Page 27

My head hurts. It’s dark, and my body is aching. Like a criminal, when a police flash bang is tossed into a building, all my senses are stunned at once.

I recall everything in vivid detail as though it were happening in this moment up to the point when that monster knocked me out. That’s why my head hurts. My body is cramped up in a tiny space, creating the aches and discomfort I’m feeling.

But why is it so dark?

I stretch my arms and legs out, only for my feet to kick into something pliable but firm, and my arms hit something hard. My left hand meets cold metal, and my right hand punches into something furry and warm.

Fear slips inside of me as I wonder what that is, but then I quickly realize there’s no room for fear. Not if I want to survive. I need to be focused and clear.

Clarity and quick thinking are the only things that will help me out of my current situation. My body begins rocking, and I listen closely to the sounds around me. The soft hum of an engine and music play around me. The smell of exhaust burns my nostrils.

I’m still in the trunk of a vehicle, and they made the mistake of not securing my hands and feet.

I don’t have long, so I have to get busy while I can.

Rolling onto my back, I unzip my jeans. Lifting my butt off the bottom of the trunk so that I can get my jeans off, I shove them down just enough to reach my inner right thigh.

Carefully unsheathing the knife that I keep there whenever I go out at night on my own, I lay it beside me, pull my jeans back up, and zip them.

I don’t often wear the knife, but I knew that Zayn and I would be out and about late tonight.

Without Zaire by my side, I am always careful to protect myself.

My man preferred that I always have armed security with me, but I balked at that idea early on. It drew too much attention, limited my freedom, and made it difficult just to change my plans on a whim.

For the first time in a long time, I wish that I had listened to him. I usually listen to Zaire on most things, but not this one.

Although I’m not sure that would have helped. There were four of those men, and I’m sure that they’ve been watching me and my place. If they had suspected that I had an armed guard, I’m sure they would have prepared for that too.

I have no idea how long I’ve been knocked out or how far we’ve traveled. I slip the knife into the right side of my jeans against my hip and then tuck my sleeveless sweater back around it. I lay still in the confines of the car.

I count the number of times we stop and how long we stop.

I listen to all the sounds around us. We’re still in a populated area based on the numerous car engines, the music from other cars around us, and other noises that I hear.

After five minutes, we come to a stop again, but this time the engine shuts off. I remain curled in a fetal position similar to the one that I woke up in.

I hear two men talking, and one of them is the one who held me at gunpoint throughout the ordeal. The other one’s voice I don’t recognize. I can’t hear their words clearly, just their voices.

A second car pulls to a stop, and two doors close and open.

The clicking of a lock alerts me that the trunk is about to pop open.

The light isn’t that bright, but it’s there.

I can see it through my closed lids. We haven’t traveled very far because the sun has the same level of brilliance it had when I stepped from my shop.

Two arms lift me and heave me over someone’s shoulder. I pray that he doesn’t bump against my hip because, for all the tucking that I did, if he feels me carefully enough, he will feel this knife on my hip.

In the best-case scenario, I’ll get injured myself. In the worst-case scenario, I’ll get killed.

They laugh and joke about a boxing match that they’re about to watch while they walk away from the car. Someone is behind the man carrying me, because I feel his energy, so I don’t bother to open my eyes.

We walk up a long flight of stairs, and then I hear a door open.

Someone demands, “Flick on the lights.”

No sooner than the lights come on than I hear the lead man say, “I’ll be back. I gotta take a piss.”

I hear footsteps on what sound like metal stairs.

“Hey, I’m about to heat that chicken from earlier. Anybody else want any?” another voice calls.

“Your hungry ass ever stop eating?” the man carrying me asks.

The other guy chuckles and replies. “Fuck no. You ever stop smoking, nigga?”

“Fuck you,” the guy carrying me replies.

“Aye, yo, grab me some chicken, Q,” a third voice commands.

“Where are you going?” Q, the chicken guy asks.

I open my eyes and take a quick peek around. No one is facing me, but I can tell that we’re in a warehouse. There’s a cut- out window that gives me a view of the kitchen. I can’t see Q because he and the microwave are both out of sight.

There’s a set of stairs to the right, which are the stairs the pissing guy must have taken. There’s a door immediately to the right of the kitchen.

“Gotta call Myiesha. Tell her I’ma be late tonight,” the third voice explains, walking away.

He takes the metal stairs too.

The man carrying me takes a few more steps as he shifts me in his arms. Before he can lower me, my dangling arm shifts, and I grab the knife from my side.

“Oh, you’re—” he begins but doesn’t finish.

I jab the knife into his neck with one hard thrust and twist. The man goes still for a few seconds, and I wonder if I hit my target as I struggle to free myself from his grip despite the blood spewing forth and spraying me.

When his hold on me relaxes, I jump free just as he crumples to his knees and grabs his throat.

“The hell is that?” I hear Q call out.

I race toward a door to my left. Seeing my purse lying on a crate beside the door, I snatch it up and jerk the door handle just as Q calls out, “Yo! Get your ass back here.”

The door slams shut behind me just in time as a gun goes off.

Running and reaching inside my purse, I grab my gun. I have no idea where I’m at, but the parking lot that I can see through the windows to my left is open, and there aren’t any cars around except for two.

I have zero knowledge about hotwiring a car, so that’s out. I take the second landing and then race down the last flight of stairs.

Voices shout out above me as my mind races to plan what my next step will be. Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, I slam into a body that steps out of the darkness.

“Where you going, bitch?”

I look into the disfigured features of my brother-in-law, Kenny. My blood runs cold as he sneers at me with a swollen jaw and split lip.

Damn.