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Is it a daylight robbery?
My brain is going a million miles a minute, trying to figure out who they are and what they may want, and whether me and my two work colleagues are about to end up dead.
One of the thugs looks at the other. “Which is it?”
“Dark hair.” The second one gestures at me.
Oh, hell. Shelley’s a redhead, and Dave is a tousled blond.
Despite the guns, I open my mouth to scream, but one of the thugs shoves his hand roughly across my face, then picks me up as easily as if I'm a child.
Someone inside the car must pop the trunk, because I barely have time to struggle before I’m thrown in the back and the lid slams shut. I do start screaming then, at the top of my lungs, kicking and punching at every surface of the enclosed space.
I’m beingkidnapped?
The trunk muffles Dave and Shelley’s yelling and screaming on the outside, then a sharp pop, pop, pop sound strangles my voice and sends a wave of nausea rushing through me at the sudden silence from outside.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God…
Did they just kill my friends?
I realize I’m gasping and sobbing, and I wrap my arms across my middle, trying to hold in the panic.
This has to be some kind of sick joke.
A birthday prank that will end any minute, and result in me drinking a whole shit-ton of whatever cocktail gets handed to me to come down from the adrenaline rush.
It has to be a joke. This can’t be real.
The car takes off, and I bump my head on something as we crunch down, presumably off the curb.
I hope that crunch broke something underneath the car. I hope they leak so much oil the cops pull them over.
Cops. A thought penetrates my fog of panic. I recall seeing something on TV once about punching out a taillight if you ever find yourself in the unlikely situation where you’re kidnapped and shoved in a car trunk.
Because, you know, facing that situation is so likely.
I hold back a burst of hysterical laughter, and shuffle my way to the back of the space, feeling for the taillight… There it is.
I make a fist and start to punch, realizing quickly I don't have enough strength. I need to kick it out.
I scream again, releasing all the fear of my situation, then find I can’t stop screaming.
The vehicle swerves and then screeches to a halt. Before I can kick at the taillight, the lid opens, and the same guy who picked me up leans in, staring at me. “Shut the fuck up.”
I don't even think, just launch at him with my foot, getting him square in the face.
He reels back, and then rushes forward again, the gun suddenly appearing in his hand. “You fucking little whore. You’ll pay for that, bitch.”
I freeze, staring at the tiny black hole as he shoves the weapon right up in my face. I’ve never seen a gun in real life, let alone been this close to one, until today.
It’s all I can do to stop my teeth clattering as I fight to keep from losing it.
Without warning, he clicks a lever—the safety? And then he hits me with the barrel, right across my left cheek. I fall backward into the trunk space, stunned.
His twin goon steps up next to him, carrying a big roll of gray duct tape.
“This’ll shut her up till we get there,” he says, his tone annoyed.
