It’s midnight.

I think.

I have no idea.

All I know is Chantelle and I ended up at a bar in town, drinking and dancing, both of us trying to forget the day’s events. We went utterly crazy, and I drank way, way, way too much. Chantelle, last time I checked, was still dancing the night away. That girl will go until three in the morning, but not me, I’m exhausted. Emotionally, physically, and mentally. I want to go to sleep, and I’ve had well and truly enough to drink.

My vision swims a little, and my steps are wobbly.

I got her spare keys and told her I’m going; she assured me she’ll be done soon. She’s a big girl, I’m not going to drag her out. She parties harder than most men I know, she can handle her own.

I am now out front of the bar, waiting in the line for a cab.

It’s long.

It’s a busy night tonight. Some live band playing, so everyone is out and about.

I rub my arms—it’s cold

So freaking cold. I should have brought a coat with me. By the time I get a cab, I’ll be freezing, no doubt.

I glance down the street. If I walked five or six blocks, I could flag one down up there a lot quicker. It would save me waiting in this line.

Shrugging, I make sure I’ve got cash in my pocket, thanks to Chantelle, and then I step out of the line and start, very slowly, making my way down the street, toward a quieter area. I’m tired, and I want to sleep. I don’t want to wait.

I walk, or sway, depending on how you look at it.

It’s cool, but the walking helps, warming my body up, no doubt making the alcohol work even stronger. Marvelous.

I’m three blocks down and into the more congested area of town when a car slows down beside me. There are a few people around, but a good majority of them are drunk, paying zero attention to me, wobbling down the street on my own.

“Hello, Yolanda.”

I turn and stare at a blond man who is climbing out of a dark-blue truck. Did he just call me Yolanda?

“Pardon me?” I mutter, rubbing my hand down my face because, damn, I’m drunk.

“You didn’t think you could just get away, did you?”

I shake my head. “Listen, buddy, I’ve had about enough of this shit to last me a life time. I’m not Yolanda.”

The man grins. “Well, that’s a new one. Most people are running and screaming by now.”

I grunt. “Well, considering I’m not Yolanda, I have no reason to go running and screaming, now do I?”

He grins bigger, and it’s creepy. Two other men climb out of the car, and it’s only then that I realize this is not good. It’s really not good. These people actually think I’m Yolanda. And they clearly want her. Probably for cash. Probably for revenge. God knows, but I’m not taking another blow for that girl.

I reach for my purse, only I don’t have my identification on me, because my money and phone are still at Mason’s house. They didn’t give me a chance to take it when they cornered me and dragged me out. I only have cash. I had no problem getting into the bar, because, well, I don’t look under twenty-one.

But, this means I can’t prove I’m not Yolanda.

“Listen,” I say, backing up. “I’m not Yolanda. I swear to god. I’m her twin sister.”

The man bursts out laughing, and the other two men climb out of the car and stalk toward me.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, but we have your photos, and your information, so now you’re going to come and take a little ride with us.”

“Oh, hell no I’m not,” I snap, putting my hands up. “I’m not Yolanda!”

“Now—” the blond man grins “—you are.”

He grabs hold of me, and I screech, as loudly as I can. “Help! He’s kidnapping me! Help!”

Two people stop, a young male and female, and their eyes bug. People over the road have turned to look now, too.

“Is ... is uh, everything okay?” the man asks, stepping closer to me.

The man, holding me with one, big beefy hand, pulls his jacket open to show a gun. “You keep walking, boy, or I’ll blow your brains out over this sidewalk.”

The young man’s eyes widen, and he starts walking.

“Coward!” I screech as I’m dragged to the car and shoved inside.

I see people starting to walk over from the other side of the road, but none of them make it to the car in time before it drives off.

I’m in the back with two, very big, very angry men, gripping me so hard there is no chance of escape, none whatsoever. I start to panic, because this situation just became very, very dangerous. These men aren’t messing around, that’s apparent, which means I’m in a very dire situation right now.

And nobody knows where I am.

Chantelle isn’t even going to figure out I’m gone until morning.

Oh, God.

This is bad.

Really bad.

“I’m not Yolanda,” I try again, pathetically.

A gun is pressed to my temple, and my lip starts to tremble. Fear, unlike anything I’ve ever felt, rips through my body.

She’s ruined my life.

She’s taken so much from me.

And now, my sister is going to be the reason I die.

~*~*~*~