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Did I just help kidnap myself!?
The light above the exterior door is yellow and dim, and King strides us out of the illuminated half circle in two strides, the thick summer air swallowing us with every step.
I can hear traffic behind us as King walks us down the side street.
Toward the dark.
This can’t be happening.
This really can’t be happening.
I start to thrash. Panic making me flail wildly, trying to make noise but it’s my lungs that are screaming now.
Please ancestors, if you get me through this, I promise to work on my cardio.
King turns off the sidewalk and jogs, taking us across the street, straight for a large blacked out SUV.
Doubling my efforts, I kick my legs harder. My feet grazing his shins, but never connecting like I want them to.
Until one does.
An angry groan follows my hit, and our movement suddenly stops.
King bends at the waist, putting me face down over the concrete.
I attempt a shriek, but he doesn’t let go. If anything, his hold tightens, making it easier for me to feel his agonized moan as it travels from his chest, into my back, and down through every inch of my body.
“Savannah,” he growls my name, his breath against my neck, shooting tingles down my spine.
What the hell, body?
King straightens and staggers two steps until I’m sandwiched between him and the back of the black SUV. Putting even more of him against even more of me.
He’s still making pained sounds, and I think I must’ve gotten him in the nuts with one of my kicks.
Half of me cheers but the half that was raised to always be exceedingly polite, feels guilty. Which makes the first half of my brain remind the second half thathe just killed someoneand politeness is the least of my worries.
King’s forearm is shoved up against the underside of my boobs, pushing them up higher, and his weight on my back squishes them into the hard surface.
“Ow!” My cry is muffled against his suffocating palm.
“Look,” he grits out, shifting his weight pressing his temple against my ear. “You can keep struggling, I can duct tape your hands and feet and mouth, shove you into the back of my Suburban, and shoot anyone that comes across us during the process.Oryou can be a good little girl and sit in the front seat and no one has to die.” He pauses. “Well, no one else.”
He says it like it’s nothing.
Like killing his brother-in-law is nothing.
“I’m gonna move my hand, and if you feel the urge to scream, remember the gun tucked into the back of my pants. Remember that anyone I kill will be on your hands. And if it goes loud, I’ll need to leave quickly. Which means a bullet in your head too.”
His casual tone makes it all so much worse, causing tears to stream down my cheeks.
He flexes his fingers. “Are we on the same page, Honey?”
I nod as best I can, and he finally drops his hand from my mouth.
I don’t scream.
I can’t be responsible for someone dying. So, I just hang there, in his grip, gasping for air.
