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“Didja hear me?” whoever asked.
Scary Tattooed Hottie just lifted his chin in acknowledgement.
Some of my fear eased, but I wouldn’t let my guard down until I was in my car and the bikers were gone from my rearview mirror.
After a long tense moment, someone cleared their throat. “What about the girl?”
Another silent moment stretched before Tattooed Hottie stood upright and took a step away.
I locked my knees to stop from slumping in relief, but my reprieve was short-lived.
“Could be tellin’ the truth. Or could be playin’ us with lies from that fuckin’ mouth. Until we know…” Tattooed Hottie paused and looked me dead in the eye. “She’s mine.”
Before I had time to respond, his shoulder went to my belly and lifted, literally and figuratively flipping my world upside down. My groceries and—really unfortunately—my purse clattered to the ground.
It took a moment to catch the breath his hard shoulder had knocked from me, but as soon as I had it, I used it. “Let me down! Help! Let me down, you crazy bastard!”
In the few strides he took, I kicked and screamed and hit. I even tried to bite, but none of it did any good.
My equilibrium was jarred further when he tossed me, but as soon as I got my bearings enough to know which way was up, I scrambled toward the rear doors of the van just as they slammed shut. That didn’t stop me from clawing and kicking at them. “You’re out of your mind! There’re cameras everywhere in the damn parking lot. Let me go!”
My eyes darted around, but I couldn’t see anything. There were no windows and the cab was completely walled off, not offering even a hint of sunlight. I felt around for a handle, a weapon, bobby pin… anything. Empty handed, I stood and felt around the roof, hoping for an escape hatch or sunroof or something.
But once again, nothing.
This is a prank.
A prank gone way, way too far.
That flicker of hope was snuffed out when the engine roared to life, followed by the near-deafening roar of motorcycles.
And then we were moving—the acceleration and my shaking legs working together to drop me on my already sore ass.
In the darkness, the image of the man’s burning gaze replayed in my mind, his words echoing over and over.
‘She’s mine.’
He’s not Scary Tattooed Hottie.
He’s fuckin’ Psycho Tattooed Asshole.
I tried to crawl toward the front where the seats were, feeling again for anything, but the back of the van was totally empty.
Except for me.
My knees skidded painfully against the floor, and I kept slamming to the side, unable to find any ground.
With no other option, I steadied myself against the wall and tried to slow my breathing.
And then I screamed my fucking head off, kicking and slamming around for good measure.
