These were ruthless, vicious men. Why they hadn’t killed me yet I still didn’t quite understand. It seemed like I was being used as a bartering chip. Either that or they wanted to kill me closer to home to make it easier to get rid of my body or to show it off to make a point. I wasn’t sure. I hoped it was them wanting to ransom me off. At least then I had a chance of surviving.
Though I refused to tell them I was pregnant. I knew a person’s first instinct would be to tell someone that to gain sympathy or mercy. But I knew these men wouldn’t give any of that. They could torture me in a way I could never recover from. They could hurt me and use it to prove they would do worse later.
Terror ran through my veins. I had never been scared before, not like this. Not only was I scared for my own life, but for the life in my stomach. The life that was still so brand-new, still growing in me, depending on me to keep it safe.
Silently, curled up in the darkness of the room they had stuck me in, I wondered about Aiden. I worried for him. What if they found him too? What if he chased after me and they caught him?
Would I ever get out of here? Would I ever see the sun again? So many questions continued to run through my mind, worry gripping my heart. All I wanted was to get out.
The door opened across from me, and I curled in tighter. Every time they came in, it was to move me or to hit me. Sometimes they just came in to kick me once and then leave. Sometimes it was more involved. Violence for no reason other than terror. These were the men my father tried to keep from having power. I understood why.
I recognized the shadow of the man in the doorway, his face obscured by the only light being behind him. He was tall and wide, and he smelled like tuna fish all the time. But he was one who didn’t hit me. He just carted me from place to place. He told me to shut up. He was cold and calculating and unfeeling. It was somehow worse.
“Don’t fight,” he said as he neared me.
Instinctively, I leaned away from him, and he grabbed me harshly to hold me in place. Throwing a black bag over my head, he pulled on my elbow. My hands were still tied behind my back, zip ties cutting into my wrists so deep that I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or blood that made them slippery. I didn’t dare try to get out of them, though. Where would I go?
“Where am I going?” I asked. I tried not to let my voice waver, to sound strong, but I failed. The fear gripped me like ice.
“Don’t worry about it,” another voice said. I recognized it instantly. It was the man who had called, the man who had tried to kidnap me already.
The first man shoved me until I walked, and I could hear doors open as they guided me through the building. Another door opened, and I could feel the heat of the sun. It was cold and bitter outside, the air full of moisture like rain or snow was coming. But the sun was out. The sun was out, and it was shining down on me.
The glory of that sunshine only lasted a moment before the hand yanked and held me still, then bent me in half and shoved me inside a car.
“Scoot over,” the voice of the tuna man said. I did and felt two men file in on either side of me. I must have been on a bench seat in the back of a car.
The car started up, and the men rode in silence. We made it a few minutes before a sharp turn seemed to take them by surprise. I wondered what it was, but before I could hazard a guess, a loud cracking sound seemed to explode beside me. I bent down low as the sound started on the other side too. Both men were firing out of the windows, and the car came to a sudden stop. The doors opened, and I felt the vacancy of the seats on either side.
I curled myself into the seat, my eyes clenched shut even with the bag over my head. I could hear glass exploding, and some of it rained down on my body. The gunshots exploded all around the car, and I heard a sound that sounded like gurgling, then a thump just outside the door. Tears streamed out of my eyes. I hoped this wasn’t the end.
There was silence for a moment, an eerie silence. The sound of a man arguing could be heard clearly, but I couldn’t make out the words. It was in Italian, but nothing I could make out. Then a final, single gunshot. I sat in the quiet for a moment, waiting, terrified of what would come next.