Page 27 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

Nicole

At least fish in a barrel can see where they’re fucking swimming.

Kidnapping.

The word echoes around in my head as realization sets in slowly enough that it’s probably concerning. I’m being kidnapped. This is a kidnapping.

I’m being kidnapped?!

No. No way. This isn’t supposed to be a thing I have to worry about—I’m a big girl.

I am simply too large to be thrown into a trunk and taken against my will.

I even joked about it once on an online date.

He said he only dated women who weighed less than him as a personal rule, and I said, “Well, at least I won’t get kidnapped,” and knocked his drink into his lap on purpose.

Doesn’t feel like much of a joke now.

My body shifts and tosses with every turn and bump, banging into the corners and sides inside the trunk.

The only way I can keep from turning into a pinball is by wedging myself against the side in a deeply uncomfortable position, facing the door, with my head jammed into the corner.

I’m too tall for this shit, so my legs are bent at the knee, and my shins are pressing into the trunk door.

Though the bottom of the space is lined with something, it feels hard as a rock pressing into my hipbone and shoulder .

The road noise drowns out the sound of my own labored breathing, cutting straight through layers of metal and padding to fill this small, dark space.

The vibrations through the floor rattle my whole body, making my teeth chatter together.

I scream and bang on the roof, but I doubt anyone could hear it over the roar of the engine.

I give up when my hands and arms feel bruised.

Okay, I’m officially freaking out. It’s pitch black, and I’m locked in, stuck in this position. I’m not claustrophobic, and there’s plenty of air in here, but having a body still flooded with adrenaline wedged into a small, enclosed space where I can barely move is not a great feeling.

A frustrated, terrified tear slides down my face sideways, drawing a path across the bridge of my nose and through my temple.

I feel panic closing in on me, so I shut my eyes—that way, the darkness is my choice.

And it’s not like I could see anyway, even if it weren’t dark.

When Dimitri jerked me back, I lost my glasses. He probably ran over them.

At least it’s evidence.

I breathe deeply, then I scream again, putting all of my fear and rage and despair into it.

It actually helps a tiny bit. It calms me a little anyway, which is what I need. I know this elevated pulse and rapid breathing is an adrenaline-fueled response. If I can slow my racing brain, it should help give me some clarity.

Think, Nicole.

I don’t have my phone anymore, but at least the police will be looking for me. I can’t hear any more sirens, but they were on their way to the marina. Unless those gunshots and that explosion was…

No. I refuse to consider the possibility.

I gave the dispatcher my full name and told her I was being held against my will by a man named Dimitri or Lev. They’ll find his boat. They’ll find my hair and DNA everywhere—his, too. They’ll figure out who he is and track him down .

Fuck. If I know this, so does he.

He’s going to take care of me. I made myself into a problem he can easily solve.

A fresh wave of fear washes over me, and I bang on the lid of the trunk again.

“Help!” I scream.

But it’s the dead of night. I don’t know where we are, but I didn’t see a single light from a house or business through the pines and marshy areas by that dock. Even if anyone were awake and it were possible to hear me over the noise of the muffled engine, I’m not sure there’s anyone to hear it.

I know when we get on the highway because I can actually relax and not have to tense and brace myself against every bump and turn. The tradeoff, though, is the cutting cold of the wind whistling through the not-so-airtight cabin.

I use the respite from all the painful, jarring movements to explore my surroundings.

There are a few bags in here with me. One has our dirty laundry, one has the trash we accumulated, and one was already in here.

That one is too heavy to move. It takes a few tries, since I’m limited without my sense of sight, but I get it unzipped and reach inside to feel around.

I find something like cold metal. It’s got a strange texture, and my heart rate spikes in tentative hope as I feel along it and make out the shape. It’s… it is! A gun!

I clutch it to my chest, nearly crying with relief.

Maybe I’ve never shot a gun. Maybe I’ve never even held one. Maybe the fact that I’m blind as a fucking bat means that I’ll never hit my target, even if Dimitri is roughly the size of a grizzly bear.

But I know enough about guns to recognize the power it gives me. My odds for survival just went from 0% to, like, 20% .

As the metal of the gun slowly equalizes to the temperature of my body, I realize that I’m shaking. And not entirely from fear. The wind has been stealing my body heat, which was already hard to regulate because of the adrenaline.

Fuck. I can’t go into shock. I need to hold on.

Hours later—I can’t tell for sure, but it must be—we stop.

Like, not just stopping at a light or a stop sign.

The engine turns off, and the car shakes with the movement of a door slamming.

I tuck the gun into the waistband of my pants with a silent prayer that it doesn’t accidentally go off and shoot me in the leg or something.

My breath catches, and I tense, waiting and ready for the inevitable. Any second, he’s going to open that trunk door, and this might be my only chance.

But I’m so, so cold. I could barely feel the gun clutched in my numb fingers.

I try to be ready and spring into action, but when the key scrapes into the lock and the hatch pops like a can, the light blinds me. I try to move, now that I have more room, and I find that I seem to be stuck in this position.

“Fuck. Nicole, I—” There’s a tightness that loosens in my chest as I recognize his deep voice, the Nee-cole laced with something like pity or regret. “Can you move?”

I’m tempted to make a suggestion for where he can shove that false compassion, but he locks a hand around my ankle, and my pulse spikes in response. He’s firm and focused as he helps direct my leg up and out of the car.

Blood floods back into my limbs, bringing the tingling pain, making me wince. With my leg dangling, my torso is half-turned onto my back. My heart pounds into my throat as I watch his blurry face zero in on the bulge in my waistline that doesn’t belong there .

We both reach for the gun at the same time, but I get there first because it’s literally in my pants.

It brings him close, and with a burst of strength from panic, I swing my foot up at him.

I catch him square in the middle of his face.

He spins away, hitting the corner of the lid, then falls heavily to the ground.

No time to celebrate a lucky shot. I clamber forward and hop out gracelessly, trying and failing to lift my other leg cleanly over the lip of the trunk.

My foot catches, and it’s too much for legs that feel like jelly.

I go down. Just in time, my hand flies out to catch my fall, but my chin bangs on the ground and the impact reverberates through me, making me bite my tongue hard enough to cut through at the tip. I cry out in pain.

But at least I keep a hold of the gun.

Pain blooms in my jaw, but I scramble to my feet. I keep the gun pointed at him as he rolls to his side.

“Stay down,” I say, gripping the gun in both hands and pointing it with what I hope is a look menacing enough to make up for the fact that my voice warbled.

“You are not going to shoot me,” he challenges, groaning.

Yeah, he’s recovering way too quickly, and he’s not as afraid of this thing as I assumed he would be.

I wish I knew how to cock it. I wish this weren’t the first time I’ve ever held a gun. It would really add some gravitas when I say, “Don’t make me. Stay down and for fuck’s sake, Dimitri, just let me go!”

My heart is pounding so hard I can barely think, but I look around as I decide where to go.

Everything is blurry, but I can tell that we’re in some kind of cavernous garage where four of the eight bays are occupied.

There’s a van against the opposite wall with some sort of insignia that I can’t make out, and a vague door-shape just beyond it that I can only see because it’s so big.

I back towards that door, keeping my gun pointed directly at him .

Running feels stupid—following me as I grope blindly through unknown territory will be easier for Dimitri than shooting fish in a barrel. At least fish in a barrel can see where they’re fucking swimming.

But what else can I do?

When I’m nearly to the door, Dimitri starts making moves, rolling to his knees, calling my bluff.

“Nicole, let me explain.”

My time is up.

I push through the door and make a break for it.

The same adrenaline that made me strong as I kicked him is making me fast now.

Pale, early morning sunlight streams into my eyes as I try to get my bearings while I sprint.

To my left is an absolutely enormous house, and the other way has rolling, soft hills of green.

Do I chance the house? What if it’s just where he lives?

And I can see the tips of a gate from where I am, so I don’t think I can go that way.

“Nicole!” he roars, and it echoes off the rubber floor and bare walls.

At the sound of his heavy footfalls behind me, I dart towards the backyard.

Fuck. Should have kicked him harder.