by Tracy Wolff
Not again. Not again. Please, God, not again.
The world’s going fuzzy around me but I fight to hang on to consciousness as I listen for the sound I dread the most—his zipper coming down.
It doesn’t come.
Nothing does but the low, rhythmic sound of his voice as he talks to me. I’m too far gone to understand what he’s saying, but the dark gravel of his tone is oddly hypnotizing. Almost comforting, really—right up until he wraps his belt around my wrists and I realize he’s going to tie me up.
I scream then, a thin, high-pitched sound that echoes through the empty garage. I’m exhausted and sore and terrified and I don’t have much more fight in me, but I use it all as I buck and twist and scream, again and again and again. If he gets my arms tied behind me, I’ll be almost completely defenseless. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.
Not again.
I’ll never survive it a second time.
And so I keep fighting—even though I’m scratching myself all to hell on the pavement.
Even though I’m knocking my hips and shoulders against the hard concrete again and again.
Even though it feels like my arms are going to be ripped out of the socket at any moment.
“Stop!” he yells and it’s the first time he’s raised his voice this whole time. Maybe it’s why it gets through to me. As does his next threat. “You’re hurting yourself and that’s the last thing either of us wants. Just stop or I’m going to have to knock you out. Don’t make me do that.”
And there it is—my worst fear yet. Being tied up is bad, but being unconscious—completely unable to defend myself? Not able to know what happened to me while I was out? No. Just—no.
Though it goes against every ounce of self-preservation I have, I force myself to stop fighting him as he finishes tying my hands behind my back. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—and that’s before I flash back to hazy memories of being on a bed with a guy I don’t know on top of me. Inside me.
No! I shut the image out, force it back down where it belongs before it destroys the very fragile grip I’ve managed to get on myself.
“I know you have no reason to believe me,” Nic says once he realizes I’m not going to fight him anymore. “But I swear I’m not going to hurt you.”
His voice is smooth as my favorite red wine, has that soothing timbre that a person can’t help but respond to. It works on me even though I don’t want it to, worming its way through my terror and despair and forcing me to calm down.
That doesn’t mean I believe him, because I don’t. At all. But as long as he’s talking like this, he’s not doing anything else to me, so that’s something.
“You need to calm down,” he continues, keeping his voice soft and steady. “I know that’s hard right now, but your breathing is way out of control. You’re going to hyperventilate and black out if you keep this up and I know you don’t want to do that. So you need to take a deep breath, okay? Let the oxygen do its job.”
For the first time I realize the harsh, ragged sounds I’m hearing aren’t coming from him—they’re coming from me. I try to stop them, try to do as he instructs and take a full breath, but I’m so far gone that it’s harder than it should be. My chest hurts, everything hurts, and there’s a part of me that just wants to check out. That doesn’t want to be here when whatever is going to happen next actually goes down.
It’s a self-defense mechanism, I know. My mind trying to protect me—or at least, that’s what every shrink I’ve ever had has told me. It beckons, promises to take me away from all this. Away from this parking garage, away from the present, away from him and whatever he’s going to do to me now that I’m at his mercy.
But I can’t do that, I remind myself. I lost too much of my life to that fugue already—I won’t lose any more. I won’t be that girl again.
So I do what he says. I force myself to take one long, slow breath.
“That’s right, sugar,” Nic softly croons as soon as I manage to suck in a breath full enough to actually inflate my lungs. “Take another breath for me. Come on,” he coaxes, inhaling deeply then breathing it out in long, quiet increments. “You can do it. Breathe with me. In”—he takes another slow, deep breath—“and out. In…and out…”
I don’t know how or why, but I end up following his lead, my breathing syncing up with his until the fuzziness recedes a little—and so does the terror. Panic is still a sick twist in my gut, but at least my brain is working again. And it keeps coming back to the fact that I can’t think of any rapists who take the time to calm their victims down first—and who work so hard not to hurt them. Because now that I’m thinking again, I realize that he’s done exactly that. Over and over again.
“That’s my girl,” he says softly. “You’ve got it now. You’ve got it.”
He continues breathing with me for a little longer—until he deems that I’ve finally got myself under control, I think. Then he eases up a little, lifting the last of his weight off my hips and thighs.
I can feel him waiting for me to freak out again, for me to kick or head butt him or try to throw him off. But I’m smart enough—and calm enough now—to know that all that’s going to get me is him back on top of me. And I don’t want that. No matter how calm he is, no matter how many times he promises not to hurt me, I don’t believe him.
I won’t believe him.
He kidnapped me. Tackled me to the ground. Tied my hands behind my back. No, I won’t be trusting him anytime soon, no matter what promises he makes me.
Once he realizes I’m not going to attack him again—as if I could—Nic eases back even more. Then he swings his leg over my body so that he’s no longer straddling me and climbs to his feet. “Can I touch you to help you up?” he asks, leaning over me. “It’s going to be hard for you to get up with your hands tied behind your back.”
“I’ve got it,” I tell him as I push off the ground with my knees. And then I’m standing in front of him, my head held high and my face as impassive as I can make it. He already knows I’m scared. No need to give him any more proof of that fact—just in case he’s the kind of guy who gets off on that.
We stand facing each other for a few long seconds, just staring at each other across the divide of two parking spaces. He’s watching me closely, studying my every move, my every breath, and I know he’s waiting for me to react. Waiting for me to freak out again and try to hurt him—or try to run.
And while there’s a part of me that wants to do just that, I control it. I keep my feet planted firmly where they are.
If I want to find a way to escape, I need to lull him into a false sense of complacency. I also need to find out what he wants from me—and if I’m willing to give it to him if it keeps me alive.
“Look,” he says after several more moments pass. “I’m really sorry about this. This isn’t how I wanted this to go down.”
“You kidnapped me. How did you think it was going to go down?”
He winces at the word kidnapped, but doesn’t try to contradict me. Instead he says, “I’m just trying to figure this whole thing out. The pieces don’t make sense right now and that’s dangerous—for me and for you.”
“Yeah, you really look like you’re in danger right now.” The words come out before I even know I’m going to say them. I brace for a hit—sarcasm and defiance aren’t exactly the best way to keep a captor calm.
But Nic just laughs. “You’d be surprised. You did some damage.”
“Not enough, obviously.”
“Touché.” He inclines his head. “You know, you’re not strong enough to really hurt an attacker using those self-defense tips you’ve obviously been taught. You need to fight dirtier.”
Humiliation washes through me at his words. I’ve worked so hard to put on muscle in the last three years, worked so hard to be able to defend myself for my own sanity. My own peace of mind. And it didn’t matter. Nothing I did worked against him. Nothing I did even slowed him down.
>
“When this is over, I could teach you a few things, if it makes you feel safer—”
I laugh then. It’s not a pleasant sound, but I can’t help that. “Are you honestly offering to teach me self-defense? You?”
He thrusts a hand through his dreads, lets out a sound of obvious frustration. “Look, I’m just trying to make you feel more comfortable here. I’m not a rapist, I’m not a serial killer. I know you have no reason to believe me, but up until thirty minutes ago, I never imagined I’d ever kidnap anyone. And believe me, this is not what I wanted.”
“What do you want?” Keep him talking. Isn’t that what all the crime shows say? If he’s talking, trying to convince me that he’s a good guy, then he isn’t hurting me. It’s not perfect, but I’ll take it until I figure out how the hell to get out of this mess.
His response is immediate—and heartfelt. “For the last twenty-four hours to never have happened. But since I don’t have a time machine…Look, do you want me to call Raul? If he vouches for me will that make you feel better?”
“Raul?” The name throws me for a loop, as does the offer. What kind of car thief/kidnapper/murderer is this guy? “Why would I want you to call Raul? And why would I believe anything he says about you?”
“Isn’t he your man? I saw you with him last night. At the races.”
“My man?” I stare at him incredulously. “He’s not my man. He’s not my anything. In case you didn’t notice, the cops did a number on my car upholstery and a guy I work with told me Raul could fix my seats for me, cheap. I went to the races to talk to him about it.”
Nic’s jaw clenches. “Are you fucking with me right now? You don’t actually expect me to believe this whole thing is one giant coincidence, do you? I don’t buy coincidences.”
“Considering I don’t even know what you’re talking about, I don’t expect you to buy anything. Besides, you’re the one who came looking for my car, not the other way around. I don’t have to sell you on anything.”
He studies me for a few seconds, like he’s trying to decide if he can trust me. Which is a total laugh, considering I’m the one whose hands are currently tied behind her back. The jerk. I can’t believe I actually thought he was hot last night.
“So, just to clarify, you aren’t with Raul?”
“I never met him before last night. And since I no longer have a car”—I shoot him a fulminating glare—“I’m pretty sure I’ll never see him again, either.”
He doesn’t look the least bit apologetic at my barb. In fact, he looks almost pleased when he turns away to stare thoughtfully at my car. “You said the police wrecked the interior.”
“They did. You’ve seen it—it’s a mess. Which is why I can’t figure out why you’d bother to steal it in the first place.”
“Why did the police have your car? What were they looking for when they trashed it?”
“How should I know? I assumed drugs.”
“But you don’t know?” He lifts a skeptical brow.
“I bought it at the police auction last week because it was cheap and had really low mileage. I didn’t ask what had happened to the seats and they didn’t volunteer the information.”
“The police auction?” he says, his voice a lot sharper than it was just a few seconds ago. “Which precinct?”
“I don’t know. It was the big one in Otay. One of the guys I work with suggested I could get more for the insurance money they gave me when they totaled out my last car.”
“This friend. Is he the same guy who gave you Raul’s number?”
The urgency in his voice gets to me, makes me want to answer whatever questions he has. But at the same time I can’t forget that I’m standing here being interrogated by the man who just stole my car and kidnapped me. What the hell is wrong with this picture? Am I really so pathetically grateful that he hasn’t hurt me that I’m willing to just overlook the fact that he snatched me out of my work parking lot during my break? That he wrestled me to the garage floor and tied my hands behind my back?
That I’m standing here completely at his mercy?
Just because he hasn’t hurt me yet doesn’t mean he isn’t going to.
It’s that thought—that fear—more than any other, that has me snapping, “Why do you care? Just take the stupid car and get the hell out of here.”
“That’s not going to happen, sugar.”
“Why do you keep fucking calling me that?”
“I don’t know what else to call you. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Why do you give a shit what my name is?” I demand, glaring at him. “It’s my car you’re af—” I freeze mid-sentence as he steps toward me, reaching out as if he’s going to put his hand on my shoulder.
I shrink away from him so violently that I lose my balance. Without my arms to help me find it again, I topple over, start to fall. But suddenly Nic is there, steadying me with one hand on my elbow and another on my waist.
The contact—combined with the feel of my hands tied behind my back and his tall, muscular body looming over me—hits me all at once and I’m suddenly flooded with the memories I’ve worked so hard to suppress. I jerk away, screaming for him to stop.
Nic does, instantly, holding his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “I won’t touch you, okay?” He takes a few steps back, gives me a little more space as he watches me with frustrated eyes. “Look, if what you said is true, then it really sucks that you got caught up in this and I’m sorry. I am. But I can’t just leave you here so you can call the cops and tell them I stole your car. You’re going to have to come with me for a while.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“That’s not a choice you get to make right now. I promise, I’ll let you go in a few hours.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve heard that before.”
“What does that mean?” His gaze sharpens as it roams over me. “You make a habit of getting kidnapped or something?”
Damn it. I keep slipping up, keep giving away more than I intend to. Certainly more than he needs to know.
Instead of answering him, I go on the offensive. It’s so much easier that way. “Why? Do you make a habit of kidnapping people or something?”
“Actually, you’re my first.”
I roll my eyes. “Wow. I feel so privileged.”
“You should.” He grins then and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him smile. It’s absolutely devastating. If I thought he was good-looking at the track last night, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now, his green eyes alight with amusement and his teeth gleaming white against his caramel skin. He even has a dimple in his left cheek—a freaking dimple that somehow manages to take what was already smoking hot to an entirely different level.
The whole thing is ridiculous. I mean, what kind of hardened criminal has a dimple anyway? It’s absurd. Not to mention annoying as fuck.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tells me softly and suddenly the air is charged with I don’t even know what.
We stand there staring at each other for long moments, gazes locked and bodies tense. I know I need to look away, know I need to interrupt the strange electricity that’s suddenly flowing between us. Before I can, though, Nic does it for me, his smile fading as he glances at his watch.
“We’ve got to go.”
“I already told you, I’m not going anywhere else with you.” I take a big step back, prepare to run.
“But you are.” He takes a step forward, then another and another, his every forward movement mirroring one of mine as I continue to scramble away.
He’s stalking me, hunting me, and for the first time in my life I truly understand what it’s like for a gazelle to be tracked by a tiger.
“Look,” he says when he’s backed me up until I’m pressed against the garage’s rear wall. “I’m not trying to be a dick, but this is going to go one of two ways. Either you are going to get back in the car of your own volition or I
’m going to put you there. I’d really rather not force you, but however this ends up playing out, you’re getting in the car.”
“You don’t want to force me?” I demand, totally disbelieving. “What do you think this whole thing is? You kidnapped me, tied me up. That’s pretty much the definition of force.”
He grimaces then, his jaw tightening until the dimple all but disappears. “Then this time, I’ll ask. Please don’t make me pick you up and shove you into the car. It won’t go well for either one of us.”
“Make you?— Are you even listening to yourself? Do you even hear what you sound like? I’m not making you do anything. I’m the powerless one in this situation. Remember?”
“You have a lot more power than you think.” He looks like he regrets saying them as soon as the words leave his mouth.
“If that’s true, then let me go.”
“I can’t do that. Ask me for anything else and I’ll try to give it to you, but I can’t do that.” He glances at his watch again. “I’m running out of time.”
“Time for what?”
“If you come with me now, I’ll explain.”
“If I come with you now, you won’t have to explain.”
“Maybe, but I don’t have to explain anyway. Just like I don’t have to ask you to get in the car. I got you in there once, I’ll get you in there again. I just don’t want to take the chance of hurting you if you fight me again.”
Fury flows through me at his words, at the unmitigated gall of them. But at the same time, I know he’s right. He has the upper hand here—actually, he has all the hands considering mine are completely incapacitated at this point. One way or the other, I’m going in that car. And since I have no desire for him to touch me again, it might as well be under my own power.
Still, I’m not giving in that easily. “Where are you planning on taking me?” I demand.
“To my garage. We’ll stay there a few hours and then I’ll drop you back at the diner. I promise.”