Page 84 of Riff

The interior of the space smelled stale. Like unwashed bodies spent in too close of quarters for a long period of time.

My mind raced, my thoughts a chaotic jumble, nothing quite able to take root, to grow into something I could work with.

I needed to calm down.

Coach came back to my mind, one hand on his chest, another on his stomach, reminding me to breathe into my heart, then deeper into my belly. Hold. Release. Over and over. Until the frantic thoughts fell away.

It seemed impossible to try to meditate at a time like this, but if there was any hope of survival, let alone escape, I had to be able to focus.

So I did just that, letting the van fall away, until my mind went blissfully blank.

I came back to the moment slowly, trying to stay detached, to think past the panic.

There were less of them this time.

That was the first thing I realized.

The first time I’d been taken, there’d been two men in the front and three in the back.

Now, the numbers were down.

Did one of Riff or Raff’s bullets completely debilitate the others? Kill them, maybe?

One could only hope.

It didn’t really matter.

All that mattered was there were fewer of them.

My main abductor, the one with his hands on me, his breath wetting the shell of my ear. Then the driver.

That was it.

Just two of them.

Bigger and stronger, yes, but this gave me a chance, unlike last time. There was hope.

I just had to get away.

If I could get out of the van, I could run and scream. Someone would come. I had to believe that.

The van took a sharp turn, throwing me against the wall. I bit back a sob as my abductor squashed me against the wall, his intentions clear.

Not again.

Never fucking again.

“You can’t get away from me,” he growled in my ear. “You’re mine.”

That was the exact wrong thing to say.

Because I wasn’t his.

I would never be his again.

I was Riff’s, damnit.

No one was ever going to touch me again but him.

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