"They beat me," I supplied, motioning to the front seat. "They'll do it again. And this time, no one will be there to stop them from hurting me worse, raping me. Killing me."
His face visibly hardened at 'rape', but again... no action to change what was happening.
Desperate, I twisted on the seat, turning half on my stomach with my legs still pinned and grabbed at the door, finding it locked, but not able to find any visible lock to push up. Stupid, stupid new cars. On what could only be called a sob, I reached up toward the window, slamming on it with every bit of strength I could given the awkward position. I knew I wouldn't break it, but figured maybe someone driving past or something might see it and think it was weird and call it in. You know, like how you're supposed to kick out the taillight and wave your hand out of it if you were ever in the trunk. Suddenly, I wished the driver got his wish and I was back there. Trunks had latches and at least a hope for escape in a kidnapping situation.
But then my ankles were released.
I still couldn't kick out because suddenly, his big body had curled over mine, trapping my lower body with his weight and grabbing my hands and yanking them down from the window, pinning them above my head on the door, crushed there by his weight.
I tried twisting, bringing my knees up, bucking my weight upward.
It was all completely and utterly useless. He was too big, too strong, too unmoveable.
I collapsed back on a sob, turning my face to the side, not wanting to have a complete and utter breakdown right in his face, but doing so meant that my face buried into one of his massive arms, tears streaming down his forearm.
"The fuck you doing, getting some action without us?" the driver asked, making me swallow back another sob, jerking back and looking up into his face, seeing nothing but a soul-deep kind of hatred there. But not for me, for the driver.
"I'm trying to keep your bitch ass out of fucking jail is what I'm doing. I don't care how much my brother pays for a lawyer, no fucking way you'd get off on a second kidnapping and attempted rape charge, you fucking moron."
"Your brother."
The words came out when I had only meant to think them, making his gaze fly back to my face, looking a bit more guarded.
His brother was Dom, Bry's boss.
His brother was the one who was ordering people to beat, rob, possibly rape, and kidnap me.
His brother.
Any hope I had of him maybe having a heart, a conscience, a soft spot, of being a possibly reasonable person who I could convince to let me go disappeared.
I felt all the tears dry up in a second.
The rapid heartbeat, pressure in my chest, swirling thoughts, they all seemed to stop completely, leaving nothing but a bone-deep understanding of my fate.
And crying wasn't going to help.
Begging wasn't going to help.
I needed to relax. I needed to think. I needed to pay attention for any small possible opportunity for escape.
"You calm?" Albert asked, brows drawn together like he couldn't quite understand how I went from attack mode to hysterical mess to calm and collected so quickly. I nodded tightly at him, not quite trusting my voice to not give away every bit of defiance in me.
I wasn't going to go down without a fight.
I wasn't going to lay there and take whatever they gave to me.
But I was going to be smart.
I was going to bide my time and I was going to think of something and I was going to get myself the hell out of this ridiculous situation.
And right that moment, years, a lifetime, generations of DNA coding seemed to get reversed. Because my instinct wasn't to simply panic and flee. My instinct wasn't necessarily flight.
It was fight.
I was going to fight.
"Don't make me hold you down again," he added as he pushed back, releasing my wrists.
I pulled my arms down from above my head, wincing at the sting, seeing bands of purple already forming from his hands.
Seeing me looking down at them, he exhaled hard, drawing my attention. He didn't say the words. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to, but he didn't because he couldn't because it would make him look bad. But his finger moved down and touched one of the bruise bracelets forming and gave me a look that said it for me.
Sorry.
But sorry wasn't good enough.
Sorry was weak and sad and empty when it didn't have an action behind it.
So as I slowly sat back up, I pointedly looked away, and I didn't give him acceptance.
It went against my normal nature and I almost felt bad about it. But the fact of the matter was, I couldn't be creating some kind of emotional bond with my kidnapper because I intended to do whatever the hell I needed to do to get away. If that meant crawling over his dead body to do it.