One
Scarlett
My body hits the floor with a thump. When my eyes flick open, darkness greets me.
What the hell?
Wait. No. There’s some gray mixed with the pitch black. Maybe even a glow coming from above my head?
Did I fall asleep? Roll off my bed?
I try to sit up, but I can’t move.Why can’t I move?Fear creeps down my spine because I’m 99.99% sure I didn’t fall asleep. I don’t take naps. I don’t have time.
Plus, if I’d been taking a nap, the sound of the Proclaimers’ “500 Miles”wouldn’t be blasting in my earbuds.
Wait. I was running. Not napping.So, why the hell can’t I move?I wiggle, but something that feels like carpet nap rubs against my bare arms.
What in the actual fuck is going on?
The Proclaimers go quiet for a moment before the song starts again. In that precious beat of silence, puzzle pieces snap together, and the blood chugging through my body slows like icy water in a nearly frozen river.
Oh. No. No. Just ... no. This isn’t happening. The threats weren’t real. They didn’t get me. Even as I try to deny it, my inner voice pops into my head, contradicting everything I want to believe.
They got me. The threats were real.They’re going to kill me. I should have listened to Ryan and Christine. Why didn’t I listen?
That’s right, because I never take stuff like that seriously.And now ...I flex my hands with my heart thundering, and my fingertips brush against what feels like ... a rug?
My stomach plummets as reality crashes through my confusion.
I’m rolled up in a rug. Oh. My. Fucking. God. This can’t be happening.
As the Proclaimers wail in my ears, vibrations shiver across my skin.What was that? A door shutting? Are those footsteps?
The murmur of voices comes next. I try to listen, but I can’t make out the words over the music, until ...
Something knocks into my side, and thankfully, the rug blunts the impact.Did someone just freakingkickme?
I’m a smart woman. Savvy. I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life and survived three mugging attempts. I’m not a shrinking violet, but neither of the two women’s self-defense seminars I’ve attended for charity covered what to do when you wake up rolled in a rug after beingkidnapped by someone who has probably made repeated death threats against you.
The song’s volume dips for some more chanting about all the things the Proclaimers would do for the woman they loved, and that’s when I hear the roar.
“You did what?” a man bellows loud enough to suck the breath out of my lungs. He sounds furious—and powerful.
Fear unleashes a cold sweat over my skin.
“You said she could fix it!” Another voice, this one higher pitched, breaks through the Proclaimers’ voices before the song picks up intensity again, drowning them out.
Who said I could fix something? Fix what? Where?My brain races, but it’s more sluggish than normal, given the fact it’s weighted down with a billion tons of dread and the urge to shrink and run.
More murmuring. More confusion rioting in my head.
Fix what? For whom? Does this mean they’re not going to kill me? Because I would really like not to be killed today. Or tomorrow. Or really ever.
Then I start rolling. Literally. Like a rock thumping over on its side when kicked.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!
Think! Think!