The snatch may have happened quickly, but we were in the car for a long time. It felt like forever, and I had to lie across the laps of two grown men the entire way. After they had slung me into the car, I had my hands pulled behind my back and what felt like a roll of duct tape wound around them. Whatever it was, it was strong, and even pulling as hard as I could, I could not get my hands free. Not that I had a lot of options to move. My face was smashed onto the knees of one person, and after placing a loose canvas bag over my head, he placed a hand on the back of my neck, keeping my head down. That was fine by me—I would rather have my head held immobile on his knees than bouncing around anywhere else—like his lap. The rest of my body was free, but I still couldn’t move. To fit in the backseat of the vehicle I had my legs curled up under me. Lackey number two had his arms across my knees to keep me from moving.

“If you can promise not to kick around, miss,” he said in an absurdly polite tone, “I won’t tie your legs together. You will need to walk as soon as we get out of the car anyway.” There were four people in the car that I could tell, the two in the back with me, a driver, and then someone in the passenger seat. I didn’t get a look at any faces, but I saw bodies and arms, so I knew that there were four of them. Why there were four of them in the car when it only took about ten seconds to yank me right out of the parking lot mid conversation, I didn’t know. But then again, maybe they were prepared for me to be a tougher catch than I was. I sure showed them.

“Who are you guys? Where are you taking me?” I aimed the question at the man who seemed the nicest, but he didn’t answer. No one did. As a matter of fact, no one said another word the entire drive, which could have lasted hours for all I knew. I was stuck in a tomb of silence, listening to nothing but road noises and the sound of the local oldies station on the radio the entire way, strung across the laps of two strangers with my head covered and my hands bound behind my back. Terrified wasn’t even a word that could begin to describe what I was feeling, but it was the only word that came to mind.

* * *

When the car did finally come to a halt for the last time, the silence of the ride had permeated my consciousness and the sound of the doors opening was deafening. I don’t know if not speaking during the ride had been a terror tactic, but whether or not that was the desired effect was irrelevant. My knees were weak and I could barely stand, even after being hauled to my feet and led like a pony through a maze of rooms. I knew the floor was concrete because I could feel it underneath my shoes, and also underneath my face when the toe of my Chucks dragged against the ground and I tripped forward, breaking my fall with the front of my body. I couldn’t stop the cry of pain as my shoulder made contact with the ground first. Yep, definitely concrete.

“This isn’t going to work, guys,” a nasally male voice rang out above me. “Unless one of you wants to carry her, just cut her loose. She isn’t going to go anywhere, and if we bring her to Chaz with bruises on her, he is gonna be pissed.”

Large hands grabbed me from under my armpits and hauled me to my feet. The bag was removed from my head first and the kind voice from earlier said, “We’ll free your hands so you have better balance, but I’m going to need you to follow orders and stay in line. Nobody here wants to hurt you.” The face in front of me was the owner of the words just now and in the car. He looked just like he sounded, like a kindly uncle next door. He had salt and pepper hair and was wearing khaki slacks and a green zippered cardigan. I had apparently been kidnapped by Mr. Rogers. Definitely not thug material.

“Speak for yourself. I wouldn’t mind taking a crack at her.” Another voice this time, and I could tell by sound alone he was a nasty piece of work. A new face appeared in front of me and I felt someone from behind me cut through the tape holding my hands behind my back. They weren’t gentle, but they were precise as the bonds were removed quickly. I rubbed my sore wrists and rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the ache that bloomed in the center of my back.

The new face of Mr. Nasty, as I had decided to call him, was too close to me, and I stepped back to put some more distance between us, bringing myself up against a hard body directly behind me. Two hands reached out to steady me, but they were firm. I got the message. That was as far as I went in that direction, but hell if I wanted the gaunt face of the creeper in front of me to get any closer.

The color of his hair was impossible to determine as it was so greasy it hung in dark matted strands around his scab-covered face. Seeing my obvious discomfort, he grinned, and stepping even closer to me, laughed directly in my face.

Oh God, the smell.

The few teeth that were left in his mouth were grey or black, with shriveled up gums that pulled away at the roots. His fetid breath hit me square in the nose and I gagged. Screw being held in place. I pushed myself as far back against the body behind me as I could. That man had the mouth of a corpse and I wanted him nowhere near me.

“Back off, Tweaker,” the smooth voice said from behind me. “I don’t know why Chaz keeps you around, but you aren’t in charge here. Also, I doubt you would know what to do with her if you had her. So don’t embarrass yourself, and back the fuck up.” One hand shot from behind me and shoved Mr. Nasty in the chest, not hard, but enough to move him to the side. The same hand then grabbed me by the shoulder, directing me to move. “Let’s go,” the voice said. I had no choice but to move in the direction I was being guided. The voice behind me had called that man tweaker. It made sense. That was a meth mouth like I had only seen in pictures on the internet.

With my face and hands free I able to maintain my balance on my own, but that hand stayed on my shoulder, steering me through various warehouse rooms. I had no idea where I was, but it was dark, and there were huge metal shelving units full of boxes all around. I had no idea what was in them, and I didn’t get a chance to even ask before I was led into a clean, better lit area.

This area looked like a section of offices, and as we walked down a carpeted hallway, I tried to get a grip on my scattered emotions. Calm down, I thought to myself. I can see getting murdered in a dirty warehouse, but this is an office area. With carpet. Nobody wants to clean blood out of the carpet. I don’t know why I think the weird shit I do, it just happens. It had about zero percent effectiveness in calming my nerves as well. I had just been kidnapped in broad daylight, I doubt these guys were above killing me and dumping my body wherever. Or not. I didn’t really have any experience with thugs, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, and it was that fear—that not knowing—that made things all the worse.

Our destination was apparently an office at the end of the hallway, neither to the right nor the left, but the hallway actually stopped outside of the office door. The person who I had come to know as just “the hand” on my shoulder actually stepped in front me to open the door, and I saw him for the first time. It almost made me forget that I was kidnapped, he was that good looking.

A plain leather blazer hung on broad shoulders but narrowed at the waist. He wore a black shirt as a first layer, the kind that was probably a size too small and accentuated every muscle underneath it. It left pretty much nothing to the imagination. This guy had a body that sold product on magazine pages, and a face to match. Olive complexion, just a touch exotic, and a sensual mouth. I don’t know another word for lips like that; they looked like they were made for loving.

He caught me staring at his mouth, and I felt a blush burning my cheeks as he threw me a wink before turning back to the still unopened door. “Gordon, Eddie, you come in with me. Tweak, you stay outside, your job is done.” The greasy, bad-breathed dirtball behind me was outraged at the exclusion. Apparently he was getting kicked out of the boys club? He could take my place if he wanted. I didn’t ask to be invited to this party.

“Bullshit, D, I did the work too, I’m coming in. It isn’t fair,” he whined pitifully from behind me. Even from my spot in front of him, I could smell the foul odor coming from his mouth when he talked. He was probably a walking infection, and I gagged a little at the thought. A hand grabbed my hair, painfully yanking back and causing me to let out an agonizing yelp.

“I’m gonna ask the boss to let me keep her when he’s done. She’s thick. I like it.” As he said the words while wrenching me back against him by my hair, I felt his other hand come up and squeeze my breast. Hard.

Fuck this.

Yeah, I was scared, but I was also grossed out, and if I was going to die today, I was for sure going to go out fighting. Before anyone else could move I brought my head back quick and hard, and heard, as much as felt, the bones crunch as I connected with his nose. He screamed and let go immediately, so I whirled around and planted my foot straight in his groin.

“The hell you say,” I spat as he howled in pain. He’d been too busy clutching his broken nose when I kicked him, and had no time to protect his vulnerable parts, so he dropped like a hot rock when I jacked him in the nuts. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.” It was an empty threat, of course, I had no means with which to do such a thing, and I was absolutely outnumbered in that cramped hallway in front of the scary office door. But no fucking way was I letting that greasy meth head put his hands on me again. That was some nightmare shit right there.

“You deserved that, Tweak,” the handsome bad guy said to the crying ball on the floor. “You settle down,” he said to me as he put his hand on the doorknob. “If you can be calm, you can walk in and sit on the couch. If you’re going to stay riled up, I can throw you over my shoulder and toss you in there. Your choice, Angel.” I didn’t like that he knew my name. I also didn’t like that he was threatening me after I was just assaulted by the other guy. I narrowed my eyes at him but said nothing. He had just lost handsome points in my book.

“All right, guys that’s enough. Boss is waiting,” the nasal guy said, and as he walked up next to me I got my first look at him. Fire engine red. That was the color of his hair. I had never seen hair that red on a human in real life. His eyes were green and his pale face was covered with a spray of freckles. It had been a background noise all this time, but I finally figured it out. He whistled when he breathed. It was difficult keeping track of all of these people when I didn’t know their names. The guy called D had said the names Gordon and Eddie. I had no idea who was who, and my brain demanded I identify my attackers, so I decided to call the red-headed heathen next to me, “Whistler,” after the sound he made when he breathed.

“He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. You know that,” the man I now referred to as Mr. Rogers said as he gently pressed me towards the door. “Everyone off the boat.” Then the door opened and we walked in single file, D first, then the Whistler, me, and Mr. Rodgers. A regular fucking cast of characters on a shit show television program.