by T. L Smith
“Eh, what the fuck, coño! Keep it on the road before you kill us all.”
“Fuck you!” sounded a pissed off voice from the front.
“No, fuck you, puto. How fucking hard is it to drive?”
“Get the hell off me,” said the same irate voice. A vicious booted kick smashed with precision into my back between ribs and my retrained hands, sending me rolling off the man’s foot. The unexpected assault left me gasping and coughing desperately for air and in the background above the noise of the engine, I could hear someone tell me to shut up.
Heat radiated through the floor of the van, causing sweat to layer and drip down my body. My mouth was parched, leaving me practically begging my saliva glands to produce some moisture yet my tongue remained as dry as desert soil. After a few moments of intense concentration, I deduced the range of heavily-accented voices belonged to at least four men who surrounded me plus one or two in the front.
Abruptly, the conversation came to a halt and I could feel their curious gazes on me. My heart pounded painfully in my chest, a dull ache seizing my body. Too afraid to move again in case my attacker felt compelled to deliver another blow, I remained perfectly still while trying to send my mind back to what I had been doing before this nightmare began.
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