I struggle to keep my breathing shallow and my body still.
“You’re worried aboutthe cops? Seriously?” The guy chuckles. “You clearly haven’t been in this business long.”
The door cracks open, a bit of light peering in.
“See, she’s fucking out. This is cake.”
One of the guys climbs in after me, I’m not sure which, and I don’t really care.
He does exactly what I want, moving right into the trap I’ve set for him.
The second he’s in place, I bring my leg up as hard as I can and kick him straight in his man parts.
“Fucking bitch,” he wails, falling against the interior with his hands gripping his privates.
I jump up in a flash, darting out and around the stunned guy still standing at the door.
“Get her, you fucking idiot.”
For the smallest fleeting moment, I think I’ve duped them. But the man I assaulted gathers his bearings and takes off after me.
I break into a sprint, the sound of his footsteps fueling me to run even faster.
But it doesn’t matter, I’m no match to the length of his strides or the adrenaline-induced dash from being temporarily taken down by a girl.
Frantically, I glance around, hoping like hell I can find some escape. Darkness all around me. A vast open area. Empty industrial buildings, all of them looking exactly the same. Deserted, empty, promising no way out.
The guy grunts loudly while extending his arm, grabbing the mass of brown hair flowing behind me.
I scream out in pain, but it’s no use. No one can hear me. And that’s exactly why they brought me here. They knew what they were doing. The one guy may be inexperienced at this kind of thing, but the one with his fist tangled in my hair is at least a bit seasoned enough to take me some place remote. Isolated from people hearing my cries for help.
“Come here, you bitch.”
I grit my teeth through the throbbing ache on my skull. I swing my fist, landing the side of it on the guy’s throat.
He coughs but doesn’t let go. Instead, he grips me tighter, dropping me to my knees with the control he has over me.
“Are you going to help me or just stand there?” He calls out to his accomplice.
I struggle to get a look at him, the dark obstructing my view of his face.
The other guy approaches, binding my hands behind my back, but not as aggressively as I would have suspected the guy holding onto me would have done.
“There, try punching me again.” The meaner of the two drags me to my feet, pulling me toward the van we arrived in.
“I can still kick you in the nuts,” I say through gritted teeth.
He digs his hand in further, tilting my head toward him. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”
It’s then that he comes a little into focus. His face is riddled with scars, a large one on his brow and across his cheek. Dark, piercing eyes. A cold, unpalatable expression. Is this what Johnny would have eventually turned into if he never escaped Franklin’s grasp?
No, that’s impossible. Johnny is too good, too pure of a soul for that to have happened.
The man in front of me is nothing but a pathetic waste of oxygen.
His friend might not be as hostile, but he’s just as guilty by aiding him.
I’m dragged into one of the vacant structures and tied to a putty-colored metal chair.