Eva breathed a sigh of relief as she sat on the train headed downtown, then buried her nose in Jack’s sweatshirt and inhaled the manly, woodsy scent that lingered there. She thought of the way she’d felt, riding him while they were stuck in traffic, and cringed. She was a complete fraud.

The Snoozer. Yes, that was her name.

Rick, the asshole ex, her only ex, had christened her that after their horrible last date. She’d been a little tipsy and, filled with liquid courage, she’d decided to give a blowjob a go. But he’d been drunk and had passed out before she’d even gotten his dick in her mouth.

Some mutual friends from their social circle had called her one morning not long after and brought her attention to the Voice article. It wasn’t the way he made it out to be, she’d explained, but who cared about the truth when Rick’s story was so darn entertaining?

Afterward, she Googled the nearest cloister and how to become a nun. Thankfully, though, with time, the name had been buried.

But now…

Oh, God.

Jack knew. That horrible woman, Lucy, knew. How had Jack ever gotten himself entangled with her?

Eva hugged herself as the subway rattled on through the darkness, and a terrible thought occurred to her. Lucy’s harmless, he’d said. Well, maybe she had been. Maybe she’d once been normal, as perfectly lovely to be with as she was to look at. Until Jack.

Maybe Jack had destroyed her.

Eva had heard the rumors about him, about the trail of wreckage and broken hearts he’d left behind. Maybe that was inevitable. Maybe, instead of emerging from her sex education with an arsenal of ways to knock a man dead, she would become…Lucy.

She shuddered. No. She crossed her legs, feeling the wetness between them. Jack’s wetness. She loved fucking him. Loved it.

But she also loved the way he’d taken care of her. The way he’d talked to her, asking about her, wanting to make sure she was okay.

She swallowed. The problem was, she didn’t just love fucking him. There was so much more.

But the things she was starting to want were things Jack simply didn’t do.

The train came to a stop at Franklin Street, and she climbed the stairs, pulling her phone out of her bag. She saw the message from Jack and sighed. Where are you? Come back.

Later, she thought. I need to clear my head.

She hit Georgie’s number on her phone, but it rang through to voicemail. Then she typed in a text. How do you know if you’re in too deep?

Georgie was never one to respond right away. Eve didn’t expect an immediate answer, and she didn’t get one. Passing under the scaffolding that spanned the sidewalk, she opened the text from Jack. She jabbed in the start to about a thousand replies to his text:

Your ex is a bitch.

I can’t talk to you right now.

Maybe this was a mistake.

I can’t lose you, too.

She groaned. There it was. The truth. She’d just typed it out in black and white. She studied the words, thought about going back to her lonely apartment with no Jack in it, and shuddered.

With a soft curse, she cleared the screen then, hands shaking, began jabbing in something about how she would talk to him tomorrow.

She couldn’t be honest with him.

Tell him she was afraid of losing him, and the next thing she knew, she’d be showing up at his apartment in nothing but a jacket and calling his next girlfriend terrible names.

She was in too deep, way too deep, and she had no one to blame but herself.

She shivered as a familiar sense of disquiet enveloped her. She’d promised herself never to get wrapped up in Jack, and yet here she was, in so deep that she’d lost track of time and place. She looked up to see whether she’d gotten to Leonard Street yet, cursing her stupidity.

Hadn’t she just been chased by a stranger earlier that day? And now she was walking alone through the dark, oblivious to the outside world? Antonio would—

Suddenly, heavy arms wrapped around her, dragging her toward the street. She shrieked and dropped the phone, her vision blurring before something came down over her head, shrouding everything in blackness. The suffocating stench of oil clouded her lungs and she kicked out at the cause of it.

Another set of arms grabbed her feet, holding her legs immobile. Two sets. A sinking feeling clenched her stomach; she would never be able to fight them off.

She remembered something. When she was a child, her father used to sit her down to watch videos about how to protect herself during a kidnapping. Scream, fight, kick, do whatever you have to do, but don’t let them get you into the car, he’d told her. They get you in the car, and it’s all over.

Summoning every last bit of strength, she wrenched her body hard, but it did nothing. Her father’s words spiraled through her brain as she heard a car door open. She could almost feel the seconds of the clock ticking away her life. Too late, too late, it’s almost too late.

She opened her mouth and screamed with all her power.

The trick didn’t work.

The men holding her deposited her on a carpeted surface, and she fell face first against something hard. Doors slammed shut with great finality behind her, and the idling motor roared. She tried to move, but tires screeched under her. Sliding with the motion of the car, she felt hands on her ankles, binding her legs together.

She couldn’t breathe. It was all over. They were going to kill her.