They’re going to catch me. Take me. Drag me away some place where I’ll never be able to help Dad again.
Move! I tell myself, throwing everything I’ve got into my knees, my hips, my ankles.
For the longest ten seconds of my life, it works. I’m actually breaking ahead of them, leaping over scattered smears of snow, almost to the semi-safety of the streets when—
A thick hand claps over my mouth.
I fight, I kick, I try to get away. Swinging my arms, my feet, my head, I bite down on a meaty part of the hand against my mouth, but it’s not helping.
The thug has a glove on that a rabid dog couldn’t chew through.
The surprise weakens his grip at first, though, but as soon as I break one hold, the other guy catches up, grabbing at my belly with both arms.
Jesus, I can’t fight both of them!
I’m losing ground fast.
They’re dragging my body like a rag doll, flinging me around, shoving me toward the yawning hell of that SUV.
My entire world comes apart in a blurred mess fueled by every sour emotion in the known universe.
Panic.
Fear.
Tears.
So freaking many tears.
My heart echoes in my ears like this sinister drum, pounding so hard I swear I’m about to pass out.
I don’t know what to do.
I just keep thinking it can’t end like this.
It can’t!
Their thick gloved hands cover my screams, pushing them back down my throat. Jackknife shoves me forward, harder, even as I’m fighting, kicking, twisting, trying to break their grip.
It’s not working.
But I’m not going with them.
If they want me so bad, it’s going to be with blood and bruises and hopefully a few ruptured testicles.
Calling up my last reserve of strength, I throw myself backward in a messy, off-balance cannonball, breaking their holds.
Turns out, a lucky patch of ice helps, sending the other man spinning off his feet. He hits the pavement and yells, struggling to get up.
Holy hell.
Now for the bad news: he isn’t the only one whirling out of control.
I hit the ground so hard it rattles my bones.
A fierce stinging sensation darts up my tailbone. I’m in the snow, lungs heaving, piled up against the building in a hot mess of raw, confused adrenaline.
Running didn’t work, so I scoot backward, up against the wall, and bury my butt in the snow. I fold at my knees, wrapping my arms around my shins, and tuck my head down, curling into the tightest ball humanly possible, so they don’t have anything to grab.
Oh, but they try.
Muffled curses spill out behind their masks. Four angry hands yank at my coat, my hood, my hair.
They try forcing their hands under my arms to lift me up, grabbing at my ankles and forearms.
My muscles burn as I fight to keep my arms locked around my knees, head down, hoping something gives.
They’re digging their hands under me, trying to pick me up. I wriggle my butt deeper in the snow, hurting my back, desperately wishing for a lucky break.
Wishing, yeah.
I said it.
That should tell me how desperate I am, but a second later there’s more to worry about as everything just...stops.
Their hands quit trying to grab me.
It sounds like they’re moving away. There’s a dull roar in my ears past my pounding heart.
A shout.
Footsteps slapping the ground so hard it echoes.
I’m officially scared to hope that someone heard me or saw the commotion. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.
It could just be a trick, or the savages running back to their truck for something to knock me out for good. All the cannonball-girl skills in the world can’t beat a gun, a knife, or the rag soaked with chloroform that shows up in every bad suspense movie.
I’m not falling for it.
I won’t be taken.
Dad needs me too much, and so do Rosie and Stern.
An engine revs again, louder than before.
Crud. I can’t stay blinded like this so...
So, keeping my arms locked around my knees and my head down, I open my eyes and crane my face up.
Dirty grey snow uncovered from the plowing is all I can see at first, even when I look out the corners of my eyes. But I hear a vehicle moving, its tires rolling, engine rumbling like summer thunder.
Someone grabs my arm.
I scream, stuffing myself back into a ball so hard I think I sprain something in my belly.
Make that several somethings—ow.
“Hey, it’s me, snap out of it, Grace! It’s Ridge. Let me help you up.”