Page 54 of Bound to the Bodyguard

“Trust me, you don’t want to mess with him,” the driver replied, a tremor in his voice betraying his composure.

My mind raced, grappling with the fragments of my memory, trying to piece together the puzzle even as my body was tossed about by the relentless pursuit. My heart hammered against my ribs. Fear mingled with frustration. If I could just remember...

“Is he still there?” It was more of a plea than a question, the words sharp and desperate.

“Quit asking stupid questions and hold on!” The driver barked back, the sound of the engine roaring as we shot out of the alley and onto a wider street.

“Who are you afraid of?” I pressed, a voice laced with defiance. I wouldn’t let them see me crumble; and no matter what, I would confront my fears head-on—even if I didn’t fully understand them yet.

“Doesn’t matter,” the gravelly voice grunted. “You won’t be around to find out.”

But I wasn’t about to give up—not on finding out who was behind the voice, not on escaping, and certainly not on surviving. I was determined to unravel the mystery, even as the car sped onward into the depths of the night.

The vehicle lurched violently, a beast of steel and momentum careening through the city’s veins. My breaths came in short, sharp bursts—a staccato rhythm to the surrounding cacophony.

“Sharp turn, watch it!”

My body slammed against the door, the seatbelt biting into my shoulder. The chaos of the chase manifested in the very air I breathed; my lungs filled with the acrid scent of burning rubber as the vehicle’s tires screeched, clawing at the asphalt in desperation.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Another voice, strained with panic, punctuated the relentless drumming of my heart—each beat a thunderous echo in my chest.

“Shut up and let me drive,” the driver snapped back.

Outside, the world was a smear of lights and shadows, the landscape a mere backdrop to the frenzied flight. Inside, the confined space became a prison of sound and fury, every jolt and twist magnifying my fear.

“Left, left, LEFT!” The command was a guttural shout, barely human.

The vehicle veered sharply, throwing me against the constraints that held me, the sensation merging with the pounding in my chest—an unyielding symphony of terror. The kidnappers were locked in their own battle, one with the wheel and the road, another with the looming threat that chased them down each alley and avenue.

“Who is he? Why is he after us?” My question went unanswered, lost amidst the roar of the engine and the screech of tires carving desperate paths through the night.

“Focus!” the driver growled, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

My thoughts spiraled, mind grappling with the unknown voice, the hidden face behind the pursuit. The intensity of the situation was palpable, like a living entity within the confines of the fleeing car, feeding off my escalating fear. And still, they drove—faster, harder, deeper into an abyss of uncertainty and peril.

My breath came in sharp gasps, each inhale laced with the stench of fear and sweat. I twisted her wrists, feeling the bite of the zip ties that bound my hands behind my back. My fingers tingled, numb yet desperate to find some sliver of slack.

“Stop squirming,” hissed a voice from the front seat, but I ignored it. Adrenaline surged through my veins, fueling my resolve. I refused to be a passive victim in this high-speed nightmare.

I angled my body, trying to maneuver my legs beneath me. If I could just get my feet under, maybe I could throw myself at one of them—cause enough of a distraction to—

The vehicle lurched, and my head snapped forward, stars bursting across my vision. Pain shot through my scalp where my hair was yanked back mercilessly.

“Sit. Down!” The command was punctuated by another violent tug.

“Let me go!” My voice cracked as I screamed, throat raw. I kicked out blindly, my boot connecting with something solid.

“Damn it!” A different voice this time, tinged with anger. “She’s not worth the trouble!”

“Shut up and drive,” grunted the first kidnapper.

My heart pounded, each beat echoing the relentless pace of the chase outside. I knew I couldn’t stop fighting—not now, not ever. With every turn and swerve, I searched for an opportunity, any opening that might present itself.

“Please,” I tried a different tactic, injecting a quiver into my tone. “What do you want? Money? Is that it?”

“Quiet,” the driver said tersely, a note of finality in his voice.

My plea went unheeded, but I had learned something crucial—the sound of fear in my voice gave me power, even if it was the power to annoy, to distract. I stored this knowledge away like a weapon, ready for the right moment to strike.

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