly.
There are absolutely no other pedestrians or cars on the street to witness my horrendous predicament.
Oh my god.
I’m being kidnapped.
But why? Who could possibly want me?
With the trunk fully open, my captor gives me a slight shove. But I’ve planted my feet on the street, still clinging to my last ounce of freedom.
When I don’t budge, the man pushes me forward with a force I can’t match until I fall into the trunk, my head hitting the bottom with a hard thunk. Ouch! The pain makes me see stars, but I try to roll over quickly. Maybe I can somehow get out of here.
No such luck.
There’s a quick glimpse of black jeans and heavy boots before the trunk slams closed and I’m left alone inside the dark confines, shaking with complete and total fear.
Where is he taking me?
What did I do?
Who’s responsible for this?
So many questions swirl in my head, making me dizzy with confusion and terror. But then the car dips under the driver’s weight and zooms off from the curb, throwing me around inside.
This can’t be happening.
I’m being kidnapped.
Help!
CHAPTER THREE
Anna
As the car moves, I squirm and thrash around in the back of the trunk. My eyes haven’t adjusted to the total darkness and the blackness is blinding.
Still maintaining hope, I bang my balled fists repeatedly against the trunk. Hoping someone will hear me, my feet join the effort and I start kicking like a madwoman. But it’s real hard. After a few minutes, my energy is nearly zapped and my knuckles are sore and raw from the repeated beating. Oh god, what’s going on?