Page 72 of Unplanned Target

At this point, it’s three against one, so I can’t really fight as they haul me through the trees and brush and shove me in the back of a van, pushing me to the floor where they tie my arms behind my back and string my feet together.

Every bump down the road bounces my throbbing head against the metal floor. My jaw aches and my cheeks are on fire. I’m pretty sure I lost a good chunk of hair, and that there’s gravel embedded in the skin of my hands and arms.

But all I can think is thank God Allie didn’t come with me. Thank God she’s safe. Thank God she has Owen and Tony and Becca.

Because it’s not looking great for me right now.

It feels like we drive forever. The men around me talk in low voices, but I can’t understand anything they say. Maybe because they’re being careful, or maybe it’s because my ears are ringing from the two hits I took to the face.

Either way, I don’t know if I’m relieved or terrified when we stop and my head is no longer bouncing around.

I’m hefted up again, this time to be thrown over somebody’s shoulder since I can’t walk on my own, and carried into a derelict building. I’ve no clue where I am or why I’m here, but at this point I’m pretty sure it’s not an accident. They didn’t grab the wrong woman, and they’re not going to realize their mistake and let me go.

I’m thrown onto the floor, barely managing to keep my head from hitting the cement as I go down. I gag on my first inhale. The whole place stinks like piss and shit and is so dark it’s hard to see. There are a few windows, but they’re all covered with filthy fabric that barely lets any light in.

I blink a few times, trying to clear the blur from my eyes so I can take in as much of my surroundings as possible.

“Did you get her phone?” A new man comes into the room, this one looking a whole lot different from the ones who grabbed me. Instead of jeans and dirty T-shirts, he’s wearing an expensive suit and shiny shoes. His gray hair is neatly cut and perfectly styled.

Actually, he looks kind of familiar now that I can see a little better.

Familiar in a way that makes my stomach turn.

“Eugene?” What in the hell? I liked that guy. Thought he was trying to help me. Believed he genuinely felt bad about having to let me go.

He slowly turns, eyes coming to where I lay. “Seems like you didn’t hit her hard enough.”

The big guy steps toward me. “You want me to try again?”

Eugene flicks his hand. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s not like she’s going to tell anyone.” He lifts his brows at the man who carried me. “Her phone?”

The big guy shakes his head. “Didn’t have one.” He gestures at me. “She’s wearing leggings. Nowhere to stick it.”

Technically, he’s correct. My leggings don’t have pockets. Neither does the bulky sweatshirt I chose this morning. My clothing literally doesn’t provide a single spot to store my cell phone.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still have a way to carry one that is obviously completely undetectable.

“Well that was stupid of you, wasn’t it?” Eugene comes to crouch down next to me. “Not as smart as you think you are, are you?”

I’m for sure smarter than Eugene, but pointing that out would be a terrible idea. He’d likely get suspicious and start digging around my clothes. So I try to look pathetic. Scared and ashamed.

I must not be very good at it, because instead of leaving me alone, Eugene narrows his eyes at me. “Lock her up. This one’s going to be fun to play with.”

That does not sound good.

Once again, the big guy picks me up, only now he just drags me along, my leggings doing very little to ease the grind of cement against my knees as he moves through the large industrial building. We reach a more enclosed area and the horrible odor gets stronger and stronger.

But that’s not the most disturbing part of what’s different here.

I swear I can hear voices. Whisperers that barely reach my ears. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the pitch and tone is familiar in a way that has bile climbing up my throat.

Because I think I know where some of the missing girls are.

The guy dragging me around like a ragdoll opens a heavy metal door and shoves me through, leaving me where I lay. The door slams shut and a lock clicks into place, barricading me in.

I listen as his heavy steps get quieter and quieter.

Then I start to wiggle my way across the floor. I need to find a way to get my hands loose so I can get to my phone and call for help.