if I don’t go, all Antony’s work will be for nothing. They need to believe I’m not afraid of them.
I’m not afraid of them.
It’s still dark outside when I arrive at school. I change into a cheerleading skirt and a racer-back tank top in the bathroom so I don’t have to go into the girl’s locker room. As I cross the campus, I see George running toward me, waving her arms. I don’t want to be late, so I call out to her that I’ll find her after tryouts, and enter the gym from the side door.
As soon as I step inside, the lights flicker out.
Someone grabs me from behind, slamming me into the bleachers. I kick out behind me, feel the satisfying crunch of my heel grinding against soft, dangly bits. My assailant drops me, but then someone else grabs my hair, yanking my head back so hard I feel something in my neck crunch.
The room spins as limbs and faces fly at me from all directions. Cleo rakes her fingers down my face. Someone else punches me in the gut, driving the air from my lungs. I kick and thrash and scream and howl. My fists connect with flesh, but there are too many of them. They pin my arms, kick my legs out from under me. There’s nothing to break my fall as they slam me into the hard gym floor.
“Why are you doing this?” a voice screams, but the sound is far away. “You’re hurting her!”
Watch out for Noah.
The words on Eli’s note swirl in my receding vision, before the darkness swallows me.
31
Mackenzie
I come to as I’m being yanked and tossed between people. My eyes fly open, but it’s no use; it’s too dark wherever I am, and my vision’s blurred.
Not the darkness. I’m never going back to the darkness again.
I kick and wriggle, but everything feels slow, as if I’m trying to move through molasses. A pounding headache starts in my temples and flares across my skull.
“Get the bag over her head.”
No no no.
Rough hands grab me, hold me down. I kick, lash out with my fists, but I’m throwing marshmallows at semi trucks for all the damage I do. My knuckles glance off something sharp, and a guy grunts in pain. His hand drops from my shoulder but it’s replaced by another. Panic rises in my stomach as the headache lashes against my skull.
They pull a canvas bag over my head and tie the handles loosely under my chin. It reeks of sweat and male cologne. The smell fills my nostrils, closes my throat. I’m drowning in the stink of this horror.
The panic has me in its grip now. I thrash my head, kick and jerk. I can’t go out like this, blinded, struggling for breath. It’s too much like before.
They drag me outside and drop me on something hard. I land on my side and kick out my legs only to hit a hard surface. Metal. I smell gas and expensive leather seats. My cheek brushes rough carpet. I’m in the trunk of someone’s car.
All around me, male voices leer and guffaw, calling me every hateful name under the sun, every word men have invented throughout history to throw at women who threaten them. The words hit my skin like arrows, piercing my soul, taking my power.
They tie my hands and the trunk slams down on top of me, sealing me inside. I slam my feet into the lid of my tomb, but it’s sealed tight. I can’t claw my way out of here.
Antony’s not coming to rescue me.
The engine roars to life. I can hear them through the trunk, laughing and joking. Someone turns the music up. There’s a speaker in here, and the bass pounds through me like a fist beating my ass from the inside.
My screams bounce back at me, hollow and useless. I fight the rising panic. This is not the same. It’s not a coffin.
Yet.
I go still and quiet. There’s no point wasting my energy screaming while the car’s moving. I try to count the turns we make but it becomes too difficult. Instead, I pull my knees to my chest. As soon as the trunk opens I’ll kick the first guy in the face; maybe I’ll be able to fight my way out. Or at least, if I die tonight, someone’s pretty face is going with me.
We drive for what seems like hours, until my head is screaming, until the darkness is all I know. And in