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When the man holding her around her middle lifted her toward the open van door, Breely pulled her knees up and planted her feet on the doorframe.
Her captor cursed. “Get her damned feet,” he hissed.
Breely had to choose between kicking out or continuing to brace her legs against the van doorframe.
The man she’d kicked in the face slammed his arm down on her kneecaps, breaking her toehold on the outside of the van.
As soon as her feet fell, her captor shoved her into the van.
Breely screamed, planted her feet on the metal floor and launched herself at the two men blocking her escape.
The one who’d carried her to the van backhanded her across the cheek, sending her flying backward into the van. She lay stunned, gray fog closing around her.
The door slid closed, blocking what little light had filtered through the fog, plunging Breely into darkness.
A shout barely penetrated her consciousness. Something slammed against the metal door, rocking the metal floor beneath Breely. Again, something big slammed into the van, this time jerking Breely out of the fog.
Her head still fuzzy and her cheek aching, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and searched for another door on the other side of the van. There wasn’t one. She crawled toward the sliding door.
Someone cursed. Again, something heavy rammed into the closed sliding door.
Breely reeled back and felt her way toward the van’s rear, praying for doors at the back. With her hand on the side of the van, she crawled to the end, found door latches and tried to push them down. They didn’t move.
More grunting and loud cracking sounds erupted outside the van.
Breely turned around, pushed to her feet and walked in a hunched position toward the front of the vehicle, stumbling once over debris in her way. When her fingers touched the back of the driver’s seat, she almost cried in relief.
She had just eased one leg through the gap between the driver and passenger seats when the sliding door crashed open. “No,” she cried and tried to slide the rest of the way into the seat.
Hands gripped her around the waist and dragged her out of the van.
“No!” she cried louder. “Help me! Please! Help!” Breely bucked and twisted, clawing at the hands now wrapped around her waist. “Let go of me.”
“Shhh, Bea,” a familiar voice cut through her panic. “It’s okay. They’re gone.” The arms around her middle loosened.
Breely spun in the circle of the flirt’s arms. “Oh, thank God.” She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest.
He held her, gently stroking her back.
A door slammed open and a voice shouted, “Release her, you son of a bitch!” Stan yelled.
Breely’s head snapped up in time to see Stan storming toward them, holding a rolling pin high above his head, aiming for the man holding her in his arms.
“No, Stan.” Breely broke away from the man and planted herself between Stan and her rescuer. “It’s okay.”
“He attacked you.” Stan still held the rolling pin over his head, his glare going over my shoulder to the man behind me.
Breely held up her hand. “No. He rescued me from the two men who attacked me.” She looked around. “Where did they go?”
“When they saw that they weren’t going to get into the van with you, they took off,” the flirt said.
Stan’s eyes narrowed. “You held off two men?”
The flirt shrugged. “They didn’t know much about fighting. I knocked both of them out temporarily. When I went to the van to find Bea, one of them recovered enough to throw the other over his shoulder and take off. I had other priorities.” He slipped an arm around Breely’s waist. “Did they hurt you?” He turned her to face him and frowned. “What the hell?”
She gave a small laugh and touched her cheek. “One of them backhanded me. It doesn’t hurt.” She touched the bruised area and winced. “Much.”
Anger burned in the flirt’s dark eyes, making the brown closer to black. “The bastards. I should have finished them off.”
