Taxi (Take It Off #11) Page 6

  He got off a shot.

  Something sharp and piercing hit my side.

  Almost like I’d been bit by some giant mosquito.

  I glanced down.

  A thin, metal-looking dart was sticking out of my stomach. A yellow tail quivered in the night air.

  What the shit was this?

  I yanked it out and stared down at it. Then I glanced back up.

  The cabbie watched me warily.

  I threw the dart on the ground and rushed him. “You son of a bitch!” I yelled.

  He jumped up and scurried back. My hand closed around the fabric between his shoulder blades, and I yanked him back.

  The world around me tilted.

  I blinked.

  Everything grew fuzzy.

  “What the fuck did you do to me?” I asked, my voice sounding so far away, even to my own ears.

  The grip I had on the man slipped, and I wilted to my knees. I looked up at him, trying to fight whatever the hell he’d shot me with. The world was so blurry… My limbs were so heavy.

  “Nighty-night,” the man said and wagged his fingers at me.

  I moved to lunge at him, but I fell instead.

  The last thing I remembered was the sound of the taxi’s engine as everything around me went black.

  7

  Rose

  Fear is a powerful thing.

  I could even argue it is one of the most influential motivators of life. I’m not talking about the kind of fear that makes you jump back from a giant spider or a snake slithering across the road. Not the fear you feel when you awaken from a bad dream in the middle of the night.

  I learned real fast there are two kinds of fear in life: perceived and literal.

  The literal kind is a much smaller category; the margin for this kind of fear is reserved. Reserved for unfortunate people like me who find themselves in life-or-death situations.

  It is this kind of fear that eclipses all else. It shapes every thought, every breath, every single beat of a heart.

  Everything I did now was through an automatic defense mechanism I didn’t even know I had.

  No amount of body-numbing exhaustion would ever be enough to make me forget that fear. Even half dead, I would feel it, know it, and react to it.

  The quiet was pierced with the now familiar groan of metal upon metal. I came awake violently, on red alert instantly. The chain rattled a bit when I sat up abruptly, my fingers clutching the metal handle as if my life depended on it.

  It probably did.

  The sound of scuffling feet and a few grunts echoed toward me.

  They were back. They were coming.

  What would they do to me?

  Alarmed, I looked at the handle clutched in my fingers. I needed to hide it. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. Maybe the men would laugh when they saw it and not care I’d literally broken skin on my hands to pry it off the bucket.

  I wasn’t going to give them the chance to laugh. To take it away.

  They’d taken enough from me already.

  Quickly, I tucked the metal into the wide waistband of my skirt and pulled the white button-down to cover it up. I liked the feeling of it against the small of my back. The cold temperature of the smooth, narrow rod was comforting. It gave me a sensation of strength when I was literally the weakest I’d ever been.

  As the sounds of the men approaching drew closer, I crab-crawled back until my back hit the pipe I was chained to. My hands griped it, and I pressed my legs together, waiting for my kidnappers to show themselves.

  Inside my chest, the erratic beating of my heart made me feel out of control and panicked. I didn’t like the feeling, but I didn’t know how to calm myself.

  “Bastard is heavy,” a voice grunted from the other side of the oldest tractor.

  With keen eyes, I watched, and with persistent ears, I listened. Their feet shuffled more than they had before. It was almost as if they were struggling or trying to move something heavy.

  The urge to scream assailed me.

  What if they were hauling in some sort of cage to put me in? Or maybe they were bringing in some kind of torture chair to strap me in while they did unspeakable and vile things to my body.

  I didn’t want to have my fingernails pulled off and my tongue stretched out until it was deformed and partially falling out of my mouth.

  Get a grip, Rose!

  Apparently, literal fear also came with a heaping side of irrational thought.

  But what if…?

  I shut it down and forced my attention to the here and now. That’s all that mattered, what was happening right now. From here on out, I didn’t live for what might happen in the upcoming minutes. I focused on this second.

  The man from the taxi and his boss came into view. They were carrying something so big it took both of them to haul it. At first, all I saw was the back of the taxi man. He was still in the same pants and white dress shirt from before. His back muscles seemed to strain with the weight of whatever he was holding.

  His heavy breathing reached my ears, and I had a moment’s thought that he seemed out of shape, something I could use to my advantage.

  The closer they came, the more I was able to see the entire picture of what was happening.

  The other man was facing me. He, too, was holding something in front of him that he seemed to find bulky. His face was pinched, and the veins in his neck bulged with effort. He was a little more in shape than the taxi man, but honestly, he wasn’t exactly going to be in the Olympics anytime soon.

  Or ever.

  The almost-white hair on his head was mussed, and the tie around his neck was loosened and askew.

  He glanced up and saw me staring. I averted my gaze immediately. I’d rather not draw attention to myself any more than necessary. That thought was fleeting, though, a barely formed sentence in the back of my mind.

  Because I saw what they were doing. What they were carrying… rather who they were carrying.

  I gasped and pushed to my feet, using the pipe as support for my still, bone-weary frame. It was a man. A rather large one… From where I was standing, I could see his shoulder and length down his side. Taxi Man was holding him under his armpits, and one long, bulky arm fell straight toward the floor. In fact, if the men carrying him did any worse of a job, his knuckles would likely be dragged across the cement.

  The other man was holding him by the ankles. My eyes went to his feet. They were dressed in Nikes, a really nice pair actually. And they were big.

  “You sure you wanna put him by her?” Taxi man grunted.

  “Area’s already clear. Just do it.”

  I stared like the unfolding scene was the most interesting thing I’d ever witnessed as the two men lugged the man closer.

  His head was covered. They’d put a bag or pillow case over it. I wondered if they’d done the same thing to me when they brought me in. I couldn’t remember. I was glad. I didn’t want the memory of having my sight cut off by something that could be used to suffocate me.

  The newest victim seemed like dead weight. He wasn’t putting up a fight at all. Judging by his size, I would surmise that was good for the kidnappers, because this guy was bigger than both of them and he probably could have fought his way free.

  They’d knocked him out, too.

  Just like they’d done to me.

  I wondered if the poor guy was someone who’d mistakenly gotten into the back of the wrong cab and was now the number two candidate for the twelve o’clock news.

  Naturally, I was the number one candidate.

  I’d been kidnapped longer. And I was a lady. Ladies first.

  “Here’s good,” the boss declared, and they literally just dropped him on the ground.

  I whimpered when his body hit the pavement. Even though he was close to the ground already, it still made a sick slapping sound. And his head… what if he’d hit it?

  I didn’t know this man. I hadn’t even seen his face. It didn’t matter. He and I were kindred n
ow. We’d both been kidnapped by insane people and were now in a fight for our lives.

  “Watch it,” the boss hissed at his accomplice. “We need him uninjured.”

  “Bastard’s fine,” Taxi Man rebutted. “He had it coming anyway for the fight he put up earlier.”

  So he’d put up a fight? That was good. It meant he wasn’t going to take this lying down. It meant I had an ally.

  The white-haired man made a sound that might have been a laugh, but who’s to say? Maybe he had a pack-a-day habit and he needed to cough. “I’m impressed he gave you that shiner before you managed to dart him.”

  Dart him?

  Taxi Man muttered something I didn’t hear and swung to face me. I recoiled from the cold look in his eyes and from the waves of anger he exuded. His eye was definitely blackened, a dark ring around it. Just under the eye was a pudgy-looking pouch where the area was swelling.

  Immense satisfaction filled me at the sight of it.

  His lip was swollen, too, and there was a smear of red beneath it like he’d been bleeding.

  Good. I hope you bleed some more.

  I didn’t back down from his appraisal of my body. I stared straight at him, almost in challenge. An ugly glint came into his stare, and I lifted my chin.

  I wasn’t going to cower, even though my body and mind begged me to.

  He took a step toward me, and I was glad I was against the pipe so I couldn’t step back.

  “Here,” the man behind him drawled, and the familiar rattling of chain filled the space.

  An identical metal cuff was placed around the man’s wrist. The length of chain affixed to it was longer than what I got, but that was only because he was lying a little farther away.

  Taxi Man took the end of the chain and glanced back. Stalking toward me, he knelt near my feet and worked to tie the chain around the pipe, just above mine.

  My body shuddered with his nearness, and he seemed to get off on it. Lifting one hand off the chain, he wrapped it around my ankle and began to slide his clammy palm up my calf.

  I made a sound of distress and wrenched away so quickly I stumbled, but instead of allowing it to slow me, I kept moving. Impulsively, I struck out, using the very foot he’d been trying to feel, catching him in the jaw.

  With a cry, his body fell back, unbalanced, landing on his hip.

  I leapt forward and grabbed the chain he was trying to secure and worked to unwrap it from the pipe. He lunged at me, and we grappled over the chain. Taxi Man grabbed me around the hips and tackled me. I fell over, my knee hit the pavement, and pain exploded down my leg. I screamed but kept fighting, trying to claw at his face and neck with my nails.

  “Stupid bitch!” he roared and rolled.

  I ended up pinned on the hard floor, panting, with him straddling my body, staring down with flared nostrils.

  I would never give in.

  My hand reared back and I punched out, hitting him right in the balls. His eyes went wide as I scrambled to buck him off. Despite the white tone to his skin and the grimace pulling his lips, he didn’t move. Instead, he grabbed my hands and squeezed both my wrists together, limiting my movement. He reared his other arm back, and even though I tried to move, there was nowhere I could go.

  The punch rocked my head on my shoulders. Pain bloomed across my cheekbone and rang in my ear. The back of my head hurt from rubbing along the cement, and my vision dimmed out for long seconds.

  “Hold her!” Taxi Man demanded as I fought for clarity.

  Hands beneath my armpits were rough and unforgiving when they towed me back. The sound of the chain dragging along with me was depressing, and then an unwanted arm wrapped around my body from behind and held firm.

  I watched through blurred vision as Taxi Man secured the new prisoner’s chain, essentially sentencing that man to the same fate I was already living.

  I tried to help you, I thought, glancing at the man who still had a bag over his head. But how will I help you when I can’t even help myself?

  When he was done, he stalked over in front of me. I didn’t quiver, though I wanted to. “I like a woman with some attitude. Makes it so much more satisfying when I show them who’s in charge.”

  Terror was raw inside me, but instead of crying, I spit in his face.

  His eyes flared and he drew his pudgy, unattractive form up to its full height. I wished he weren’t bigger than me. I wished I were bigger. Stronger. Something.

  One hand shot out and grabbed my jaw. Fingers squeezed the bone until I tried to pull back in pain. The man holding me refused to budge. I was essentially pinned between two lunatics, one who I was pretty sure would try and rape me before all was said and done.

  His nails dug into my flesh low on my cheek, and I thought about reaching around into my waistband and grabbing for the bucket handle.

  “I think you need a little lesson in obedience,” he growled.

  “We don’t have time for this,” the man holding me intoned. “We need to go.”

  Taxi Man glanced down at the figure still sprawled out on the floor and then back to one the restraining me. “Go. I’ll be along in a few.”

  “Just remember I need her unharmed,” the voice spoke near my ear. And then he was gone. He just let go of me and walked away. The silent way he moved was unnerving. And so was the way he seemed to care not at all about leaving me with this animal.

  I glanced over my shoulder, wanting to call him back even though I knew he would offer no protection.

  “He won’t help you,” Taxi Man said, reading my thoughts. “No one is going to help you now.”

  His fingers were tight like a vise when wrapped around my throat. I made a panicked, choking sound and begin to claw at his hand with both of mine. But it seemed the harder I fought, the tighter he squeezed.

  I gasped, trying to draw in precious air, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

  He yanked me forward, and I fell, scraping my big toe over the floor. His face filled my vision. His hot breath was horrid. It smelled like the end of life.

  I was suddenly sincerely sorry I’d tried to fight him at all.

  His lips were like two fleshy, damp worms when they pressed and squirmed against mine. I gagged, physically revolted by him. That seemed to make him more incensed. He shoved hard. I fell back onto the ground as I sucked in air past the burning sensation in my throat.

  A heavy body landed on top of me. I screamed and began to fight. The chain on my wrist made it hard to hit as fast and forcefully as I wanted. A sob taunted the back of my throat as I scrapped with him, and he laughed.

  My wrists were pinned above my head, pressing into the stone-cold concrete, and his other hand snaked up beneath my skirt.

  “No!” I screamed. I screamed so loud my voice broke. “Get off me!”

  “I’m gonna get off on you.” He corrected as his finger found the center of my panties.

  I started crying. But even as I cried, I struggled and fought. If he was going to rape me, it wasn’t going to be easy for him.

  I thrashed my head around, trying to get ahold of the arm pinning me so I could bite him.

  “He said not to hurt me!” I screamed, trying to think of anything I could to deter him.

  “I won’t hurt you. Not much anyway,” he drawled, poking at me with his finger.

  I gagged again.

  He was totally erect. I couldn’t not notice the bulge in his ugly gray pants. How could any man be turned on by a woman who was practically vomiting at his closeness?

  My mind raced for a way to escape.

  I thought of the metal handle, and I began fighting to get my hand free with even more haste.

  His finger left my panties and reached for his belt buckle.

  I sobbed louder and started screaming again. “Help me!” I screeched. “Help!”

  “No one’s gonna hear you,” he taunted, his pants falling open.

  My eyes squeezed shut, and I turned my face away.

  A muffled shout fille
d the space, and suddenly the weight holding me down was gone. The hands forcing my wrists over my head were no longer there. Without even wondering, I scrambled up, pulling my skirt down as far over me as I could, and leapt to my feet.

  Before even straightening, I yanked the metal handle out of my waistband and gripped it tight.

  The sound of flesh hitting flesh pulled me back from intense internal panic. I glanced up and gasped.

  The other captive was awake!

  And he was pissed!

  Taxi Man was half sprawled on the ground with his lower half straddled. My fellow hostage's bulging arm was pulled back and slammed down like a jury delivering a final ruling. The fist smashed into my kidnapper, and his head snapped back.

  He hit him again, and blood spurted out of his nose and all over his face.

  The distinct sound of a gun cocking put pause on everything.

  The man in the chain looked up. So did I.

  It took a minute to search out the sound, but when I did, my hopes fell. Standing behind the tractor, as if he needed protection, was Taxi Man’s boss. There was a rather large and capable-looking gun (I think it was a rifle) resting on the dirty metal of the machine and pointing right at the two men.

  “Let him go.” a hushed, hoarse voice commanded.

  I wrinkled my nose.

  “Go ahead and shoot me,” my new roommate declared and raised his fist again.

  “No!” I gasped and rushed forward.

  The next thing I knew, the gun swung to me and with it came a red dot that centered right over my chest.

  I made a choked sound.

  “It’s not you we’ll shoot,” Taxi Man spat.

  I stared down at the red mark, shaking. Would I die instantly, or would there be pain?

  The next thing I knew, Taxi Man was scrambling away and rushed behind the tractor. The gun pointing at me disappeared, taking with it that terrifying red dot.

  I stared aptly at where the men disappeared to, waiting for them to come back, waiting for a shot to be fired… anything. My body was so tight I might snap at any given moment.

  They left. The sound of the stupid heavy door was proof.