Nicole

 

I didn’t recognize the man sitting in the seat in front of me. Never seen him before in my life. He was turned around awkwardly in his seat so he could aim the gun at me and it stupidly gave me hope that maybe this awkward position would be enough to let me escape. He was turned away from me right now, his face in profile as he spoke with the driver, who clearly knew him because he wasn’t afraid.

 

Not like me. I was terrified.

 

“Think that was smart?” the cabbie who was not a cabbie commented. “I mean, he’s not the kind of guy you wanna mess with, you know?”

 

“Don’t be a pussy your whole life,” the man with the gun snapped. “Maxwell ain’t nothin’ to us, period.”

 

Maxwell. I had of course guessed that he had something to do with this. My luck couldn’t be that bad that there would be a group of crazy motorcycle guys after me and then get kidnapped by a completely random and unrelated event, right? So it was sort of comforting to know it was related. But not really.

 

I stopped myself there. What did Maxwell care if I was in trouble? Hadn’t I just stormed off because I thought he was a controlling asshole? And now I, what, expected him to ride in on a white horse to my rescue?

 

No. If I wanted out of this, it was going to be up to me.

 

The guys continued talking to each other, giving me time to think about my options. The man with the gun was still aiming the weapon at me, but his grip was lax, almost like he was holding a can of beer or a cell phone or something equally as innocuous. Like he could just accidentally shoot me at any moment—because that would just about top off a perfectly shitty day.

 

Still, maybe his loose grip and his distraction via conversation with the cabbie would be enough to let me escape.

 

I glanced towards the door. I was closer to the passenger side, rather than the driver’s side, which was closer to the man with the gun. But he would have to maneuver around the seat to get a good shot at me—I hoped—which would buy me precious seconds. We were driving pretty steadily now, but I saw a stoplight coming up. With any luck, we would catch it and I could pop open the door and hop out.

 

The idea of hopping out of a recently moving, maybe still moving vehicle into the middle of the street didn’t exactly thrill me. If anything, I dreaded it. Nausea made my stomach roil at the thought and sweat coated my palms. It felt too hot and stuffy in here, making me almost feel faint. I was probably panicking or something, so I did my best to breathe in and out evenly in an attempt to calm myself down. There was a little bit still until we hit the light—assuming it turned red before we could make it through—so I needed to be calm until then.

 

What are you going to do once you get out of the car? a small voice in the back of my head wanted to know. And, honestly, I would have liked to know, too. I didn’t have a plan that far. Getting out of the car and away from the gun seemed like the biggest part of the plan. Plus, with the stop light coming up so quickly, I didn’t have a lot of time to be thinking about what to do after I managed the incredibly implausible escape plan I’d miraculously hatched in only a few short minutes.

 

Honestly, I figured I would run. Run to the sidewalk and dive into a local business, begging and hollering for help. Surely someone would do something. Even if it was only call the police. If I couldn’t get to the sidewalk, I could pound on the window of the nearest car. The far side of the nearest car, because I definitely didn’t want to be in shooting distance of that gun without anything between it and me.

 

So, I had a little bit of a plan. It wasn’t great. It didn’t leave me feeling confident and sure of myself, but I at least had something. I wouldn’t wait here until they realized Maxwell and I weren’t serious, despite being married, weren’t in love or anything to one another. In fact, they could learn I’d just run away from Maxwell at any moment and it might all be over.

 

I had to take a risk. Now.

 

Impatient and freaked out, I waited for the stop light to get closer. My heart hammered in my chest and I thought it was a wonder that no one said anything about it, no one heard it. But the guys up front just continued to talk about how dangerous Maxwell was—confirming my suspicions that he wasn’t the kind of guy to get involved with—and all but ignored me. I watched the gun as it motioned back and forth, the man holding it speaking with his hands.

 

Too fast and not fast enough, the stop light finally came, and it was my lucky day: we caught a red light. The car came to a halt in traffic and with a deep breath, I made my move. I jerked myself across the seat to the passenger door, having just enough sense to duck down low as I did in case the man with the gun decided to just start shooting first and aiming later.

 

“Shit! She’s trying to get out! Fuck, man, catch her already!” This was the cabbie, and he sounded frantic as he debated between running the red light—a bad idea given that traffic had already started the other way—and just staying put, letting his buddy take care of it.

 

While he seemed indecisive, his friend was not.

 

“Goddammit, really?” He sounded more annoyed than anything else, and just as I felt the metal of the door handle at my fingertips, it slipped away.

 

Blinking in surprise, I saw that the door was now open, for just a second anyway. But all thoughts of escape were thrown out the window rather quickly because the man who had been holding the gun all this time was slipping into the seat and closing the door behind him. I scampered and scooted away from him as quickly as possible to avoid getting sat on.

 

I looked up in time to see the barrel of the gun pressing into my forehead, right between my eyes. I froze.

 

“Don’t fucking move,” the man said. Irritation shone on his features as he stared at me, and he didn’t look away even as he called at his friend. “Jesus, Ricky, would you just fucking go already? It’s a damn green light, ain’t it?”

 

“Shit.”

 

The cabbie who was not a cabbie mashed on the gas pedal, causing the car to jump and squeal as he drove through the light and back into traffic. After a few minutes of driving, the gunman spoke to me again.

 

“You think that shit’s funny?” he demanded, though the question seemed rhetorical. “You think this is, what, a game? That if you die, you just get a do over or something?” He pulled back the hammer of the gun, making a clicking sound that made my teeth click together quickly, nearly catching my tongue. “Think again. I put a bullet in your head and that’s the last chance you get. No coming back. No do overs. No save points. You’re fucking dead and dead is dead, you get me?”

 

I was shaking so badly that I didn’t think I could nod, especially because I didn’t want to move with that barrel pressing coolly against my skin.

 

“I asked you a fucking question!”

 

His voice was a low, gravelly roar, causing me to flinch. I hated to admit it, but I felt tears prick at my eyes, and when I forced myself to nod, they spilled across my cheeks and dripped down off my chin.

 

He grinned, and for a moment I was reminded of those men in the alley. I didn’t know if he was one of them, but he could have been. The way they laughed and seemed to be enjoying themselves seemed similar. Similar enough that I felt like vomiting.

 

“Good,” he said. “Now, unfortunately, I’m going to have to do something since you tried to get away and it’s clear I can’t trust you anymore. But, if you promise to behave yourself, I won’t hurt you. Just get a little…kinky with you.”

 

I thought I would throw up right then and there, sure for one awful second that he was one of those men who had come after me. That he was going to finish what he started, and for a brief, terrible second, I thought maybe it was better to just take the bullet. But then the guy up front piped up.

 

“Jesus, you’re fucking scaring her! Just tie the bitch up and let’s be done with her.”

 

The gunman rolled his eyes, but even as he had the gun trained on me, he reached for his bag from the front seat, pulling it to the back with us. “Unzip it,” he told me, and I hesitated only a moment before listening. I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t want to die.

 

I unzipped it and found cords rolled up inside. Frowning, I almost asked what they were for—then I reconsidered.

 

“Take them out,” he told me. “And tie up your feet. I’ll get to your arms in a second.”

 

Shaking badly, I did as he said, knowing I was putting myself in a position I probably wouldn’t be able to get myself out of. But then I wouldn’t get out of dying if I didn’t do it, so I figured this was the lesser of two evils. Dejectedly, I bound my ankles together with a length of cord. When I was finished, the man before me tapped the driver’s shoulder.

 

“Here, take this,” he insisted, shoving the gun at the man.

 

“Jesus, I’m fucking driving!” The cabbie resisted, but ultimately took the gun even as he swerved halfway into the other lane. “Damnit, this is stupid.”

 

“Just keep it trained on her! I gotta tie her hands.”

 

And he did tie my hands. He even did it behind my back, so there was even less chance I’d be able to work them loose. It meant I was sitting awkwardly with my bound legs on the floorboard, but my body half turned to find some sort of room for my arms, which were held uncomfortably at my back. It sucked, but I reminded myself I was alive and right now, that was the biggest thing. After all, whether I had a plan or not, there would be no escaping if I were dead.

 

I didn’t even try to come up with a crazy plan for escape this time, because I knew it would be pointless. My legs and hands were tied. The man was now in the backseat with me. And the gun was still in play, even if the driver looked less like he would be able to shoot me from his vantage point.

 

“Now, time to make sure you don’t get any crazy ideas.” The guy he pulled out what looked like a black scarf. It was just a thick stretch of material. I flinched back from him when he reached for my face. “Hold still, you crazy bitch!” Forcing myself to keep still, I let him lean forward. That was when I realized what the scarf was for.

 

Blindfold.

 

He wrapped it around my eyes, making sure I couldn’t see much more than a few dark shadows through the heavy material, and tied it securely at the back of my head. Several strands of my long hair got caught in the knot, pinching and pulling uncomfortably, but I didn’t think he’d adjust it for comfort’s sake so I kept my mouth shut.

 

“Now sit there and shut up,” he told me, sounding annoyed. I felt him move away from me and was at least marginally relieved for it. “I don’t want any trouble. If you try something again, though, I’m gonna just shoot you. You ain’t worth the trouble.”

 

I pushed away the increasing sense of panic, of how wrong this had all gone. How long ago had I gotten into this cab, trying to catch a flight away from Maxwell? How long ago had I thought Maxwell and Ben were the worst things in my life?

 

Not very, but it felt like years.

 

Tears lined my eyes again, but this time when they fell the fabric soaked them up. I was grateful. I wasn’t proud of the fact that they’d seen me cry and I definitely didn’t want to let them see it twice. At the very least, I was able to keep the sobs quiet.

 

The car moved beneath me and I tried to keep from falling over as we turned a corner or came to an abrupt stop. The men argued some about the one guy’s driving, about the other guy’s stupid plans, about what they should get for dinner.

 

They were so casual about the whole thing and it was really unnerving me. It was so much worse, too, because I knew that jerk with the gun had been enjoying at least some of this. And I wasn’t going to like anyone who reminded me of the men who tried to rape me. Especially not ones from the same club who now had me kidnapped.

 

Maybe Maxwell will save me.

 

The thought was more from desperation than anything else. After my screaming match at him, I didn’t think he would want anything to do with me. Sure, he’d come after me when I’d run off, but that could have been some residual manly pride preventing him from doing otherwise. Or maybe it was the need to get the last word in, to tell me off.

 

Or maybe he really does care.

 

I frowned at the idea. I didn’t think Maxwell was the kind of guy who liked to stick with women over a long period of time. He seemed definitely like the love ’em and leave ’em type, but we’d been through a lot recently and it made me wonder if maybe he didn’t have a soft spot for me.

 

It made me wonder if maybe I hadn’t overreacted about the phone thing.

 

Then I wondered if I wasn’t just rationalizing because Maxwell was probably my only hope, and if he didn’t come for me, I was dead. But even if he were controlling, I had the feeling that, at least in this case, it was better to deal with the devil you knew.

 

I didn’t know how long we drove. It was impossible to tell time or even judge by the changing light or scenery outside thanks to my blindfold, but I knew my wrists and ankles were sore, and my limbs ached from being held forcibly in a single position for so long. I worried we’d spend the whole night in the car. Then I worried they’d kill me once we stopped. Then I convinced myself they wouldn’t if only because they had gone through this much trouble so far, so clearly they wanted me alive.

 

My hammering heart keeping me just on the edge of perpetual panic kept me from passing the time by sleeping, and I definitely wasn’t going to join in on their conversation, so I listened on and off. Sometimes I would zone out when I was tired of hearing them talk about dinner—it was down to either Chinese or pizza, but they couldn’t seem to agree—and tried to listen to what else was going on. Were the bumps in the road increasing or was it smoother? Did it sound like there was less traffic now? Did we come to stops a lot and then start off again, or was it smooth sailing?

 

These pretty much went unanswered as I decided there was no point in trying to figure out where I was without looking out the window. It wasn’t a skill I had, and now wasn’t the time to try to develop it. Or maybe it was, but I couldn’t manage to focus on it enough to make any headway, and even if I could, I couldn’t exactly check to see if I was on the right track with any of it.

 

After what felt like forever, but could have been only forty-five minutes, the car finally slowed. I rolled and shifted in my seat as we must have turned a corner before slowing further. There was a cranking sound, maybe a garage door opening? Then finally we crawled forward a few feet and the next stop was final. The car turned off and I heard doors opening. I had hoped they would take off the blindfold after reaching our destination; instead I felt the door on my side open, warm air wafting through the backseat and sliding over my body. I jerked away from it instinctively, but someone must have reached through, because a second later I felt a hand wrap around my upper arm and jerk me forward. I was pulled, half stumbling, out of the car. I was still tied up, so when I tried to stand, I nearly faceplanted, but whoever had ahold of me must have known that. He braced me and I felt my body lift up as I was thrown over someone’s shoulder, carried away easily. I got a strong whiff of male cologne that wasn’t bad, but was too strong to be pleasant, and coughed a little in response.

 

I wanted to know where we were, what was happening, but I didn’t dare open my mouth. Now that I was out of the car and probably in some underground garage or something, there was a bigger chance someone was going to decide I wasn’t worth all of this trouble.

 

Doing my best to remain calm and still, lying limply over the guy’s shoulders, I waited with a pounding heart until the man put me down. He did eventually, throwing me casually into a hard-backed chair. I couldn’t tell if it was old and rickety or hand carved and beautiful, but it really didn’t matter. At first, I felt elated that they undid my bindings until I felt someone hold my hand down to the armrest of the chair and felt the rope slide back over my already sore wrists. I let out a little cry that was half sob, but when a quick backhand across my face came directly after that, I made a point of being quiet.

 

I flinched when he tied the other arm, still feeling the sting of that backhand, my cheek throbbing and probably going to bruise. He then tied my feet so my legs were slightly parted. I was relieved I’d worn jeans at least, but I didn’t feel in the least bit comfortable with my position. In fact, I was terrified by it. Too vulnerable. It took everything I had to ignore the things they could do to me and hope instead for the best.

 

I heard voices talking—two belonged to the men from the car, but the other I didn’t recognize, telling me a new man had joined them—one of them telling another to watch her me. I heard someone groan, then the two voices still talking got farther and farther away.

 

“Why do I always get the shitty jobs?” complained the man who had stayed to watch me. I was pretty sure it was the man who had been driving, the cabbie who wasn’t a cabbie.

 

“Are you…are you really a cabbie?” I asked, because I couldn’t think of anything else to ask besides, “Why are you guys such assholes?” and I really needed to get him talking if I wanted to get out of here.

 

I heard him snort, but otherwise he didn’t say anything.

 

“I mean, that must be a hard job, right?” I tried again.

 

When I was once more met with silence, I decided the cabbie avenue wasn’t working, so I tried to switch gears.

 

“Can you take off my blindfold?” Still silence. “Or tell me what’s going on?” Still nothing. “Can you…oh, can’t you help me?”

 

That last question came out half a sob and I heard a chair move, sliding against hardwood floor. I thought maybe I’d gotten to him—maybe he felt pity for me and my situation—but then he said, “If she gets all mouthy, can I hit her?”

 

I froze, my breath held tightly in my chest. An answer came, but I didn’t catch it, too low and too far away. But the guy must have, because he directed his next words at me.

 

“Hear that, bitch? So long as I don’t kill you, you’re fair game. So keep talking, baby, keep talking.”

 

I shut up after that and hoped desperately that, despite everything that had happened between us, Maxwell was somehow coming after me.