Page 100 of Riot's Thorn
“You fucked up, and now, they’re going to sell you.”
Even though Bart had said as much, it somehow becomes more real now, and I choke on the emotion clawing up my throat. “Please. If there’s any way I can escape, tell me. You don’t have to be involved.”
“I’m just doing my job, okay?” He looks as defeated as I’m sure I do as he grabs my upper arm. “Let’s go.”
Panic settles in, and I dig my feet into the rug. “No. No. No.”
“Fuck,” he curses as I twist and hold the bedpost. “Stop it!”
“No! I won’t let you take me.”
He grips me around the waist and pulls, but my grip on the bed is strong. “Fucking hell.”
I donkey kick him, nailing him between the legs, which has the desired effect. He releases me and drops to his knees. Taking advantage of the situation, I kick back again, this time hitting him in the nose. The crunch it makes is sickening, and when I look back, his face is covered in blood.
He’s a big guy, so it won’t take him long to recover. I only have a minute or two to get as far away as possible. Thankfully, I remember my way to the foyer, but as I emerge from the hallway, I skitter to a stop. Two more guards are there, probably waiting to help transport me. They aren’t expecting my escape, so their attention is on their phones, but they must sense me.
Before I’m able to turn and run the other way, they’re on me, gripping my arms roughly. The first guard stumbles out of the hallway, holding his nose. For some reason, the other two find this hilarious and start laughing.
“Can’t handle a little girl?” one mocks, pissing me off. I struggle, but it’s useless.
“Shut the fuck up. She got me in the balls.” He passes us, opening the door to a water closet, where he yanks a towel from the rack, wets it, and then presses it to his face. “Let’s go. We’re already running late.”
“Better get a move on then.” He pulls a roll of duct tape from his back pocket and binds my wrists. “Just in case.”
The assholes drag me from the house because I refuse to make this easy for them. At some point, the bloody guard gets irritated and throws me over his shoulder. Lifting my knee, I tryto nail him in the nose again, but his tree trunk of an arm is plastered around my calves, making it impossible.
I’m tossed into the trunk of a sedan, and without a passing glance, he slams it shut, leaving me in pitch darkness. A show I saw once taught women different ways to get out of bad situations. One of them was getting out of a trunk or at least figuring out how to notify passing cars you’re being abducted.
Feeling around, I look for the emergency release most newer models of cars have. They must have planned for this situation because where there should be a button, there are only wires, like they destroyed it. I don’t lose hope yet because it also said you might be able to access the taillights from inside. That’s a dead end too, because it’s not a feature of this car. Everything is sealed off.
Shit. What do I do now? Feeling helpless, I decide my only option right now is to pay attention to where I’m going. That’s hard to do when I don’t know where we started from, but I try to make note of the road conditions and speeds. Eventually, I give up on that as well because too much time passes. Hours, even. We stop once for gas, and I use that time to kick and scream, but we must not be near any other cars because no one comes for me.
I fall in and out of sleep with nothing to do but worry. Because I don’t know what will happen when we reach our destination, I don’t even try to stay alert. These naps might be all I have for a while.
The car slows, startling me awake. We must be going over gravel because the tires make a crunching sound, and I’m jostled around. Then, the brakes squeak to a slow stop, and the doors to the car open. I hear male voices but can only make out a word here and there, not enough to piece together the conversation.
When the trunk finally opens, it’s dark outside, but there must be lights close by, because I can make out the featuresof each man. The three men I know are there, but there’s one face I don’t recognize. While the guards from Bart’s house are disinterested and aloof, this man is the opposite. His focus on me feels sinister and evil.
A deep scar bisects his eyebrow and down his cheek, reminding me of Scar from the Disney movie. His hair, brows, and eyes are dark brown, but his skin is pale and sallow. He has a pointed nose, thin lips, and a receding hairline.
“What the fuck happened to her?” he asks. His voice is deep and raspy, as if he smokes a couple packs a day.
“Boss got a little carried away,” the first guard says.
“And what happened to you?” He takes in the dried blood still crusted to his nose.
“She did that.” One of Bart’s guards cackles, and the other two men join in, leaving the first guard scowling. I feel a little bad, since he was pretty decent to me, but not enough to regret it.
“Well, I guess she has about two weeks to heal. Otherwise, your boss is going to hear it. She won’t sell looking like that.”
“Two weeks is plenty of time for a couple of bruises,” the first guard says.
“All right. Well, get her out. We need to hide her before inspections because these containers are guarded heavily afterward.”
“No problem.” This time, the bloody guard doesn’t wait for me to dick around; he just pulls me out of the trunk and tosses me over his shoulder. Not wanting to lose my glasses, I hold them onto my face. Everything would be exponentially more difficult if I couldn’t see.
I blink to focus and adjust to being upside down, finally realizing I’m at a shipping yard. Cranes are moving around steel containers with bright lights beaming down. Surely, someone will see me, right? My mouth opens to scream, but thenewcomer has already planned for that and sticks a rag in my mouth. It smells and tastes like gasoline, making me gag.
