Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Well, my gut-flinched just a split second before I felt a hand close around my mouth from behind, an arm close around my midsection hard enough to strangle out my air, to lift me off my feet, to ensure a bruise would be there to remember the sensation even days later.
"Ferryn!"
Vance's voice was tortured, his face stricken even as I felt myself being dragged backward.
There were things I knew about attacks, having been attacked by people of all sexes, strengths, in my training from Aunt Lo, Aunt Janie, Uncle Malcolm, Uncles Cash, Wolf, Repo, Cyrus, Pagan... the list was endless.
But that was... I could only get away if I stopped it before I was completely overtaken.
And, make no mistake, I was completely overtaken by this man who ran backward with me as though I weighed no more than a dried leaf.
My feet couldn't make contact with the ground to jump up to break his hold on me.
The arm around my stomach was too firm to wiggle out of.
I was going to be taken.
That realization made a coldness wash over my body, made goosebumps break out over my flesh, made my stomach turn sour, making me wonder if I was going to vomit even as I watched Vance chase us.
All I could seem to think, though, as I saw a trunk open at my side was that he needed to get back in his car to chase us; he needed to get Iggy's phone to call my Dad.
My body lifted higher, twisted, then slammed down into the scratchy material covering the trunk.
"Vance!" I heard screamed, surprised, almost, to realize that the frantic, hysterical sound came bursting out of me before the trunk door slammed.
He had been close, too.
Too close.
So close that the man who had taken me would have needed to deal with him.
My heart seemed to freeze in my chest, understanding my need to hear, to make sure there wasn't a shot that said he lost his beautiful life trying to save mine.
There was no shot, though.
I heard a shuffle, a grunt, then a car door closing, and the stomach-dropping feel of the car peeling off.
My body rolled, slamming hard against the side of the trunk, hard enough to make me hiss out as the car took a sharp turn, slamming me against the other wall before I finally kicked out my legs and threw out my arms, stabbing them into the corners of the trunk to try to hold myself still as the panic racked through my system.
Panic is useless, Uncle Malcolm's voice spoke inside my head. Biologic, but controllable, he had added. You must fight it, stay in control. If you are in control of your mind, you can control your body. If you can control your body, you can change your situation.
There was one last helpless, whining, bemoaning whimper from somewhere deep within me, something that, under any other situation, would have turned my saliva sour to even think of saying it, but in this situation, with my world changing around me by the moment, there was no pride left to fight it.
My parents were right. I should have done what they said.
But there was no time for that, for girlish helplessness. I was not helpless. I would never be helpless.
I had trained for this for God's sake.
When the car idled at some traffic signal, my legs and arms relaxed as I scrambled to the corner of the trunk, hands frantically searching for the pull. There was always a pull. It was the law. For little kids locking themselves in trunks, mostly. But also for this kind of situation, for people thrown helplessly into the locked depths. There was a pull somewhere that would pop the top open. So I could alarm a following car, get the police involved, or, if I was desperate enough, to jump out. Broken bones and road burn would hurt, but the pain would be self-inflicted, it would be known.
Whereas whatever lay ahead of me would be brought on by others.
I wasn't naive though.
It wasn't unknown.
My fate.
Much to my mom's discomfort, Aunt Lo and Aunt Janie had sat me down, insisting right to her face that she knew why this was necessary. There had been weight behind the words, something I hadn't understood, but it was enough for Mom to concede, to wring her hands as they charged forward into it.
They didn't shy away from the words, the ones that made my belly tighten. Abduction. Trafficking. The sex trade. Rape. Virginity auctions.
I understood in painfully explicit detail what men wanted from young, pretty girls when they snatched them off the street, threw them into a trunk, and drove them away from their lives.
I knew what was going to happen to me if I didn't get away. If I didn't get control over this situation.