Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,89

the weakness that would ensue should I give into the urge. I’m Swift. I’d reached the rank of corporal in the army before passing the selection process for the SAS. Part of the training involved kidnap and negotiation training. I know the advice I’d give someone who could potentially be kidnapped, and the words I’d use to negotiate their freedom.

I just never expected to be on this side of a kidnapping, to be the kidnapee. I’d more likely be the kidnapper. I hadn’t expected to feel so helpless and out of control, which definitely are alien feelings for me. I breathe in through my mouth and out through my nose, then I do it again.

Think Swift. Use your head. Rule one for someone who’s been kidnapped, keep your eyes and ears open for anything that might help, either to free yourself or to bring the kidnappers to justice once you’re released.

Is this what it’s like to feel terrified? I don’t think I’ve felt real fear before, apprehension of course, when we were waiting for the order to proceed, but it was the adrenaline as with my comrades we prepared to head into what the intelligence reports had told us of the unknown. Our advances strategically planned, our weapons at the ready, while always knowing that the best laid plans could fall apart in an instant. Reacting to minute details changing in a situation was something I’d learned. But I was always in control, the adrenaline fuelling my actions.

Now that useless hormone is threatening to overwhelm me as I’ve no one standing in front of me to fight, and the chain prevents me moving very far. It’s a stimulant which I could do without, pumping my body up, preparing it for action without being able to flee or fight.

I try to push it down, make my heart rate slow, and tell myself there’s no enemy to engage right now. Promising myself when my kidnapper puts in an appearance, he’ll soon wish he’d picked on somebody else.

Another rule. Don’t antagonise your kidnapper. Hmm. So maybe kicking him in the privates just for the sake of it isn’t the way to go. Not while I’m still chained to the wall and sitting on an iron bed which seems to be bolted to the floor.

But free me, and all bets are off.

Forcing myself not to think of everything I can’t hear, I try to think of the positives and use the senses I do still possess, I look around me. There are no windows, the room lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. That musty smell suggests I’m in some kind of cellar or basement. There’s a bed, a bucket, presumably placed conveniently close by should I wish to answer a call of nature, and a single wooden chair.

Weapons? The bed’s an iron frame. Lifting the thin mattress I see it has springs, but none that look loose or which, without a tool, could be taken out. There’s no handy screwdriver or other implement which would help me. The floor is dirty and dusty, but with cleaner areas which suggest things have been removed. They’ve prepared for me.

For me? Or for anyone? Was I a deliberate target?

No one knew I was going home last night. I’d only decided on the spur of the moment so I didn’t give in to my impulse to go with Road. Maybe fucking Road would have been the lesser of two evils. I could still be in his bed...

Think, I admonish myself.

My electricity was taken out. Sure, it’s easy enough to cut a power line, but the generator would have kicked in, and that’s set to warn me if the power has failed. That it hadn’t means that was disabled too. To know I had the backup in place means it wasn’t just a random home invasion. It was premeditated and planned for. That my appearance in my house wasn’t on my agenda last night, whoever is responsible for bringing me here had to have staked the place out, waiting for me to make one of my rare visits to my home. Which means I was the target, me. And taking me was important enough to make all the necessary preparations.

My hands are slick with sweat, my heart’s beating too fast. I feel lightheaded and while I try to put it down on whatever sedative was used on me, I know I’m hiding the truth. I’m panicking. Me, Swift. One of the first women to be selected