Page 43 of Dollhouse

He only laughs at me again. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, but you’re not being separated. Youdoneed to get the fuck in the other van right now. So make it easier, yeah? Then I won’t have to hurt you.”

I try to rise to my knees, hating the ties on my hands and ankles as I struggle. There’s no way I can take care of us until they're cut.

He loses patience with my squirming, and wraps his ridiculously large hand around the zip tie on my ankles, yanking it toward him so that I fall backward, hitting my head on the metal floor with a thump. My yelp of pain makes one of the men laugh again, and I grit my teeth.

I hate it. Being laughed at is making it easier to hang onto that voice Noah’s lodged in my head.

Stay sharp, Em. Don’t let them get to you.

I’m pulled right into his reach, his lecherous eyes making my stomach roll as I’m swung from the van into his arms. We’ve stopped in an empty parking lot, another nondescript van parked next to the first. Nobody else is in sight, a singular street light illuminating the scene.

“Where are you taking us?” I ask, craning my head behind me to watch another masked man drag Bo out by his arms. The third grabs his feet and they carry him behind us.

“I think you probably know the answer to that,” he says.

“Is it Bundy?” My voice quakes, like I’m a child scared of the Boogie man. The monster under the bed. “Are you taking us to his house?”

“You’re gonna wish you were going to his house,” he laughs.

My stomach sinks. Somehow his words gave me no information while also telling me that we are screwed.

The doors on the second van are thrown open and I’m shoved inside, twisting just in time to see Bo thrown in beside me. He groans, his face tightening in pain as they slam the door shut behind us.

“Bo,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. If only I was able to use my hands, I could hold him. I’d be able to claw the eyes of the man that had smashed his gun into Bo’s head, leaving him helpless. Instead, I cuddle closer again, trying to curve my body around his like that would be enough to protect him from harm.

It can’t, but at least I can feel him breathing.

We drive for what feels like half an hour, the dulled voices of the men in the front the only sound I can make out over the steady hum of the tires. One laughs and my hatred flares hot again.This is nothing to them. Another day, another job. We’re just insignificant cargo being shuffled around.

This time it’s harder to follow Noah’s advice. To remain calm. The words from the stranger play on repeat until the tape tangles into the sounds of my nightmares. Locked away again where I have no control.

I scramble to the corner of the van and empty my stomach. It’s mostly wine from celebrating Christmas Eve with Bo. The ribbon still tied at my neck is now slick with cold sweat, and Bo’s is surely heavy with his own drying blood.

A few minutes later, the sounds outside the van start to shift slightly. Straight roads begin curling, winding upward. Are we in the hills? The change sets me back on edge. Through the rattling metal, I hear the sound of passing cars and the van seems to idle at what could be a stop light.

My head snaps up. Scooting to my knees, I shuffle to the side of the van and start pounding with all the force I havein my body, knowing I only have a few seconds until the men intervene. I ball my bound hands and bang on the metal.

“Help! Please, somebody help us!HELP!”

The van screeches to a stop and my heart shoots into my throat.

I pound louder. “Somebody please!” I scream, tears starting to fall again because I can hear their doors opening and footsteps along the side of the van.

“Please,” I sob. “Help us.”

There's laughter outside and I pause, the noise crawling across me. They’re obviously not worried about anyone hearing my screams.

The doors are flung open, the overhead lighting blasting in and making me blink rapidly. The van shakes as two large men step into the back, and I fall backward trying to scoot away.

“Fuck, she threw up in here. Someone's gonna have to clean this up.”

My eyes dart between the now larger group of men standing outside the van. I’m immediately sure that I do not want to leave this space. Their eyes are hungry on Bo’s skin, on mine.

Hatred, disgust, terror. My jaw clenches because I don’t want to scream and let them know how scared they make me. The closest man grabs my zip-tied feet and pulls me toward the back, toward the group of them. My hands try to clasp onto Bo as I’m dragged away from him again. The distance sets me into a panic.

They keep laughing at my scrambling and the sound is somehow the scariest I’ve heard. The snickers and chortles of sick men is terrifying. In my thirty years, I’ve never been more afraid of anything than having their attention on me. On Bo.

Even the day Noah had shown up at the bank with a gun, I hadn’t been afraid like I am right now. Our previous run-in’s had charmed me, and there was something about him that didn’t scream predator in the way these men do. Noah is lethal, yes,but he doesn’t hurt people for fun. I canfeelthat these leering, laughing men won’t think twice about hurting me if it would bring them even the slightest pleasure.