I can see the diner up the block and breathe a sigh of relief. I’m almost there. Grayson is probably already inside with sweet tea and pie, waiting for me. Shaking my head ruefully I chuckle quietly and quicken my pace, feeling childish and a little bit over dramatic for my moment of panic. Until a car door slams nearby, making my heart race with renewed fright. I didn’t notice anyone sitting in any of the parked cars as I passed them. The temptation to look over my shoulder is overwhelming but I force my eyes to stay fixed on my destination and I quicken my pace.
There’s barely time for me to react to the sound of running feet seconds before a hand snakes around my face smothering my alarmed cry. I yelp in surprise as something sharp jabs through my jeans into my thigh. The mild sting that follows is the scariest sensation I’ve ever felt in my life. Someone injected me with something! I jerk at the arms restraining me, attempting to break free so I can scream but my voice is muffled against a sweaty palm that smells like stale garlic. The slick bottoms of my boots scramble uselessly against the sidewalk, trying to escape as I’m drug backward toward the now idling van. This cannot be happening.
My heart pounds desperately and I attempt to bite the hand covering my mouth and nose. Instead of letting go my captor pushes against my teeth. Hard. My jaw stretches painfully when he increases the pressure until an unintentional squeak of pain is torn from my throat.
Fucking vans! I knew I should have crossed the street.
Why in the world is this happening to me?
My thoughts are disjointed and my vision is fading, growing blurry around the edges. Whatever they injected me with was powerful. My purse drops from my numb fingers and belatedly I reach for it. My hand feels like it belongs to someone else. I open my mouth to scream again. The hand over my face grips harder, cutting off my air and everything goes black but I’m not unconscious. I can hear and feel everything as I’m roughly tossed onto the cold metal floor. The raspy slide and clang of the van door closing seems so final. Male voices argue on the periphery of my consciousness. I struggle to open my eyes, to call out for help. It’s useless. The drug coursing through my body has rendered me blind and mute.
Then there is nothing but silence…
A low hum thrums through my head. Kind of like the time I drank too much box wine and it gave me the worst headache of my life the next morning. My thoughts feel fuzzy and I can’t remember where I am or how I got here. Something bad happened, I know that. It’s a truth that resonates deep in my soul. I just can’t remember what happened through the thick fog clouding my thoughts. Drowsiness pulls at the edges of my awareness, but I fight against it, struggling to lift eyelids that are too weighted to do more than flutter uselessly.
What do you know? I prompt myself, refusing to surrender to the need to sleep.
I’m indoors. There’s no wind or sounds of the outdoors. It smells funny. Stagnant, like a house that’s been closed up for too long, and what’s that other smell? Cigar smoke maybe, or some fancy cigarette. I hear voices, male voices. The sound triggers a sense of panic. My heart races and my breath hitches in my throat as I try to concentrate on what’s being said. I need to focus on anything that will help me make sense out of what’s going on, but the miasma clouding my brain makes comprehension impossible. Everything sounds like gibberish coming from the end of a long, dark tunnel and I’m so, so tired.
Giving up the fight I stop listening and embrace the encroaching darkness.
“She’s coming around.” An unknown male voice rasps nearby. There’s a reply, but I’m fading out again and miss it.
What's wrong with me?
“Wakey wakey little Nikki.” The words are crooned right against my ear, accompanied by that smell again. The faint smell of flavored smoke. I want to be comforted by it; it reminds me of my grandfather. Before Mama went and burned that bridge for both of us. I remember smelling it when I woke up before, but have no idea how long ago that was.
Where am I?
What the fuck is going on? I moan, the sound pathetic even to my own ears. I try to move my head, but something tight around my neck stops me. Ice water floods my veins as the realization that I’m restrained penetrates my muddled brain.
“Wake up, Nikki.” The voice was cajoling before, but it is colder now. Insistent. I try to comply. To follow the directive and open my eyes, but it’s impossible.
“The stupid fuck gave her too much.” The voice is angry. It’s like I’m swimming in quicksand, struggling to get my head above water, but the black tunnel keeps pulling me under. Who gave me what?
Over the sound of blood pounding in my head, a rough voice demands that I open my eyes, but I can’t. I want to explain that I’m trying, but all that tumbles from my lips is a string of unintelligible sounds. A rough curse is immediately followed by a searing burn next to my belly button. I’ve never felt anything like it! I scream, howling with pain and fear as I fight against whatever, whoever is hurting me.
The same voice laughs against my ear, hot breath tickling against my skin. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s friendly, an almost kindly laugh that’s completely misplaced coming from the person I assume is responsible for the agony radiating from that small spot on my abdomen.
What the fuck is he using that hurts this bad?
It takes every ounce of my willpower to force my eyelids open and stare down the length of my naked body. I blink dumbly, shock stealing my voice as I watch him finish putting out his cigarette against the soft skin of my belly.
“Good evening, beautiful,” the stranger says, turning his almost black eyes to meet my horrified stare.
I’ve woken up in the middle of a nightmare that isn't going away. I gasp in a shuddering breath preparing to scream again, but the effect of whatever drug is still coursing through my body slams me back into blessed darkness, taking the pain and confusion with it.
Chapter Seven
Grayson
I added about ten packs of sugar to the glass of iced tea I ordered for Nikki when the waitress dropped it off. I’ve been waiting long enough that the condensation has created a small puddle on the chipped Formica tabletop and the ice is completely melted. She’s too late for me to blame on her still being at work. Her shift should have ended over an hour ago. I woke up this morning regretting not swapping cell numbers with her. I didn’t think to ask her for it. I was thinking about our kiss and how sweetly she let me tuck her into her bed. I’d also be a liar if I didn’t admit that the memory of her coming apart in my arms didn’t have me completely distracted. I’m not distracted now. I’m worried and sitting here beating myself up for failing to ask for something as basic as her phone number. I would’ve loved to have texted her before her shift started. Hell, I’d like to text her now and ask if she’s blowing me off or if something’s wrong. I don’t even care if that makes me seem desperate. I am.
Every instinct I have says that something’s not right. We had way too much fun, just talking and getting to know each other, for her to be standing me up. And after that explosive as hell kiss, I’m positive that we’re on the same page about spending more time together.