Page 45 of Not This Place

"Walk," the tallest ordered, nudging her forward with cold steel pressed against her spine.

Outside, the moon hung low, casting long shadows across the Texas landscape. The night seemed to stretch into infinity, a vast expanse of uncertainty. With each step, Rachel moved further from safety.

Rough hands seized Rachel, jerking her towards the trees. She stumbled, boots scraping against the ground. Her balance wavered, but she refused to fall.

Resistance surged within her. Rachel's elbow shot back, connecting with soft tissue. A grunt. Then pain exploded across her cheek, white-hot and searing. Another fist collided with her stomach, driving the air from her lungs. She doubled over, gasping, fighting for breath.

"Enough games," spat another voice. It was colder, more controlled.

Rachel's fingers brushed against her belt, feeling for the radio that wasn't there. They had taken it.

"Stupid cop," hissed the third gunman.

The world narrowed to points of contact—the rough texture of the ground beneath her palms as she braced herself; the sting of blood trickling from a split lip; the sharp crackle of leaves underfoot.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about this.”

"Shut up. Just get her to the car.”

Rachel's wrists burned, the zip ties biting into her flesh as they dragged her through the thicket. Branches snagged at her hair. The moon hung low, a silent witness in a cloudless Texas sky, casting just enough light to reveal the path ahead.

The cabin lights receded, swallowed by the dense woods that blanketed the property. Rachel stumbled over a root, catching herself before she could hit the ground. One body bag brushed against her boot—a morbid reminder of her potential fate. The larger, thicker set thug carried one of the bags.

The tall one carried the other.

"Watch it," another growled. No names, no faces—just voices, distorted behind the ski masks.

The car loomed like a specter among the trees, its black paint blending with the shadows. They flung open the trunk, shoving Rachel inside without ceremony. She landed hard, the metallic taste of blood fresh in her mouth. The corpses followed. Beside her, the two body bags lay still, their zippers halfway undone, revealing the vacant stare of Barker, the farmer.

"Boss will know what to do with you," the third thug spat out as he slammed the trunk closed, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.

Darkness enveloped her, thick and suffocating. Rachel's chest tightened, every breath a struggle against the claustrophobia threatening to take hold. Her mind raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She couldn't afford panic—not now.

They would drive her to him—the boss. He was the key. If she went to him, she wouldn't come back. She didn’t want to end up like Barker and his wife. Not in a body bag.

Her hands worked at the ties, skin chafing as she twisted and pulled.

"Rae, stay alive," she whispered to herself, the mantra grounding her in the darkness.

With a final desperate tug, the zip tie gave way. Rachel's hands were free. Now came the hard part: escape. She groped along the wall of the trunk, fingers finding the emergency release. It was there. It had to be there.

The car engine roared to life, vibrations pulsing through the metal. Time was slipping away, each second taking her closer to an end she wasn't ready to meet. She had to act. Now.

Rachel's finger hooked onto the lever, a small triumph in the oppressive dark. She paused, waiting for the right moment. The car lurched forward, tires crunching over gravel.

But the lever didn’t work.

Shit. Broken.

The car's engine growled, a predator come to life, and she felt the vehicle roll forward, kidnapping her along with the night's shadows.

Rachel pressed her ear against the cold metal that separated her from the front seat, straining to catch fragments of conversation through the muffled barrier. Voices, low and coarse, slipped through the seams.

A phone’s soft beep broke it - a call connecting. Then, another voice, distant but clear, barked through the speakerphone. "

"Trouble back at the cabin," said a gruff voice. A hand slammed against the steering wheel, punctuating the tension. "Yeah, caught ourselves a cop. A Ranger."

A pause hung heavy in the air, like the weight of an impending storm. The first voice hesitated, breaths audible over the line. An exhale. "Boss, your orders?"

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