Chapter 25 #2
As we make our way down the stairs and out of the building, a thought hits me.
Why is there no one else around? The halls aren’t usually completely empty.
He pushes me forward, and I put my hands up to open the door and he’s not alone.
Not that I thought it would be, but I hoped he was.
It was already going to be an unfair fight, but now it’s worse, much worse.
There are three other masked men standing around, and their conversation stops as soon as they see us.
I may have had a sliver of a chance if it was only one, but four?
I’ll never be able to fight them off. Stopping short, I press my body back into Derek’s—the lesser of the evils right now.
He bands his arm around my chest tighter and presses the knife a little until a sharp pain pricks through my senses.
My hand immediately flies to the wound as blood descends on my sweatshirt. Fucking bastard! It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something, but I wipe the wetness coating my finger on his shirt instead. Here’s hoping it’s enough to mark him if I don’t make it out of this alive.
“Get her outta here.”
He shoves me forward, and I stumble, not expecting the force, into the arms of the tall, broad man in front of me.
I immediately try to dodge his grasp, but he holds me tight.
So, I do the next best thing, and drop like dead weight and let out the loudest, high-pitched scream I can muster.
Someone had to have heard it. I look at the windows that face the parking lot, but I can’t make out any faces.
No one is watching. A hand clamps over my mouth and rough hands pull me upright and flush against his firm body.
“Shut the fuck up,” a deep voice echoes in my ear. His voice is unfamiliar, but harsh.
These are not the men to mess with. I can’t overpower them, and I know I can’t seduce them like in the movies.
And if I give up and give in, I’ll die. My options aren’t looking so good and my panic attack is settling in.
My breathing shortens to breathy pants. There isn’t enough oxygen in my lungs, and it burns trying to suck in a breath past his rough hand.
My heart is pounding like I just finished a marathon and sweat coats my body.
I’m going to die.
I know it. There’s no way out of this.
I stare at Derek with wide, pleading eyes, and he won’t even look at me, his eyes trained on the ground.
“Look at me,” I shout from behind the man’s hand, but it’s too muffled to be understood.
Tears fall with abandon down my cheeks, and on to the ground below.
“Please, Derek,” I say, pulling in a deep breath.
What’s his angle in all this? And where the hell are they taking me?
A strangled noise escapes me—half sob, half gasp, and I’m shaking so hard I feel like I might snap in half.
I fight. I kick and wrestle, trying with all my might to free myself. If I can just get out from under their grasp, I can run. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins so strongly that I can hardly feel anything. Physically and mentally, I am shutting down, and I can’t. I focus on only one thing.
Freedom.
I have to get away from them. In movies, when the subject gets moved to a secondary location, it never ends well.
I’ve got to believe that’s true in real life kidnapping as well.
Victims hardly ever get found, and when they do, it’s months, or even years later, if at all.
And knowing the clientele that goes here, it wouldn’t surprise me if I was going to be sold off.
Or used for blackmail against my dad. Wesley told me his dad trafficked people.
What if this is all a setup? What if the Kings were working with Derek all along and this was their plan?
I know Julien hates me, but would he really have me kidnapped?
Deep down, I don’t believe it, but my fear is overpowering any other rational thought.
I hate them. I hate all three of them and my dad.
If I had never met them, this wouldn’t be happening now.
One man grabs at my legs and I kick out with all my might, catching his knee and he buckles when he puts weight on it.
“You’ll pay for that, bitch,” he groans and rights himself again. He limps and I internally high-five myself. I tug and pull, trying with all my might to free myself from their grasp.
The cocking of a gun is the only thing that makes me pause. My heart barreling in my chest as the realization hits me like a freight train.
Students can’t have guns.
Panic settles deep. It radiates from every pore on my body.
My palms sweat, my heart races, and I can’t think straight.
I know if it pulls me under, I’m as good as dead.
Whoever these men are won’t care if I cry or beg.
They are here to do a job, and nothing will get in their way.
The fight leaves me in a whoosh as one of them trains the barrel between my eyebrows.
I turn to look at Derek and grind out, “Why?”
Derek holds up his hand, showing off Julien’s handy work. A single splint is the only thing amiss with him. “Your boyfriends need to be knocked down a few pegs. What better way to do it than through you?”
I shake my head back and forth, trying to understand. What gain does he get out of this?
“I never wanted you to get hurt, Derek,” I plead as the men drag me toward a white plumber’s van. With the gun to my head, I don’t fight. The back door slides open and the one holding me backs up into it, dragging me with him in his arms and forcing me inside.
Derek places his phone to his ear. “It’s done.”