Page 87 of The Devil’s Feather

I shrieked. “Rafael, goddammit, you were supposed to warn me!” Muffled as it was by the hand over my mouth, my meaning was still clear.

The assailant slapped my phone to the ground. He dragged me sideways.

Wait. Rafael wouldn’t ruin my phone… Oh fuck, these arms aren’t big enough. The proportions are all wrong. It’s not him⁠1!

“Help! Call 911!” I screamed at the top of my lungs; kicking, biting, clawing, scrabbling for my phone. “Fire! Fire!” Someone had once told me that would get more attention. What a time to test it. I stomped ineffectually at the feet of the person holding me.

A masculine grunt told me I’d connected. Two more hands grabbed me. Two men? One of shoved a cloth gag into my mouth. Another pulled a bag over my head.

They wrestled me down the street. Fuck, why had I walked down an alley by myself? I screeched like a banshee around the gag, and was summarily lifted off my feet and thrown over a shoulder, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I writhed and flailed, but couldn’t break free of the kidnapper’s grip.

Why me? I wasn’t some heiress. Didn’t even look like one. Of all the ways I’d imagined my death over the years, kidnapping had never remotely factored in. Traffickers didn’t grab middle-aged women off the street. Cold sweat seeped through my clothes. For all I fought, my body rapidly chilled.

When I heard a car door open, I redoubled my efforts. Tears soaked the bag covering my face, and drool ran down my chin from my screams around the gag. Fuck, was I going to be held for ransom? Or would they go straight to murder?

“Please, please, my boyfriend is wealthy!” The gag muffled me, but I yelled anyway. “His name is Rafael Nazim. He’ll pay whatever you want. Please, I’ll give you his phone number! Just let me go. I won’t press charges!”

The men—I assumed they were men because who else did that kind of shit?—tied my wrists behind my back and my ankles together and threw me into a trunk. I landed hard on my little backpack purse. Why hadn’t they taken that?

The trunk slammed shut. I kicked out with both feet, but there wasn’t enough space to do much. The engine started. Trying not to hyperventilate, I curled into a little ball.

I was going to die. I was going to die and Rafael wouldn’t even know where I was when it happened. I wouldn’t get to tell him goodbye. Or Dee. Or Annie or Ross or my coworkers or even my parents. I’d never get to write that sequel. I’d never get to kiss Rafael again or tell him I loved him. God, I hoped nobody blamed him for this, but he’d naturally be the first suspect. It wasn’t fucking fair. I wept pitiful tears.

We drove for what felt like hours. I had no sense of where we were going, only that hills were involved. Hopefully, that meant we were still in the city. Some possibility that I’d be found—even if it was just my dead body. My face hurt from crying. My shoulders and knees screamed from being stuck in one position, and my back ached from having my purse jammed into it.

With a brake squeal, the car swerved and stopped. I tensed; was this the part where I was murdered, or worse?

The trunk opened. I kicked out, throwing my whole body into it. They just hoisted me out of the trunk and tossed me on the concrete.

“Dollface sends her regards,” one of them snarled.

I barely had time to register the pain of impact as car doors slammed and tires peeled. Wriggling on the pavement like a worm, I tried to work my hands forward under my feet, but I wasn’t limber enough. Damn my aversion to yoga!

“Help! Somebody help me, please!”

People talked in the distance. Cars moved in and out of what had to be a parking lot. No one reacted to my gagged screams for help. My voice grew hoarse. I decided to save it for when I heard someone get close. No amount of writhing on the pavement helped me pull the bag off my head.

Time crawled as I lay there shivering. My shoulder throbbed where I’d landed on it, and I was lucky I hadn’t hit my head. At least the ground wasn’t wet. But why had they taken me only to dump me in a random spot? No ransom demands. No robbery. No human trafficking. I’d never even heard them talk to each other. It made no sense.

Rafael wasn’t expecting me back for a while, but surely someone had called the cops when I was snatched off the street in broad daylight. Surely someone would find me and take pity on the woman trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey on the street. Or alley. Or wherever I was.

Hopefully, whoever found me didn’t turn out to be worse than the men who’d abducted me. So long as people didn’t leave stuff visible in their cars, the city was pretty safe overall. But it was still a city; with all a city’s problems.

Feet pounded on the sidewalk. A runner! I cried out for help with what little strength I had left. The gag turned it into a warble.

“Elaine?”

Rafael’s voice!

“Here!” I yelled. “Over here!” or rather, “Mmm! Mmph Mmm!”

The pounding picked up the tempo, getting louder. He skidded to a stop beside me.

“Elaine! Oh fuck, Elaine.” Rafael ripped the bag off my head and the gag out of my mouth. “Are you hurt? Who did this?” His eyes were red-rimmed, and his voice shook as he cut away the ties on my wrists and ankles with a pocket knife. “Fuck, I thought I had lost you.”

All I could do was shiver. He pelted my face with kisses and gathered me into his arms. His body heat was so comforting I completely fell apart, wailing out my sobs as the inevitable meltdown railroaded me. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest.

“Oh, canım, I am so sorry. What did they do to you?” He wept into my hair, rocking me against him, muttering in Turkish. I picked out ‘seni seviyorum’—I love you—several times. His arms locked around me, and the bass thrumming in my bones calmed me down.