Page 96 of Callow

I did have my phone clutched in my hand as I rounded the balcony of the neighbors below ours. And, thank God, the ladder was still hanging down. Which meant they hadn’t found me out yet.

I was reaching back to tuck my phone into my pocket when it happened.

A hand slapped down over my mouth as another crushed around my stomach hard enough to make me cry out against my muffle.

My phone fell from my grip as I was carried backward.

I remembered to flail, to scratch and slap and punch.

But he was so much bigger.

And a car was waiting not far away.

Then I was shoved down into a trunk with one man holding me down as the other grabbed a roll of duct tape and wrapped it around my mouth. Then, as the man who grabbed me yanked my arms back behind my back far enough to make my shouldersscream, the other guy wrapped the duct tape around my wrist and cast.

“What about her legs?” the one with the tape asked.

“We gotta get moving,” the other one said as he shoved me deeper into the trunk.

The duct tape dropped in inches from my face.

Then the trunk was closing.

And it was all over.

I’d been taken.

And it might be hours before my mom and Callow realize that. Or maybe they never would, since all the signs of me sneaking out were around.

They would probably waste hours trying to track me down instead of trying to focus on these guys again.

Tears stung my eyes and I had to focus to blink them back, knowing they weren’t going to help anything, that I really just needed to focus and try to find my own way out of this.

I knew all about kicking out a taillight and trying to stick a hand out.

The problem was, I couldn’t use my hands. And even if I could, I’d just been on the streets with Tammy. They were abandoned. The chances of someone seeing were slim.

I didn’t want to waste time and energy on something that just wasn’t going to work.

The trunk was full of junk.

I rolled myself over, wincing as my weight came over my cast, but figuring that would be a problem to deal with when I got myself out of this.

With my back to most of the junk, I tried to wiggle around, feeling with my limited range of motion, trying to see if there was anything sharp I could grab to get this tape off of my wrists.

My fingers met with several pieces of clothing, a shoe, what felt like a bat that would be super useful if I got my hands free to swing it

Grumbling, I felt a bunch of random things that I couldn’t place, but none were sharp enough to cut anything.

Until my fingers touched something small, rectangular, and cold.

Was that… was that a pocketknife?

I honestly only knew about them because this guy I’d had a thing for—until he made it clear he only liked blondes with big asses—was always taking his out, flicking the blade open, carving things into trees, desks, whatever. I thought he’d been so cool. Now, I thought he was trying too hard.

But, he did teach me a thing or two about pocketknives.

So I knew how to find the button to flick it open.