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I threw out my arms and legs automatically, hitting all four corners of the trunk and holding myself in place as the car took a hard turn that made my stomach do an uncomfortable flip-flop.
Okay. I needed to focus. I needed to ignore the painful thrumming of my heart in my chest, the throbbing points of my pulse in my throat, wrists, and temples. I had to swallow the nausea.
I needed to not panic.
Everyone knew the story about car trunks. Hell, we all learned that in assemblies at school. Newer cars had an emergency escape latch. Older cars didn't. This was an older car. In older cars, your best bet was to kick out the brake lights. I scrunched up in the small space, finding the corners where the lights were situated and slamming my heel into it three times before, on the fourth strike, my foot went straight through. I turned again, thrusting my hand out of the space and waving it around frantically, wondering if anyone was even around to see it, let alone try to intervene.
The car took another sharp turn and something slammed into my side. I reached for it with my free hand, feeling the familiar slippery material of my gym bag. I always locked my purse in my trunk when I was leaving work for the gym, not trusting leaving it in a locker room even though I had a lock. Two things came to me right at that minute. One, I had a lock. As in a padlock. As in a solid piece of metal that could really cause some pain. Two, while I locked up my purse in my trunk, I always threw two essentials into my gym bag along with my clothes and water bottle: my Ipod... and my cell.
I pulled my hand out of the hole, knowing that was probably not going to help me anyway, and fumbled through my bag, cursing the sweaty gym clothes and tossing them into the dark of the trunk. My hand found the metal of my gym lock first and I pulled it out, clicking it closed, then slipping two fingers into the loop so I wouldn't lose it. I found my cell with a sharp exhale. I got it in my hands and tapped in my passcode when I felt the car stop. Not more than a second later, the driver's door slammed.
He was coming.
He was coming and I had no time to call the police.
And I didn't even have Paine's number.
Christ.
Okay.
My hands shook as my screen came up and I clicked my Facebook app, thankful for good service even in a freaking trunk parked God-knew where. I hit my status and dropped a pin.
It was a long, long, long shot.
But it was all I had time to do.
I prayed as I heard the key slip into the trunk lock, turning off my phone and slipping it into my back pocket, that Sawyer and Barrett were still on my case. If Barrett was, he would see the pin. And, if maybe he was suspicious enough, he would know something was wrong. And then I hoped to hell he would call his pain in the ass, cocksure, annoying, baddass mother effing brother who would call Paine and they would come save me.
But like I said, I knew that was a long shot. As in, it was probably never going to happen. So I had to try to save myself. I curled the lock into my hand, knowing it was too awkward a position for me to hit him as soon as he opened the trunk. I didn't have enough of a range of motion to get a good hit in. So I had to wait.
"Gotta take you to the boss," he said as he reached in and curled his hand around my bicep, squeezing in hard enough for me to wince and hiss out a breath as he started dragging me out of the trunk. I scrambled out, trying to keep my feet. He slammed the trunk and then he slammed me against it, locking me there with his body. His pelvis was against mine and I could feel his erection through his jeans. "But maybe I can have a little fun with you first," he said with that ugly-freaking sneer again, his hand moving out and closing over my breast through my lightweight sweater.
And, well, that was apparently my breaking point.
I leaned slightly backward as I planted my feet. My arm went back and, without even pausing to think, I swung out with the lock. It made a sickening crunching sound as it collided with his cheekbone, making him rear back on a howl.
I didn't consider the chance of staying and fighting, hitting him until he couldn't see so he couldn't chase me. I just turned and ran.
