Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

It was so quick.

From the moment I knew something was off until I was in the trunk, it couldn’t have been more than two minutes. Two minutes and my whole life could be over.

Worst yet, no one would know.

I mean, yes, eventually, they would.

Myles would see something wrong. He would call Remy. Remy would come to investigate.

But how long would that take?

Would Myles sleep through the night?

Would maybe one of the dogs wake him up at some point because they weren’t used to being alone all night?

Even then, it would be too long.

I would be far gone.

Sure, yes, Remy had friends and connections. They might even be able to point him in a direction to help him locate me.

But not before God-knew-what had happened to me.

Would I even be alive at that point?

Clearly, they wanted to talk to me or hurt me first. Otherwise, I’d be dead already.

Somehow, a part of me almost wished they’d have killed me quickly instead of keeping me alive to torture me.

That was probably terrible to think or believe, but, I mean, who wanted to be kept alive if being alive only meant possible torture and gang-rape before eventual death anyway?

Just give me death first.

A helpless whine escaped me as I tried to yank against the duct tape. I knew that if you knew the right moves, you could break out of duct tape. The problem was, I completely forgot what that right move was. And even if I remembered, I wasn’t sure the blinding pain in my shoulder would allow me to perform it.

Though, to be honest, I was pretty sure I would try if I had any idea what to do. Even if I blacked out from the pain.

The problem was, just trying to move my wrists around only managed to make the duct tape bunch up. And that somehow seemed to make it even stronger.

On a frustrated cry, I bumped my forehead against the itchy trunk carpeting.

Yes, this was a new enough car that there had to be a release latch somewhere, but I was pretty sure there was no way for me to maneuver in the small space in just the right way that I could make my bound hands get close enough to the release.

There was also the knock-out-the-taillight trick.

And after kicking at it for a minute or two, I did succeed.

The problem was, I couldn’t stick my hand out and wave like they said to do. And my foot didn’t quite fit through the space.

Helpless tears flooded my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as the car just kept moving on down the street at a calm, lazy pace. Because you didn’t want to get pulled over while impersonating a police officer with a bound and gagged woman in the trunk, now, did you?

The car took a turn, and I was so lost in my pain and hopelessness that I hadn’t tried to brace myself, so my body rolled and my bad shoulder slammed against the back of the trunk.

I shrieked behind my gag as I was pretty sure I flashed in and out of consciousness really quickly.

I would have preferred to stay out as the car suddenly stopped, and the engine cut off.

Dread unfurled its long, cold, black fingers up my spine and around my neck, making it hard to pull in a breath even as I heard the doors slam and the voices move in the direction of the trunk.