Page 35 of Raw & Vulnerable

The cut on her lip still burns, tasting raw.

A sack is placed in her hand as she’s led around the back counter. “Fill up the bag,” her handler snaps at her. The gun slides down her cheek like a cold kiss of death, pressing against her jugular hard.

Sobbing, shaking like a leaf, Minnie can barely hold the sack as she unwillingly puts stacks of money inside. He’s watching her, eyes like the pits of hell through the dark holes of his mask. He throws some stacks away, seeing odd trackers on them that Minnie doesn’t recognize.

“Time!” The Wolf shouts.

The Ghoul’s scratchy voice grates on her ears. He points his gun at the cowering people as they leave, saying, “You call the cops in the next ten minutes and we kill the bitch. Don’t try us; we have a scanner. We’ll know.”

It makes her feel worse, knowing they’re using her as leverage now. No one wants to be responsible for her death.

When they have the money, her handler picks her up like she weighs nothing, muttering, “Up we go.”

She’s flying for a moment, fresh air hitting her tearstained face before she’s hauled back into her dad’s Escalade. She’s afraid that the cops will think she’s an accomplice. She stole. She stole money from a bank! She’s a terrible, horrid person. If she doesn’t get killed, she’s going to jail, isn’t she? Her parents will be so disappointed.

The car ride from hell continues as the robbers race off, continuing through whatever mad schedule they have put together.

“Please, I haven’t seen your faces. Just let me go. I’ll be good. I won’t say anything.” None of them answer her, the Creepy Clown walking the fine line of speeding and appearing like nothing is out of the ordinary as he weaves through the light Saturday traffic. Always a few steps ahead of the police.

She’s never been more terrified in all her fifteen years. If someone had told Minnie that she would be taken hostage by armed robbers this morning, she would have never left her house.

She would have stayed home and listened to it on the news, safe and sound, worried about nothing.

Now, she’s sure she’s going to die. Criminals don’t just take hostages and let them live, do they? What if they keep her captive forever? Will she ever see her family again? Despair is a sick, foul feeling, eating away at her bones.

Minnie wraps her arms around herself, sitting on the floor of the Escalade, between the spread legs of her terrifying handler, just where he placed her. His gun is scary, constantly in her visual. She watches it, doesn’t want it pressed against her again. She watches his gloved hands as well, because he holds her life in them.

“How much we got?” The Creepy Clown calls back to his partners, his deep voice interested.

The Ghoul and the Wolf are counting in the way back, going through stacks and stacks quickly. “I’d say…six-fitty? Under seven total? The vault in the first bank was massive.” The big, bulky Wolf zips up the duffle bags. The Wolf design on his mask is all snarling fangs and teeth, dripping blood.

The Ghoul’s scratchy voice sounds out again, grating on Minnie’s ears. “Where are we dumping this little yuppie bitch? We got to get rid of her.”

If she were any sort of brave, she’d glare at him, hating him. What’s he got against her? What the heck has she ever done to him?

She’s not brave. She’s scared. A mouse.

Fear coils through Minnie, sending her into a panic once more, cold slicing through her body. She’s the bitch and they’re going to kill her, aren’t they? That’s what ‘get rid of’ means, doesn’t it? A despairing whine crawls up her throat and she twists slightly to look up at her handler, her chocolate eyes scanning his intimidating mask pleadingly.

Her handler’s ski-mask is the most terrifying of all; the image on the material is of a grinning skull with fanged canines, deeply detailed.

He’s painted black around the skin of his eyes, so it’s hard to see them even through the skeleton eyeholes in his ski-mask. His thighs are a cage around Minnie and she’s never felt so insignificant and powerless in her life. “I don’t want to die,” she begs, sniffling, tears blurring her vision. “Please don’t shoot me. I’m being a good girl, aren’t I? Like you told me to be?”

The hand not holding the gun buries itself in her wild, tumbling blonde hair with a certain amount of forced gentleness. He’s looking down at her now, but she can’t for the life of her focus on his eyes. She imagines they are cold, cruel. Unkind. His voice is a distinct, rusty baritone that sinks into her soul when he says, “Yeah, princess. You’re bein’ good.”

Princess. It makes her shudder. She’ll never be able to hear that word again without thinking of this moment. She’s sure of it.

“Hey!” The Ghoul is displeased. “I want to ditch the bitch-”

“We’re on the clock,” Skull drawls. “No time to drop her anywhere right now. Just shut up and stop bitchin’. Get off our dicks and shut up.”

The Ghoul thankfully shuts up.

Even until the end of time, Minnie is sure she’ll never be able to wipe the scent of this car ride out of her head. It doesn’t smell like her father’s cologne or even her sister’s candy spray. It smells like stacks of stolen money, guns, male sweat, and violence.

They end up getting way out on a remote road, leading into a forested area where a strategically vacated SUV greets them. As one, the men all hop out of her father’s Escalade, throwing a small jug of gasoline all over it. She watches in horror; they’re going to burn her father’s car?

“What are you d-doing?” She stutters, eyes wide. She’s supposed to get that car when she turns sixteen in a month. It’s only a year old; her father was going to pass it on to her and get himself something new.

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