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I can’t seem to peel my eyes off the man who finds it necessary to move in my direction.
The guy closest is halfway to me in seconds, his right hand moving for the gun I know is tucked against his side when his friend shouts, “Two is better than one! Grab her, don’t shoot her!”
Those two last words are strong enough to break the glue of fear holding me locked in place.
I make a move to bolt left, but I’m jerked back suddenly. My bottom lip starts to quiver. I look down to see the white frills and mesh of my long evening dress caught in the locked door. “How the hell?” Alice. When I turned to talk with her my dress must have gotten caught. That’s the only explanation.
I grab two fistfuls and tug. Nothing.
I look over my shoulder to see an evil smile peel back the kidnapper’s lips. There’s just no other way to describe the pure malice pouring out from him.
I am not left wondering what he intends to do to me.
“Like to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, little bitch? Maybe my cock and then my gun will teach you a thing or two about wrong places and wrong times,” he bites out. He’s the younger of the two. The other one is shaking his head, but he’s not doing anything to rein his friend in.
Fuck this! I grit my teeth, kick off my shoes and put my whole body into a hard heave, ripping myself free.
The cock of a hammer and a barrel pointing in my direction tells me the younger goon doesn’t care for the older goon’s instructions.
I run.
Sharp angles of cracked concrete bite into the tender flesh of my feet.
I know one thing for sure right now: I stop and I’m dead.
Every muscle in my thighs and calves protests all those ditched spinning classes. I make a silent pact with myself. I’ll never miss another if I can just push a little harder, run a little faster. For being the size of gorillas, my chasers can move pretty damn fast.
As I near the end of the alley a brush of fingers on my shoulder sends a sudden burst of energy through me. Another set of heavy boots on wet cement marks my second would-be kidnapper’s progress. He’s closing in.
Holy shit.Think, Honor. What did Boone teach you?
Evasive maneuvers. Don’t let them catch you. Get safe then call for help.
I dart in and out of New York City’s clogged streets, weaving through rush hour running from two kidnapping, slime-ball cops. I keep low and move fast, not stopping to look behind me until I’m three streets over and two blocks up from the crime scene.
Crime scene. Oh my God. I yank and pull until I free my phone from my purse and dial 911.
My words are garbled, but I do my best to report the kidnapping.Please let them find her.
A voice in my head screams for me to run back to the Ritz and where my father is. I dare a look behind me and scratch that idea. Going back is not an option.
I growl my frustration as I stub my toe on a raised piece of sidewalk trying to take a corner too fast.
I spot one goon through the back window of a parked car and hoof it down another alley and around another corner, hoping he didn’t spot me. I make it another block, wheezing for air but make it to where I left my car parked. I dump the contents of my purse out on a car hood, snatch my phone with a few bills tucked inside and my keys.
A couple of clicks of a button and I quickly find my car in a string of other black mini coopers. My heart hammers, dumping buckets of adrenaline into my system and making my movements robotic.
Boone’s words play over and over in my head:Get safe.
But where is safe? Not the police. I can’t risk it. I have a feeling those were goons in costume, but what if I’m wrong?
There’s only one place no one will know my face.
Three seconds and I’m inside, doors locked and letting the city swallow me. My hands tremble against the steering wheel, my focus on the white lines on the road as I point my car north and drive in a blur of fear.
Six
Boone
