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I'll get her. Get the kit.
They were coming.
And I knew myself. I knew my limits. I had nothing, nothing to work with. I'd been dragged to the self-defense classes during my childhood and teens just like all the other kids. But I had never been any good at it. I was too small, too weak, and too anti-violence to ever be able to punch, kick, and grapple with my instructors the way they wanted, so they could try to prepare me for a real-life worst-case scenario situation.
Well here I was.
In my worst-case scenario.
Wishing I had been a better student, that I hadn't always been so cowardly.
Because I had no way out of this.
Except, maybe, if I could save their man. They would possibly let me go then, right?
If they show you their face, they are never going to let you go.
My aunts' voices in my head weren't exactly reassuring in the moment as the trunk opened, and the man who'd tossed me in to begin with reached inside to yank me out, his hand clamping over my mouth as soon as he had his other arm around my center.
Then I was being pulled backward into a house.
It wasn't the suburb area of Navesink Bank, nor the super-rich area where Niro and I used to drive through to look at Christmas lights in December, me singing carols at the top of my lungs, him pretending he didn't like them when I knew he secretly loved every one of them, judging by the light in his eyes.
This was some in-between area that must have been built since I left the area. The houses were big, but all carbon copies of one another, three of them on the other side of the street still in various stages of construction. There weren't lights on in the other ones on this side of the street either, making me wonder if anyone was around, if anyone would help me if I got free, if anyone would hear me if I screamed.
But then I was pulled inside, the door slamming, a body moving in front of it, blocking any chance at freedom.
"Those fucking bastards," a voice raged as I was dragged through the house toward the back where we moved into a stark all-white kitchen that belonged in a design magazine.
You know, minus the blood drips across the floor, the bloody paper towels sitting on the lovely marble island.
"The fuck is this?" another voice asked, deeper, more commanding than the others.
"Doctor," the guy pulling me explained. "Can't bring 'em to the hospital. Gotta try something."
"For fuck's sake," the man said as his footsteps came closer, coming around my kidnapper, moving to stand in front of me.
He was a good-looking man.
I hated to think that of someone who was an accomplice to my kidnapping—and who knew what else—but there was no denying it, either. Tall, fit, wearing black jeans and a black button-up that made his tan skin pop. His face was all sharp angles. The inky black hair on his head matched the stubble on his jaw and the dark lashes framing his brown eyes.
"Alright, listen here, lil'mama," he said, sighing. "You do the right thing here tonight, and I am going to let you go. So keep your mouth shut, get that plug out of my man, and we're all good here, yeah?"
Mouth still covered, all I could do was nod frantically.
The leader gave a nod to the man behind me, making him drop me onto my own two feet, his hand falling from my mouth.
"So, you're a doctor," the leader said.
"I'm a vet," I clarified, voice quivering.
To that, he snorted. "Eh, we're all animals. Over there," he told me, jerking his chin back behind my shoulder.
Turning, I found a man laid up on the kitchen table, blood darkening his t-shirt over the lower part of his stomach near his hip.
Maybe I shouldn't have wanted to help. Maybe I should have been searching for exits, for weapons to defend myself with.
But I wasn't programmed like that.
If something or someone was hurting, and I could help, I had to help.
There wasn't even a hesitation as I rushed across the room, grabbing the man's shirt, and yanking it upward to look at his wound.
"He's bleeding a lot, yeah?" the man standing near him asked, voice tight.
"I, ah, I think it's a normal amount," I said, shrugging as I dug through the kit they'd provided, finding a set of tweezers and a bottle of alcohol, doing a crummy job of sterilizing them, then leaning over the wound, feeling my head start to get fuzzy.
It was like I'd told Niro.
Animals, I could handle.
People, well, let's just say I had to fight through it. Because I didn't think they'd take kindly to me fainting on them.
"I, ah, I can't see," I told them, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat.
