His Queen
Page 11
“Get up,” growls the intruder. I lift my head just enough to see thick legs in dark pants and a broad torso standing above me. Never had a chance to escape; he’s at least six inches taller than me and 100 pounds heavier. No huge feat when you’re 5’6 and 130 pounds.
“I’m trying,” I mutter back, putting my palms flat on the ground. The room spins. The only thing standing still are his shoes while the rest of the room rotates around him.
He jerks me up by the collar of my shirt. My own feet stumble around on the floor while he holds me up like a puppet. He doesn’t even flinch when I crash head-first into his chest, nor does he so much as grunt when he tosses me over his shoulder.
“What?” The single word - really more of a surprised grunt - falls from my lips when he lifts me off the ground. I’m staring down the at the nightclub carpet with my ass sticking up toward the ceiling and a strange man’s arm wrapped around my waist. My eyes follow the path as we head from the room to the hallway to the back alley entrance. He pushes the door open (no kick this time) and brings in the harsh light of day.
“Ahhh, fuck,” I hiss, squinting and shaking my head against his back. His black t-shirt blocks most of the sunlight, yet there’s enough surrounding us to make my stomach churn. I’ve been bouncing between nightclubs, lounges, and casinos for the past three days, hiding away in those dank sin caverns while miles away my family’s empire falls.
The world’s still here. We’re in a nondescript parking lot surrounded by high-end cars parked neatly within faded white lines. My captor takes me to a mid-range sedan with rental plates and a small dent in the bumper.
The trunk opens with a clicking sound, just enough for me to see the roadside emergency kit inside. He jerks it the rest of the way up, a black empty expanse with a ‘property of Sav-A-Cent Rental Car’ sticker on the interior.
“Get in.” He dumps me down into the fabric interior. I barely fit, curling my knees up toward my stomach and putting my hands in my lap in a fetal position. There might be a blanket inside the emergency kit sitting zipped up by my feet. I don’t need it. Nap-time already calls.
Until he starts to shut the trunk. Then I look up at him with wide, wild eyes.
“Hey, wait!”
Nothing doing. The trunk slams, my world goes dark, and my desperate hands can’t find an inner escape latch.
For a moment memories of my childhood come back. What to do when you’re kidnapped - lectures I listened to over and over again from various crooks, goons, and players. Abduction is a real risk for the son of a crime boss, one I should’ve taken pains to avoid.
A moment’s reflection is all that passes my mind before I fall into my deep, dead, drunken sleep.
Whatever happens will happen.
I’m not sure I even care anymore.
This life isn’t mine to live.
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Other Works by Sally Laces:
House Swap
His Queen
Snow Bunny
Bully To Babe
Date Night