Page 13 of Kidnapped By The Messy Dragon

I’m three steps down from my building’s door when I see it. A black sedan sits up the block, unmarked, engine off, two shapes in the front seat.

Oh shit. I’m already in trouble.

I make myself keep walking, same pace as any other morning, eyes forward. I cross the street and don’t glance at the car again.

The engine never starts behind me. They don’t need to follow. They already know where I’m going.

I check my phone at the corner and again at the light, and there’s nothing from Whitney. She starts every workday in my ear before I even reach the building. This morning she has nothing to say to me.

Quiet from her on a workday means someone told her not to call me.

I make it near the end of the block, and the engine turns over behind me. I hear the car swing wide in the street, coming back my way.

I clutch my tote to my side and pick up the pace. Then I quit pretending and run.

Thank god I went with flats this morning. Something in me said skip the heels, and I listened. My spare pair is under my desk at Stillwater.

The engine gets louder behind me.

I break into a full run at the corner. The car takes the turn behind me, and it’s faster. On a straight block it catches me.

I cut into the alley between the laundromat and the shoe repair, too narrow for anything with doors.

Screaming crosses my mind. So does banging on a back door until someone opens it. But this is Millbrook. If I bang on a door, whoever opens it might help load me into the car.

I try every handle I pass, and every one of them holds.

Brakes squeal behind me, and the car swings across the mouth of the alley, blocking the way I came.

Great. I ran myself into a box.

Both front doors open, and two big men climb out in jackets too heavy for the weather. Neither of them rushes.

I put my hand in my tote and close it around my pepper spray. It’s the only weapon I own, and it’s from a gas station.

“What do you want with me?” I plant my feet.

The bigger one answers. “You’re coming with us. Be a good girl and cooperate, or you’re going to get yourself hurt.”

I get my first good look at them, and their faces are what scares me. They’re Black men, close to my own shade, but their color sits wrong. They’re ashy like winter knees, except the gray runs under the skin instead of on it. Lotion doesn’t fix whatever that is. I don’t have a word for it, and I don’t want one.

“Leave me alone.” I back up a step.

They come closer without a word between them. The quieter one reaches into his coat, pulls out a gun, and holds it low against his leg where only I can see it.

Oh shit. I’m in serious trouble.

“Put the mace down, pretty,” the one with the gun says. “Let’s go for a ride.”

I bolt for the gap between them.

The big one catches the back of my jacket and yanks me off balance. I fall back against him. I twist and drive my heel into the side of his knee, and when he buckles, I bring the pepper spray up and empty the can into his face.

He screams into his hands. Behind him, the one with the gun starts laughing. Nothing this morning has scared me like that laugh does.

The big one drags a sleeve across his streaming eyes. Then he punches me.

The alley tips. I’m on the ground with my cheek against the concrete. Then the pain arrives, and it starts numb and far away.