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Until it was too late.
Until there was the distinctive pop-pop-pop sound I knew from many afternoons in my teenage years, being dragged out into the woods with my father or my uncles because they insisted I knew how to use and shoot a gun, even though I insisted it went against everything I stood for in life.
I'd heard it other times, too, when cowering in a basement or up at Hailstorm, Niro's body half-covering mine, repeating his mantra over and over again.
It's okay. I won't let anything happen to you.
But I wasn't with Niro.
And this wasn't some Henchmen drama.
"Get ins—" Toll started to demand, standing, reaching for his own gun even as footsteps ran in our directions, the pounding matching my heartbeat in my chest as I watched a group of men start running from the convenience store, faces a mix of panic.
And I watched in a split second as a bullet landed in one of the men's backs, sending his body flying forward on the pavement even as red bloomed across the back of his white t-shirt.
There was screaming, yelling, more running, as Toll yanked me upward, pushing my body behind his bigger one.
"Get inside," he demanded, voice tight, as the men got closer, being chased by another set, rivals of some sort but I wasn't sure how or who. I'd been out of town for so long, out of touch with the ever-changing criminal empires of my hometown.
His voice seemed to shake me out of my stupor, making me reach behind me for the door, but finding it locked.
Panic welled up in my system as I saw the upturned table tops, bodies huddled behind.
I couldn't blame them for saving themselves.
But what about us?
"Andi..."
"It's locked. They locked the door," I said as the shots rang louder, got closer.
It seemed like everything was in slow motion, like hours and days passed in the span of two minutes.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" a voice demanded, and with Toll in front of me, I had no idea of who was speaking and to whom.
Until a shot rang out from Toll's gun.
And three from someone else's, making Toll's body jolt as he started to fall forward.
"No!" I shrieked, dropping down next to him, trying to grab him, trying to push him over, needing to see the damage, to know he was okay, that he was going to make it.
"Grab her," another voice demanded. "Marco is shot. She's a doctor."
"No," I hissed, grabbing at Toll's body, trying to hold on even as hands reached out, sank in, started pulling. "No!" I shrieked as I was yanked up off my feet, held backward against a broad chest, my legs kicking out in the air.
I'd spent countless hours with my aunts learning self-defense, preparing me for this very moment.
But when finally put to the test, every single move they taught me flew out of my head.
"No!" I cried again as I was dragged backward. "Toll! Toll!" I shrieked so loud my throat hurt.
Until I was turned and roughly pushed into the trunk of a car, the door slamming before I could even try to climb out.
I thought I understood panic before.
But I found as the car peeled off, leaving Toll bleeding on the ground—if he was alive at all—and no one to tell my family that I'd been taken, with no one around to help me, I realized nothing I'd ever felt before came close to true panic.
I wasn't in the basement with Niro and a dozen or so armed men upstairs protecting us.
I didn't have the protection of my family, of the club.
I was just a woman.
In a trunk.
Being kidnapped.
To help save their friend who'd been shot.
But what if he was too far gone? What if I didn't know enough about gunshot wounds to be any help? What if he died? What would happen to me then?
Don't ever let them take you to a secondary location, the voice of my aunts' chorused in my head. That's where they will rape you. That's where they will kill you.
My stomach twisted hard, making bile rise up my throat as the car took a sharp turn, making my body slam backward into the side of the trunk, my back cracking against something that jutted out. A sound system, maybe? It was too dark to see.
I had the presence of mind enough to feel around, to see if there was anything I could use to defend myself once the trunk opened again.
But there was nothing.
Hopelessness swelled, but didn't have long to spread through me completely. Because in what felt like a blink, the car was stopping, doors were opening and slamming, and I could hear the muffled voices of the men.
Get him inside.
Are you hit?
That's just a flesh wound, don't be such a pussy.
Is he still breathing.
