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~ Bridget ~
Present
It feels cold, even though a heat wave is sweeping through Denver. But am I even in Denver still? I’m not sure how long I blacked out for.
Something like a black pillowcase wraps my head, so I can’t see anything. I can’t tell if it’s light or dark. Based on the quiet around me, I’m guessing I’m indoors. But where, I have no idea. Thick tape covers my mouth, but even if I could scream, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to call attention to myself. My wrists are tied together and pulled overhead. I’m standing in my four-inch heels, shoes I knew I was going to be uncomfortable in, shoes that I splurged on for a date that went bust. And if I had never gone on that date, I wouldn’t find myself in this situation.
The last thing I remember is being at the bar, my date apologizing that he had to go because he had just received a text that his grandfather was being taken to the hospital, me feeling both disappointed and relieved that the date had ended abruptly, the scent of incense as I climbed into the taxi, and…that’s it.
I tug and twist my wrists about the ropes, but they hold tight. Panicking won’t help, but I’m scared to death. I try not to think about the worst that could happen and curse myself for watching one too many Law and Order episodes. Part of me wants to cry just imagining that I might never get to see Evan again. For Evan, I’ve got to figure a way out of this.
I pull again at the bonds until I get rope burn.
A door opens, and I freeze. Since I can’t see anything, I have to rely on my sense of hearing. It sounds like a single set of footsteps walking toward me. My entire body tenses.
A hand cups my butt, and I try not to sob.
The hand moves lower, beneath my dress…between my thighs.
Okay, I can survive rape. Just don’t kill me. Let me live so I can be there for Evan. Please.
I can’t stop myself from whimpering. I start to hyperventilate when the door opens again. The hand between my legs is quickly gone.
“Did you just touch her?” a voice demands.
It sounds vaguely familiar, but I’m breathing too hard to hear properly.
“No! I was—”
I hear footsteps stomping toward me, a man grunting, brief scuffling, what sounds like a man being dragged along the floor, and then the door slamming shut.
I hear muffled voices—and then what sounds like a gun going off.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit.
My body quakes from head to toe. I start yanking at the bonds. My desperation to be free is what keeps me from pissing myself.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
