Dolby(27)
Author: Maryann Jordan
The urge to use the bathroom now took precedence over listening to continued silence, so she tossed the covers back. Hurrying into the en suite bathroom, she was glad for the night-light plugged into the wall next to the sink, providing a soft glow over the room.
She lifted her fingers to her lips, remembering the kiss she’d shared with Jonathan. Her lips curved upward at the thought that tomorrow would bring more kisses. At least, that was what she hoped it would bring. For the first time in a long time, the idea of spending time with someone new was exciting. And unnerving. What does he see in me? Just the author? Is the chase more exciting than the real thing? Professionally confident, she harbored personal fears that were sometimes crippling.
Gripping the edge of the counter, she leaned forward, holding her gaze on the reflection. Stop, girl. You can do this. Let something amazing happen. And if it doesn’t, then at least you took a step forward. Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, her smile returning.
Finishing, she washed her hands and shivered in the cool air. She wrapped her arms tighter around her body and stepped back into the bedroom. Moving toward the bed, she hoped she could quickly get warm again once under the covers.
A slight movement on the right had her swing her head in that direction, but the hands that grabbed her came from behind. She opened her mouth to scream, but a large hand clamped over her face, cutting off any escape of noise while an arm around her waist kept her immobile.
“Got her.”
The deep male voice came from next to her ear as she struggled in futility, unable to dislodge his iron-banded grip. Desperation flooded each nerve, and she kicked out, her fuzzy-sock-covered feet doing little damage other than to make his arm tighten even more.
“Settle down!”
Her body jolted as the man shook her like a rag doll in his arms. She wanted to scream that they could rob the house without hurting her, but she was still unable to speak.
“Come on,” he growled.
“Hold her still,” another man said from the side.
Spots formed in her vision, even in the darkness, as she tried unsuccessfully to breathe. Sure that she would suffocate in Angela’s guest room, she dug her short nails into the man’s arm nearest her face, and for once, she wished she had manicured talons that would have ripped his skin. His hand slipped down just enough to allow air into her nose while keeping her mouth clamped shut. Breathing deeply, she continued to struggle. God, no! No! No!
The man holding her twisted her head to the side, and for an instant, she thought he was going to snap her neck. Instead, the other man moved closer, and unable to move to stop them, a sharp prick jabbed her neck. Instantly, her muscles relaxed, and she slumped against the arms holding her. Her world went black.
Marcia’s eyes slowly blinked open, but everything was fuzzy. She lay on a hard surface, wondering why Angela’s bed wasn’t soft. For a moment, she wondered if she’d fallen out of bed and slept on the floor.
She blinked several more times, trying to bring her muddled mind back into focus. Breathing deeply, she slowly cleared her vision and realized she wasn’t in Angela’s guest room. She tried to push to a seated position, but her arm seemed to be caught on something that clanked.
Hit in the gut with the realization, her breath rushed from her lungs as she looked down at the thin, plastic mattress underneath her, the small, dark, windowless room she was in, and the length of chain connected to a metal band around her wrist, tethering her to the pallet on the floor. Her stomach pitched, and she bent over, dry heaving as wracks of pain shot through her body.
Oh, God… not again.
Marcia looked down at the metal band around her wrist, and her chest heaved with the effort of breathing. The irony was not lost on her. The tight band was wrapped around her left wrist, opposite the one from the scars of her past. I’ll have a matched set. She winced at the ridiculous thought, recognizing gallows humor as a coping mechanism. She’d learned a lot of coping skills over the years, some more effective than others, and some more socially acceptable than others.
A dim light bulb barely flickered above, but she’d take any light over complete darkness. The room was small, barely more than a closet. Looking down at her arm again, she observed the shaking and tried unsuccessfully to still the tremors. Her heart raced, and her breathing rattled in her lungs, making it impossible to calm down. Why did they take me?
She felt sure that no one knew of her birth identity. And even if they had, there would be nothing to gain from kidnapping her. Her father’s company had been bought out after he died, taken over by other corporations, and what money she’d gained was mostly given away before she changed her identity. And certainly, Marcia Blackburn, the author, had no wealth worthy of a kidnapping.
She dragged another shaky breath into her lungs, hoping to tamp down the nerves rocketing through her body. No matter what, she was unable to dismiss another irony—getting kidnapped twice in her life.
But this time, it was different. She was alone. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she blinked at the sting. Scrunching her eyes shut in a tight grimace, she tried to hide from the memories threatening to overwhelm her. She should have known better—nothing made them lessen. The heartwrenching memories of surviving when her brother…
A sound outside the door had her eyes snapping open and the air stilling in her lungs. Then the footsteps moved farther away. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Swallowing deeply, she listened for any more sounds, wondering if she could ascertain where she was being held. Just the thought made her realize there was a huge difference between her childhood experience and now. Then, all she could do was cry. Now, she’d do whatever she could to survive. Because it’s all up to me. No one else would know where she was. No one else could find her.
Closing her eyes again, she focused on breathing, and Jonathan’s image came to mind. And for the third time, another irony hit her. I just start seeing a man and get ripped away from him. And he’ll never know what happened.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps was at the door again. Keys jangled in the lock, and the sound reverberated throughout the small space, including her stomach. The fire of anger flew through her. I have to pay better attention to what’s happening! She shifted to her feet, refusing to be on the floor when someone entered. Even tethered with the cuffed wrist and the chain, standing gave her a modicum of control.
The doorknob turned, and her heartbeat, pounding in her throat, threatened to choke her. The door swung open, and a beefy man stepped inside, his expression neither smiling nor growling. He stared, saying nothing. She battled the urge to squirm but waited, not having a clue why he was there or what was expected.