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You could still see the angry-looking spots on his neck where Lyle had bitten him.
I wish I could say that I was street smart enough at that moment to snap into action, to create some kind of diversion, or to keep playing along like I was oblivious to what was going on.
That wasn’t true, though.
Because what I did was turn and run while sucking in a breath to scream.
The scream would never come, though, because I had barely gotten ten feet before I was scooped up from behind with a strong arm around my waist, and the other hand slapping across my mouth.
Which left me peddling in the air like an idiot.
My hands went up, raking across the forearms of my attacker, some part of me thinking if I dug in deep enough, that maybe he would release my mouth long enough for me to scream for help.
But scream to whom?
It was the middle of the week.
It was the middle of the night.
There was no one around.
And even if there were, what would they see? The police trying to arrest an unruly woman, perhaps?
Maybe some would stop. Kids with a cellphone, ready to catch an overstepping cop doing something they shouldn’t.
But there were no kids around.
And older adults, well, they were just going to double check the lock on their doors and drive on by.
I didn’t know a single thing about this sort of situation. Aside from that advice we all heard growing up.
Never let them take you to a second location.
Because they only did two things at that second location. Raped and killed you.
The problem with that was… what control did you have? If you were a small, inexperienced woman against two big, experienced men?
I tried.
I did the best I could.
I kicked and scratched and punched and squirmed.
The movements only made the arms tighten more around me, cutting off my air until I started to feel lightheaded as I was turned and slammed down into a trunk.
The release of the pressure had me sucking in a greedy breath even as the hand moved from my mouth.
But only to be immediately replaced by duct tape.
“Hold the fucking bitch still,” the fake cop demanded as he struggled to get the duct tape around my wrists.
“I’m trying,” my fake employee hissed just before yanking my arm back behind me and up so hard that I felt something pop even as the pain shot across my shoulder and seemed to even work its way up my neck and down my jaw.
“That worked,” the fake cop said with a chuckle as they effortlessly pulled my other arm into place, finding almost no resistance from me because I was too busy crying out against my duct tape from the pain.
It was over so fast.
That was all I could think as the trunk door slammed, sealing me into the darkness.
