She’d promised to always tell someone where she was going to be—so she’d leave a note on her dresser and carry her cell phone.
She would do that.
She wasn’t stupid.
The idea of texting Miguel that she was going to be at the club tonight was tempting. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. But she might.
The girls danced in a circle and blew air kisses at one another. They needed to get home and grab some food and shower and get ready for the party.
“Tonight is gonna be wicked.” Gemma giggled.
It was. It really was. Best night ever. They carried on walking until they hit the intersection for Rodríguez Peña, heading toward where Irene had parked her mom’s car.
A white van screeched to a halt in front of them and the girls all backed up a step.
Whoa.
“Asshole,” Gemma muttered under her breath.
Kristen went to walk around the van, but a man wearing a mask jumped out of the passenger door and grabbed her around the waist.
“Hey! What the hell?”
Another man followed him. He also wore a mask.
Fear sliced through her. Was this a joke?
Gemma started screaming. Kristen dropped her bags as she tried to pry her way loose from the steely arm encircling her.
He didn’t let go.
Panic started to overtake her. “Get off me! Help! Help me!”
His hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but he shifted his grip with his palm under her jaw, fingers digging hard into the skin on either side her nose. Her heart pounded violently, beating against her ribcage like a frantic bird trying to take flight. She heard the others shouting.
She tried to pull the man’s hands off her face, but he was too strong. She reached behind her head and raked her nails down his face, going for his mask. The side cargo door of the van was now open, and her assailant lifted her off the ground and stepped inside the dim confines of the vehicle. She latched onto the edge of the doorway, but he peeled her fingers off and yanked her away. He had to release her mouth to do it.
“Help me. Help me!”
He staggered inside the van and sat with her squeezed between his legs, restraining her arms and legs. She kicked at his ankles, but her sandals weren’t built to inflict damage. Desperate to escape, she threw her head back and connected hard enough with his nose to make him cry out in pain. Even so, he didn’t let go.
Another masked man in the van shoved a thick canvas hood over her head and pulled a drawstring tight. Her world went black.
What’s happening?
She couldn’t breathe, but she screamed until her lungs hurt. She was pushed forward, and her wrists were cuffed behind her back with metal bracelets.
She screamed again, and a blow to her head had light whirling through her brain as pain fused her teeth together. When the pain faded, she tasted blood. It shocked her into silence, more effective than the terse orders to shut up and be quiet.
Another yell pierced the cargo hold. Irene. She was shouting and screaming until she suddenly made an oof noise and went quiet.
Oh, god. They’d hit her too.
The doors banged shut, and the van squealed into traffic. Kristen fell sideways and only remained upright because of the grip her assailant had on her.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking us?” Her voice was muffled and feeble.
“Quiet.” The voice was fast and agitated. He spoke in Spanish. “Or I’ll gag you so you cannot make a sound.”
His grip on her tightened. She whimpered.
It hurt to sit this way with her arms cuffed behind her back and pressed against this man’s groin. Desperate tears dampened her eyes, and her throat hurt.
The hood was musty with old sweat and made her want to vomit. Who else had worn it? Where were they now? Alive? Or dead?
The driver was going fast.
Was someone giving chase? Surely someone had called the cops? Where was Gemma?
“What do you want? Where are you taking us? It’s Christmas!” she cried.
“Quiet!” He shook her. “Don’t cause trouble, and you might live to enjoy it. Fight us, and it will be unpleasant for you and your little friend. Understand?”
So, she was supposed to be a good girl so they could abduct her more easily? It was absurd and, yet, she didn’t have a choice. Kristen jerked her head up and down. Yes, she understood. She understood they were terrible people.
Where was her cell? Her mom said she had to always keep her cell phone on her person so Diplomatic Security Service could use it to track her. Even as she thought about it, someone ripped away her small purse.
Was this real? Kristen kept expecting them to stop the car and start laughing. Rip off their hoods and say this was all a joke.
Ha ha.
So funny.
If this was a prank, she was going to punch everyone in the face the first chance she got and, oh, how she would laugh.
Her arms brushed bare skin where her captor’s t-shirt had ridden up. She raised her arms, trying to avoid touching his privates, and the gems in her rings scraped his skin. Then she realized he’d made a big error in judgment. She was about to lunge for his penis and twist as hard as she could when he shifted her away from him and pushed her, face-first, against the floor of the van. Someone began wrapping rope around her ankles.
Oh, god.
As she lay with her chin jarring against the metal floor with every bump, she knew this wasn’t a joke. She and Irene weren’t going to any party this evening, and they might not be alive tomorrow. Her heart gave a panicked squeeze.
It seemed like forever, but eventually, the van slowed and started turning through windy streets.
Were they at their destination?
The van jerked to a stop, and the doors opened. She yelped as she was dragged over the grooved surface and hauled across someone’s shoulder.
She heard doors opening on another vehicle. Crap! They were changing cars. No one would know how to find her. No one would know where they’d taken her.
She’d be gone. Disappeared.
Her mouth parched. She might never see her family again. Panic flooded her body, but she knew fighting wouldn’t save her. She wasn’t strong enough to physically defy these bastards.
She suddenly realized she needed to leave as many clues behind as possible. DNA. Fingerprints.
She eased off one of her rings and let it drop to the ground.
The man dumped her into the trunk of another vehicle, this one a lot smaller than the first. The pain was excruciating as she rolled onto her back. Something heavy was dropped on top of her, smacking her in the face. Irene?
The trunk slammed shut, and the darkness was all consuming. She shifted to ease the tension in her arms, relieved when Irene—she was pretty sure it was Irene—also wriggled.
The engine started, and the stench of exhaust fumes wafted into the tight compartment, making her feel nauseous.
The car shot off, and the two of them rolled helplessly around the small space. Her stomach roiled, and her equilibrium was unsteady like a cork in a stormy ocean. Kristen braced herself as best she could, closed her eyes, and prayed.
Chapter Two
Lucy Aston, former cheerleader and sorority girl, who’d captained both the debate and softball teams in high school, stood unmoving and completely unnoticed against the back wall of a ballroom as a glittering array of glamorous men and women drank, ate, and generally celebrated the holiday.