Page 155 of Fierce Pursuit

My body was slammed onto the cold floor.

The weight of a knee pressed between my shoulder blades, forcing the air from my lungs.

Something tight bit into my wrists, cutting off circulation. My fingers instantly went numb.

I bucked and writhed, earning another punch, this one to my kidney. The pain was immediate and crippling.

Bile rose in my throat.

"Fucking bitch won't stay still," the second attacker muttered, his breath close enough to my ear that I could smell cigarettes and stale beer.

The blanket tightened around my head as someone gripped it at the nape of my neck, using it as a handle to drag me upward. My feet scrambled for purchase on the floor, toes catching on discarded textbooks, sending them scattering.

"No!" I screamed, fighting harder, only to be rewarded with another blow, this one catching my ribs.

They hauled me through the doorway, my hip cracking against the frame. Down the hallway where the silence told me no one was coming to help. Three a.m. on a Thursday. Everyone was asleep or gone for the long weekend. No one would even know until my Monday morning class.

The night air hit me like a physical blow, cold enough to steal what little breath I had left. October in Virginia. The first real cold snap of fall. I wore only sleep shorts and a thin T-shirt. Goosebumps erupted across my exposed skin as they dragged me across the deserted quad.

Metal scraped against metal. The sound of a trunkopening. Terror crystallized in my veins. Not the trunk. Anything but the trunk.

"Please," I begged, my voice a ragged whisper. "Please don't?—"

They lifted me, four hands gripping my arms and legs, and pitched me forward. I fell hard, letting out a scream of pain when my shoulder took the impact against something solid. The smell of rubber mats and motor oil filled my nostrils. Definitely a car trunk. Old. Musty.

The darkness became complete as the trunk lid slammed shut, sealing me in a coffin of steel. The engine roared to life, vibrating through the metal beneath me. Every bump and turn slammed me against the sides of the trunk, my bound body unable to brace against the impacts.

I tried to focus, to think through the panic. The knife from beneath my pillow was gone. My hands were bound behind my back, the zip ties cutting deeper with each attempt to free myself. My ankles too had been secured, rope biting into my skin, already slick with what I assumed was blood.

The blanket, damp now with sweat and tears, clung to my face like a death shroud.

My throat was raw from screaming, my voice reduced to a hoarse whisper as I counted seconds, then minutes, marking time in the only way available to me.

One hundred and twenty-seven minutes.

That was how long we drove.

The car finally slowed, tires crunching on gravel.

We stopped, the engine idling for a moment before cutting off.

Car doors opened and slammed shut.

Footsteps approached, crunching on loose stones.

The trunk opened with a rusty groan.

Cold air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of pine and damp earth.

Hands grabbed me roughly, dragging me out.

My legs, numb from being bound for so long, crumpled beneath me when they tried to stand me up.

I crashed to the ground, sharp gravel digging into my bare knees, arms, and face, since I couldn't catch myself.

Someone pulled me up onto my knees and yanked the blanket off my head. The sudden flood of moonlight was blinding after hours in darkness. I blinked rapidly, tears streaming from my light-sensitive eyes, as the world slowly came into focus.

And then I saw them.

---