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I gasp with fright, my hand drifting up over my mouth. Everything moves in slow motion as the door slides open and men leap out onto the pavement, surrounding me. They are all wearing black, head to toe, even their shoes. Their faces are covered with balaclavas and their hands are gloved.
I try and step out of the way, but someone grabs my arms. I feel my body being jerked harshly towards the van and I lean away from whoever is gripping me.
I kick out and someone grabs my leg. Then I am lifted clean off the ground. My heart is thundering wildly. What the hell is going on?
I hear deep voices shouting instructions to each other.
“Grab her leg.”
“That bitch kicked me.”
“Fucking grab her leg.”
“Throw her in.”
“Move, guys. Hurry up.”
“Get in, get in.”
The grating sound of the van door sliding is mixed in with the high-pitched squeals of the tires as they take off again. I feel every nerve in my body freeze in absolute horror.
I blink my eyes, trying to adjust my vision to the darkness of the inside of the van. The windows are blacked out and I can only just make out the shadows of men shifting around me. Their fingers dig into my body where they hold me down.
I want to move. I want to kick again. I want to shout and scream and demand to know what is happening.
“She’s a pretty one.” A dark voice chuckles next to my ear.
Then a foul-smelling bag is tossed over my head and I can see nothing at all. The rough fabric of it rubs against my cheek and forehead.
Someone grabs my legs and spreads them apart. “We can have some fun with this one before we drop her off.”
“You know that isn’t allowed.”
“Oh fuck off, who would know?”
A hand travels up my thigh, but I hear a thud and it is gone. “Don’t fucking test me. This is our merchandise, and we want top dollar for it.”
I am yanked across the van and my back slams into the metal panel of the side.
I have to scream. I have to do something.
The war in my head is raging. Save yourself. Don’t make it easy.
But I can’t move.
***
My head is throbbing with pain when my eyes flutter open into the darkness of the bag over my head.
The last thing I remember is finally finding my voice and how the sound of my screams filled the back of the van.
Then sharp, sudden pain as I was beaten unconscious.
My body is being lifted, hoisted out of what I assume is the van, and tossed over a thick, muscular shoulder. He stinks of stale sweat and cigarettes.
“You can take the bag off. It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s done for.”
The fabric is yanked roughly off my head, burning the side of my face with friction.
