Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(18)

He still hasn’t talked to me. His breathing is controlled as he runs almost full-force. He’s so strong, I don’t know how I can get free from him. But if I’m going to get free, this is my chance—during the transportation—before I’m thrown into another hole or a vehicle.

I consider hitting him with the cuff bar but realize I don’t have enough distance to strike with any real force, so I’d probably just succeed in pissing him off enough to knock me unconscious. Then I’ll have no chance.

Dread slows the beat of my heart to a near stall. What if this is the guy in charge of delivering me to the buyer?

I can’t figure any of this out. All I know is that I’m being whisked away from police and closer to my death.

The man running doesn’t slow or falter, and his muscular shoulder is driving into my ribcage, grating against it without mercy. My legs press up against his chest, and being barelegged, my skin scrapes against some sort of utility vest—I can feel the cool metal and lumps of plastic within the Velcro micro pockets.

If I can just reach something in one of those pockets! I can poke out his eye! Or jab him in an artery.

Dear God, give me the opportunity.

All of a sudden, he stops and changes direction.

My ass, feet and legs keep hitting unyielding metal . . .

It’s a ladder, I can feel it.

Oh my God! How high is it? I’m on his shoulder!

I try screaming under the tape.

“Stay silent,” he barks gruffly in a low, threatening tone.

I can only imagine how high up we could be.

I wonder if I can push my face against the fabric of his shoulder and back and move this blindfold away from my eyes. Why hadn’t I thought of that when he first picked me up?

As he jostles me while going up the ladder, I work my cheek and temple over his shoulder, willing the blindfold to loosen its hold.

He wraps one arm over me and the other under my body for just a moment, causing me to freeze. Then he focuses his effort upwards. Lifting his arms and crushing me closer against him, he also lifts whatever’s over the top of us.

When he presses me into him, it’s exactly what I need, and the blindfold comes down and away from my right eye.

It feels like a lifeline I can grip onto for all I’m worth. I can see again. But what’s happening around me causes me to shudder with fear that’s quickly spilling towards hysteria.

It’s darkest night as he’s racing away through the edge of woods, as if to stay under the cover the low hanging trees provide. I can see a mansion and its lights receding as he pulls me deeper into the night.

That place had to have been my prison. Under floodlights in the distance, I see men fighting, dying. I hear the sounds of bullets firing into the air and dogs barking.

Before I have the chance to process much more, I see a large man come out of the shadows and rush headlong into the guy carrying me. I’m thrust to the ground painfully hard as the three of us go down together.

The man who knocked us down jumps onto the man who took me, who responds by pistol whipping him in the head.

My legs aren’t useless any longer. I start crawling away from their melee and then get to my feet, but my arms still being locked behind me throws off my balance. I stumble over fallen logs and massive tree roots protruding from the soft soil. With no hands to catch myself, I’m nearly impaled. The black night is interrupted only by the moon, which is hidden behind the dense trees, and I can hardly see. I’m fleeing and fighting for my very life in this desperate nightmare, as my shins, knees and feet are ripped by the terrain.

I twist my head, trying to make a split-second decision. That man was taking me somewhere, and I need to assume it was nowhere good! The guy who tackled us could be here to help me or he could just be another one of my captors. I have no idea who’s winning the fight back at the house. I won’t run back towards the mansion, and I won’t run in the direction my assailant was taking me. I’ll go east.

I’m only a few feet away when a terrible grunting and gurgling sound hits my ears. I’m compelled to look.

And immediately wish I hadn’t.

The man who took me is on one knee, holding the hilt of a knife that presses through the tackler’s heart. The sound is the man drowning in his own blood and fluids.

Not me, please not me! I push through on my knees over broken branches and puddles of dank, stagnant water. I pitch forward and my face smacks against the earth.

He’s on top of me in a heartbeat. “Don’t f*cking run from me.” He seethes the warning into my left ear, quiet and deadly.

In the sharp glow of the moon, a trickle of blood drips from the large serrated blade he grips in his massive fist.

It’s instinct to scream. Self-preservation.

He mutters something, but I can’t hear anything except for my icy trill breaking through the night’s humid heat.

In the back of my mind, I realize the tape adhesive over my mouth must have been loosened by the water I face-planted in earlier.

A cloth is quickly stuffed into my mouth. I choke and nearly vomit as my belly goes back against his shoulder. I’m jostled as he continues on his original course.

I kick as hard as I can, but he holds my legs easily in his vicelike grip.

Moments later, he runs down a dock and throws me into the bottom of a boat.

The pain in my spine is sharp, but it dulls quickly enough. Rolling over, I see him grab the oar.