Page 36 of Bad For A Weekend

“Owen!” I shout, knowing if I’m taken out of this room, there’s a good chance I won’t survive.

“Bitch, what did I say?”

A blunt object strikes the back of my head. Dizziness and disorientation take over. My stomach turns, and I double over, only to have the man grab me by my braid and yank me back up. I blink rapidly, battling to hold on to consciousness. If I pass out, I can’t fight, and I need to fight.

The man shoves me so forcefully that I lose a shoe, making it even harder to walk. I trip and fall, only to be tugged back up by my hair all over again. He’s strong, much stronger than I am, and he uses my body to shove people and chairs out of the way. I’ll no doubt be covered in bruises by the end of this. Assuming I make it out alive.

No, I can’t think like that.

I kick my other shoe off and grab onto the hands at the back of my head. “Let me go!”

“Baylor!” This time I know it’s Owen’s voice. He’s close.

Now that my eyes have had a minute to adjust, I can see shadows of people and things and avoid being crushed into them by the man.

“Owen! I’m here!” I call out as loud as I can.

“You stupid cunt,” the man hisses and lands a punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. Tears spring to my eyes as I struggle to catch my breath.

If I thought this would slow the man down, I was wrong. Now he takes the lead, dragging me by my hair. I don’t know where he’s leading me, but it’s not in the direction everyone else is going. They’re too preoccupied trying to get out that they don’t even notice what’s happening with me.

“Baylor!” Owen’s booming voice sounds over the crowd.

“Owen,” I croak.

Goddamn it. I’m so pissed. I didn’t live through this the first time just to be taken again. This isn’t how my life ends. It can’t be. I won’t let it.

Seeing a chair to my side, I reach for it and, with every ounce of energy I have left, strike the man with it. My effort was futile and barely derails him at all. Shit.

We turn down a hallway, leaving the noise and people behind; the only sounds are our panting breaths and my bare feet slapping against the tile. It’s over. I had a chance to get away, and I failed.

“Owen,” I whimper.

“I said, shut the fuck—”

The distinct sound of cracking bone echoes in the hallway, and the tension in my hair disappears. I hear sickening grunts and cries of pain before rough hands grip my arms. I try to bat them away and get free, but whoever has me is even more sturdy than the first guy, and my energy is all but depleted.

“Baylor, stop. It’s me.”

“Owen?”

“Yeah, honey. It’s me.”

I collapse, sobbing hysterically, and he catches me, lifting me into his arms and carrying me further down the hallway.

“Shh... it’s okay. I got you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Outside.”

“But he’ll get away,” I cry.

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m getting you the hell out of here. We’ll figure the rest out later.” He jogs without so much as a jump in his pulse until he reaches a door. My next breath is taken outside in the back alley.

“What the hell?” Our driver tosses the cigarette he’d been smoking to the side and pushes off the limo. “Do you need help?”

“Yes. Call the police. Tell them to page Detective Sanders and get his ass down here now. Tell them there was an attempted abduction of Baylor Giles.”

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