Page 77 of All Wrong
A grunt in response.
“Maybe we should have a little fun first.”
“And maybe you can shut the fuck up and grab her legs so we can get the hell out of here and ditch the car.”
Hands grabbed her roughly around the ankles and pulled sharply. Pain lanced up her legs as blood recirculated to the cramped muscles. Another tug, this one at the zip ties around her wrists. The sharp plastic bit into her skin, already abraded from her own attempts to free herself. As her upper body hovered at the edge of the bumper, the grip moved to under her arms, and then there was nothing beneath her.
“Over there.”
She was carried a short distance, hanging between them like a rolled-up rug that sagged in the middle. Fear tried to take hold once again, but she couldn’t let it, not yet.
One chance, she prayed fervently.Please, God, I’m not asking you to save me. I’m asking for a chance to save myself. I swear I’ll make the most of it.
Miracle of miracles, she got one in the form of a mobile phone call.
The man near her shoulders cursed. “What now?”
“It’s the boss. Better answer it.”
“You don’t think I know that? Put her down for a minute.”
Corinne’s legs were lowered to the ground. The hold around her torso remained.
“Yeah. It’s done. We’re on our way back. What? Yeah, okay. Right.”
“What’s up?”
“Change in plans. We’re continuing north and lying low for a while.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t ask, did I? Let’s do this and get the fuck outta here.”
Something had changed. She could hear it in his voice. Gone was the efficient but unhurried execution of duty. In its place, a sense of urgency. Something, or someone, had thrown a wrench into their plans.
God, let it be Ian. Let him have found something that will make this worth it.
“Shouldn’t we cut the ties?”
“What the fuck for?”
“Just doesn’t seem right, is all.”
“Jesus Christ. Fine, Mother Theresa. Here.”
Wait for it … wait for it…
A shadow fell over her. She felt a sharp tug around her ankles, and then her legs parted.
Now!
Corinne took her shot. She drew her legs in and thrust outward, hitting a solid target. The contact lasted only a split second, followed by a shout and a scream. She didn’t hesitate; she took advantage of the moment. Flipping over onto her knees, she tucked her bound hands against her torso and lunged forward, driving her head and shoulders into whoever was there. Soft flesh gave way, the man’s high-pitched howl telling her exactly where she’d hit.
Another lunge, this one directed upward in a full-body uppercut. She met the man’s crouched-over torso. His arms grabbed her. Unable to stop the momentum, she continued forward, realizing only too late that the ground was no longer beneath her.
After an infinitely long moment of weightlessness, they hit the ground hard. Well, he hit the ground hard with her on top of him. They rolled downward like a log, changing positions. Him on top, then her. She gripped his shirt with her bound hands and held on tight, until she stopped with a sudden, bone-rattling jolt and he … didn’t.
She’d heard the phrase having one’s bell rungbefore, but she’d never understood it at such a level of detail. A tolling ring resounding through her skull. Bright lights and flashing stars in a sea of darkness. Complete lack of sensation. Total paralysis.
