Taxi (Take It Off #11) Page 2

  He couldn’t ignore that.

  The driver’s body flinched and he jerked away, the wheel of the car lurching with him. We swerved wildly on the road, and my body was tossed to the side. I cried out when the edge of the Plexiglas cut into the top of my arm as I fell.

  I ignored the pain and quickly scrambled back up and hit him again. This time, the heel slammed down on the spot between his neck and shoulder.

  “Son of a bitch!” he roared and turned toward me.

  I lifted the shoe to hit him again, but he caught it and ripped away my weapon. He threw it on the passenger-side floorboard, out of reach, and snatched my wrist as I was pulling back for the other shoe.

  I was yanked so hard my face hit the glass. I stifled a cry and twisted and fought to get my arm free. “Pull over!” I screamed.

  The cab swerved again as we struggled. He was having a hard time driving with one arm while trying to fight me off with the other.

  “Get back there!” he spat and shoved away my arm.

  I retreated into the backseat, chest heaving, eyes watering, and wild panic clawing up my insides. Before I could do anything else, he slammed the window shut and locked it closed. I lurched forward and tried to open it anyway.

  Of course it wouldn’t budge.

  “You’re only making it worse for yourself.” He acted like this was my fault. Like I asked to be kidnapped.

  I was so enraged, so incredibly frightened that I was starting to go numb.

  This wasn’t happening.

  I wasn’t being kidnapped.

  I hadn’t just willingly stepped into a situation that was going to get me killed.

  What does he want with me? What is he going to do?

  Think! Get yourself out of this. Don’t lie down and accept this fate. I could barely hear my thoughts because the feeling of terror was so strong, but I fought it back. I fought for even just a shred of sanity.

  My phone! Of course!

  An impatient sound ripped out of my throat, and I dove at my bag. The entire contents dumped out all over the floor in my haste to get the phone. I snatched it up as tears of relief blurred my vision.

  I sat back and lit up the screen. On the dial pad, I hit 9-1-1 and pressed it tight against my ear. As I did, I watched the driver, prepared to fight him off so he couldn’t take away my phone.

  If he noticed what I was doing, he gave no indication.

  This made me nervous… Why didn’t he care I was calling the police?

  The phone wasn’t ringing. The call hadn’t gone through.

  “What?” I muttered and pulled it away to look at the screen.

  Call failed. No service.

  No, no, no. I dialed again. And again.

  None of my calls went through.

  Biting down on my lower lip and fighting back the keening sounds clawing out of my throat, I tried to send off a text.

  I got a little red exclamation point indicating the text couldn’t be sent.

  Try again? the phone asked on the screen.

  I tried again.

  Five times.

  I tried the call again, too.

  It wasn’t working. “Why aren’t you working!” I shouted, frustrated.

  In the front seat, the driver leaned forward, and my attention zeroed in on what he was doing. His hand patted something mounted to the dash beside the meter. “Scrambles the signal. Makes that fancy phone of yours completely useless.” He seemed proud.

  I slumped back, astonished. “Why are you doing this?”

  When I thought he would say nothing, he spoke up. “Look at that.” He gestured to the still-running meter. “You’re gonna owe a hefty fair.”

  I blinked. He was insane. Completely and utterly psychotic. The phone slid out of my hand and dropped onto the seat.

  “You like country music?” he called over his shoulder and reached for the radio. Sounds of a popular country song filled the interior of the cab.

  He was kidnapping me, and he wanted to listen to music?

  Something inside me snapped. Like a band that had long since turned brittle. With a battle cry, I picked up my other shoe and started beating on the window of the door closest to me. I knew the hope of me actually breaking this window was slim, but I could try.

  This heel was pointy; I might have a chance. A chance was better than nothing. I beat on the glass over and over again. Pain radiated down my hand and up to my elbow. The harder I hit, the more it hurt, but I didn’t care.

  “It’s useless,” he said over my attempts.

  It only made me try harder.

  We were leaving the city; that much I could tell. I had to get out of here before we got any farther. By chance, I saw a couple of guys walking down the sidewalk. I threw myself against the window, beating on it and screaming.

  “Help me!” I screamed. “Help!”

  They glanced up. I beat on the glass some more.

  The speed of the cab increased, and seconds later, we had passed.

  I climbed into the back window, beating on it, my eyes never leaving the staring men.

  Seconds later, the cab took a sharp turn, and my body flew away from the window, hit the bench seat, and flopped halfway onto the floor.

  The car jerked to a stop, and my nails dug into the seat, trying to keep myself from falling any harder. God, my entire body hurt.

  How long had I been at this guy’s mercy?

  Ten minutes? Twenty?

  It felt like years.

  It felt like I’d been fighting for days with no reprieve.

  “Help!” I roared and lurched up, banging on the glass of the window. I stared out at the dark street, trying to decipher where we were, trying to memorize any detail I could.

  It was hard. I was so beyond thought. I was beyond sight. My fight-or-flight response was so amped up I could barely even function.

  Try! I demanded of myself.

  “They saw me!” I told the driver. “Those guys back there. They’ve probably already called the police.”

  The car was idling at the curb. He turned slowly so he was facing me.

  “Just let me go. Right here. Right now. I won’t tell anyone anything about this,” I begged.

  “I didn’t want to do this,” he said, regret in his tone. “If only you’d just shut up.”

  “Just let me go. It will be over.”

  The man leaned down and lifted something from beneath the front seat. I swallowed thickly, watching him carefully, terribly afraid of what he might do next.

  Horror, plain and simple, dawned over me as he pulled what he was holding over his head. It was a mask.

  Like a gas mask… the kind that covered your entire face and had this huge protruding filter-looking thing at the mouth.

  The lenses covering his eyes were dirty. They gave his face a yellow, jaundiced cast.

  I shivered. My fingernails curled into my palms and bit into my flesh.

  “What are you doing?” My voice shook, and I pressed back farther into the seat.

  He stared at me, unspeaking, as he adjusted the strap at the back of his head.

  I picked up my phone again, trying to call 9-1-1 once more. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I’d try until I was dead.

  Which might not be that long now…

  A low sound filled the interior of the cab. I heard it even over the stupid country music. It sounded sort of like he’d turned the AC on full blast. Like something was blowing…

  Noticeable mist started rising from beneath the front seat. Like steam off a cup of coffee, like water evaporating off a sidewalk on an ultra-hot day.

  Gripping my phone so tight I was surprised it didn’t shatter, I scrambled back and pressed into the corner of the seat as far away from the rising mist as I could get.

  “What is that?” I demanded. “What are you doing?”

  I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t help it. The anxiety and fear was just too real. As my body fought for calm, my lungs searched for air. The only kind they could f
ind was contaminated.

  My eyes watered as even more of the mist filled the backseat of the car. I tried to hold my breath, but let’s be real… A person could only do that for so long before the body automatically took over and sucked in.

  The car pulled away from the empty, dark curb and onto the street. Drowsiness washed over me, and I fought it with all the valiance I could muster.

  But I was no match for sleeping gas (or whatever this was). I was no match for the driver with a mask strapped to his face.

  My body melted against the seat as I fought for consciousness.

  I didn’t want to pass out. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever wake up.

  It was a losing battle.

  The last thought I had before completely succumbing was, I’m not ready to die.

  2

  Rose

  I wasn’t dead.

  Well, unless I was and only thought I was alive. It happened on TV all the time. You know when people die and then wake up as ghosts and don’t really know they’re dead until they walk through a wall or try and have a conversation with their best friend and get no reply.

  Hey, at this point, I was willing to believe anything was possible. After being kidnapped by a taxi driver and drugged, I was pretty sure I could argue a good case that the tooth fairy existed.

  Clearly, I was still a little drunk. Or maybe whatever filled up my lungs was still in my system and it was some sort of hallucinogen.

  Either way, I wasn’t dead.

  I guess that made up for the ridiculous thoughts crowding my pounding head.

  Ow. It felt like someone took a hammer to my skull and got in a couple really good knocks. I started to lift a hand up to my head, the small action bringing in a wealth of reality.

  Flashes of the taxi ride, the man wearing a mask, and the bone-chilling fear I’d felt earlier assailed me. I wasn’t just having a drunken bad dream or a hangover from hell. This was really happening. Instantly, my hand went slack against the ground, and I fought the urge in my muscles to tense up.

  Look asleep, I told myself. Don’t let him know you’re awake.

  Just the thought of that man made me want to cry. Was he still here? Was he somewhere nearby watching me, just waiting for me to open my eyes?

  I forced back the sounds bubbling up in my chest. They were so distraught and so full of sorrow it was physically painful to keep them inside.

  But this pain was no match for the pain I knew was waiting if my kidnapper realized I was awake. True, I had no idea what he wanted with me, but it wasn’t good.

  Nothing good would come of this.

  Keeping my breathing even and my face muscles relaxed, I listened and tried to assimilate as much as I could about my surroundings.

  The floor was cold and hard, like concrete. I was lying on it without any kind of cushion or blanket, and I could feel every pressure point lying on the impenetrable surface. I must have been here a while because I was stiff and my shoulder blades hurt like they’d been supporting my weight for a while.

  My fingers and toes were cold. Almost icy. That seemed a little odd because it was summer and summer’s in the South made it almost impossible to have icy anything.

  Was I in a freezer?

  That thought was freaky, and I had to remind myself to calm down. I definitely wasn’t in a freezer; it wasn’t that cold.

  I was still wearing all my clothes, minus my shoes. I’d probably never see those things again. Funny, even though I’d just been complaining about them, now I was sorry. My legs were bare and it felt like my skirt had ridden up, because there was a bit of a draft.

  My teeth sank into my lower lip before I could think better of it.

  Was I raped? The thought was like an icepick shoved into my stomach.

  I wouldn’t have to be naked for that to have happened, especially since I was wearing a skirt… No. It didn’t feel like I’d been violated that way. I searched every corner of my foggy mind, trying to recall anything—a sound, a touch… a feeling that would indicate my body had been violated in some horrible way.

  The only memories were of what happened in the taxi and now waking up here. I was probably only feeling a draft because I was sprawled out on some hard, cold floor.

  I didn’t have much hope right now, not much relief, but realizing I wasn’t sexually abused did make me feel a little bit stronger.

  With a little more boldness, I continued taking mental stock of my surroundings and my body.

  There was something around my wrist. Just the left one. It was heavy and cool, kind of like metal. But my other wrist was bare.

  I wanted to open my eyes. I wanted to know what I was dealing with. First, I listened. I really listened. It wasn’t easy because as it turns out, when you’re scared for your life, it’s incredibly hard to calm the mind enough to listen. All I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat; all I could think about was questioning if every heartbeat was unique.

  If my heart stopped beating, would there ever be a sound just like it ever again?

  What if heartbeats were like fingerprints, exclusive to the person? Identifying in ways no one had yet to discover?

  I was beginning to think my brain had ADD. I could never seem to just focus.

  Focus.

  I was finally able to quiet and search out the sounds of breathing, voices, or footsteps. The sound of cars or a radio… anything. Anything at all.

  It was silent.

  I heard nothing.

  In my mind, I counted to three. One, two… three. Slowly, I cracked open my eyes. Even as I warned myself not to, I did it. I made a face, like a wince—you know, like when you screw up your face as a scary movie plays on TV and you just know something’s lurking, ready to jump out.

  I just knew someone was there, hovering nearby, waiting to do heinous and unspeakable things to me.

  The second my eyes opened fully, they slammed shut again, as if I suddenly changed my mind. Even in the split second they opened, I saw no one.

  I pried them open again and stared up. When no one shouted and came rushing over, I turned my head and looked around the room. My fingers and lip trembled as I stared around, anxiously searching the large, open space.

  I saw no one.

  A heavy breath exhaled from my chest, and I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I swear my body creaked. For a woman who was only twenty-four, my body was betraying me. It took an excessive amount of time to move and flex just to sit up.

  I didn’t dare call out, but I did do another thorough inspection of the room. It looked like I was in a warehouse of some kind. The walls were made of metal or tin. The roof the same. I was toward the back of the building, off to the side near one of the walls.

  The lighting was dim; there were no windows. There was a light of some kind up near the front. I couldn’t tell what kind but it must have been pretty bright to give enough illumination back here.

  As I stared at some of the stuff I was currently sharing the space with, I thought maybe it wasn’t a warehouse after all, but some kind of barn or shed. A couple very large tractors were parked inside. One was very dirty and worn-looking, and the other was in better shape but definitely had been used.

  The entire place smelled sort of like earth, grass, and hay.

  Maybe this was some kind of farm? I knew there were farmlands outside of Raleigh somewhere… It was possible I was at one. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been in the taxi.

  Oh God, what if I’m not even in North Carolina anymore?

  I moved to press a hand to my chest because it was suddenly tight and uncomfortable. The rattling of chains made me freeze.

  I looked down.

  Numbly, I stared at my new bracelet. I always thought maybe I was a jewelry girl.

  I was pretty sure I’d just changed my mind.

  A wide metal cuff wrapped around my wrist, attached to a short length of chain. The chain was thick and heavy, and it wrapped around some type of thick metal pipe or pole.<
br />
  I was chained up. Like an animal. A prisoner.

  Swift and fierce rage swept through me. A sound that could only be described as desperation filled my ears when I lurched to my feet. The weight of the chain was heavy, and it tried to pull me down. I was unrelenting and shoved back to throw all my weight into trying to break free of the leash.

  Of course, I was no match for the chain.

  I tugged and fought against it. I shoved at the pipe, kicked and yanked until my chest heaved and my chilled fingers were no longer cold.

  Refusing to give up, I started searching around for something nearby I could use to cut the chain with. I had no idea what kind of tool could even do that, but I’d try a puny pair of scissors if given the chance.

  I had maybe five feet of chain to move around with. I used to think five feet was a respectable distance. Now?

  Now it seemed like I used longer pieces of floss to clean my teeth.

  A vast sense of hopelessness welled up inside me. The urge to sink down and cry was so strong I swayed on my feet. But I would not give in. Not until I was dead.

  Not ever.

  I went back to searching for something—anything I could use as a weapon or a tool. The radius in which I was chained was swept clear of anything. It was literally me and my restraints.

  A laugh bubbled up.

  I was in the center of some kind of tractor shed, chained to a pipe in the shadows, with bare feet. I was dressed in clothes I rarely ever wore—a flouncy skirt with wide white and navy horizontal stripes and a white button-up shirt that was now only half tucked in.

  I was dirty and cold. My mouth felt dry and my throat hurt, probably from all the screaming I did in the cab. I was thirsty, too.

  But I was alive. I would figure out a way home. I would never let this kidnapper bring me down.

  The loud and shiver-inducing sound of metal scraping against metal had me jolting as if I were electrocuted. Hushed voices and footsteps made the floor seem mighty appealing, and I dropped like I had an anvil tied around my waist.

  Yes. Yes, I saw the irony here. I just declared I wouldn’t let him bring me down, and now here I was lying on the ground.