OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance(98)

I thought about what we’d discussed about me moving in with him, and I got motivated. I needed something to do, and I needed some normalcy. I needed not to be living in fear. I needed to do something positive.



So I left a note on the kitchen counter, telling Dom where I had gone and when I’d be back, and then I Ubered a ride back to my place to pack up some of my essentials and gather what I’d want for at least the next several days.



I had only been there only about a half hour, throwing stuff in bags and more carefully packing up my necessary bathroom products while jamming out to some favorite tunes, immersed in the mindless comfort of the beats. But I was feeling good, empowered, alive. It was a feeling bordering on happy.



And then I was jarred by heavy pounding on my door. Whoever it was, was also laying on my buzzer. Rude!



I jumped over some stuff to reach the door and threw it open, not even thinking about who it might be. Stupid. It was just a stupid move.



Of course, it was the sick bastard himself, Fielding. Shit.



He was pissed. Seething. Waves of evil were pouring off him, aimed directly at me.



As soon as I recognized him, I tried to shut the door right back in his face, but he had already shoved his foot inside to stop that process, and the door bounced back a little. He shoved it open wider, straightened to his full height, several inches above mine, and entered my space like the raider that he was.



“You little cock-sucking bitch. Don’t think you aren’t going to pay for what you did.”



I backed up as fast as I could, keeping an eye on him but also trying to use my peripheral vision to locate anything I could use as a weapon to hold him off. Nothing appeared immediately obvious. I thought speech would be my best option for the moment.



“You deserved it, you bastard.”



“You don’t seem to understand who I am, or what I can do. But you will, I promise you.”



And he pulled something out of his pocket, stuck his arm toward me, and fucking Tasered me. For what seemed like forever. I dropped hard. It was like I was completely overtaken by electrical pain in all of my nerves, and my muscles all contracted at once. I had absolutely no control over my body. I wasn’t even sure I was still breathing. Everything was pain, and then I’m pretty sure I passed out.



I don’t know what happened next, or the exact order of things, but when I came to, I found myself stuffed into the trunk of a car, darkness all around me. The smells of oil and gas and dirty socks filled my nose. I was aware of the rumble of the engine. I slowly realized the discomfort of having my arms tied behind me at my elbows and wrists in a tight, scratchy rope, and my protracted inability to control any of my limbs. My mouth had also been duct-taped. If my breathing had evened out before that awareness, it went back into panic mode with the renewed consciousness of my helplessness.



The car ride post-wakeup lasted many minutes more. I lay there in confusion and fear and anger, and tried to focus on getting control of my limbs once more. Slowly, my fingers and toes began to respond to direction, and I began to feel like I’d be able to handle myself again whenever this car ride from hell ended. I tried exploring the small space I was crammed into for any kind of tool to help me, but without the use of swingable arms, I felt more like a fish than a person. Yeah, my ankles were tied together, too. Awesome, right? Fuck. I was fucked.



By the time the car finally pulled to a complete stop, and I heard and felt the engine turn off, then the driver’s door open and slam shut, I had managed to bring my legs a bit closer to the opening of the trunk, and I had rolled myself into a kind of weird yoga fetal position on my back, balancing painfully on my arms and hands underneath me. I steeled myself to attempt to kick the fucker in the torso, with all the power I could muster from this unfortunate position.



It didn’t work very well. When he opened the trunk he was standing back a little, as he would have to for the top to pop up. So he saw my position and read my plan, and he laughed. “Nice try, sweetheart, but no cigar.”



He leaned forward, I kicked out, he side-stepped to avoid the blow, and then he Tasered me again, this time aiming it on my thigh. I contracted, consumed by the pain. My heart sped up scarily, and I was out again.



He must have gone a little easier on me the second time; I started to come to again what could only have been a few minutes later. I was in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder, and from what I could see from my excellent view of his back and legs and the floor and walls around us, I thought I recognized his beautiful ugly McMansion. He was then taking me up the grand staircase—the fucker was strong, I’d give him that—and he made a right at the top of the stairs.