Monday Madness s1 p3

Pinterest never actually gives me a picture I want. But se la vie.

Leather. Hot and sticky. Like, peel your face off of it sticky. That's what I awoke to, with, much to my chagrin, no shortage of drool dried on my cheek.

And on top of it all, I felt like I had a million bruises all over my body.

Not bad, getting hit by a car and kidnapped in the same day.

My mind had fully caught up with my body, or as fully as it could possibly what with my having been out for who knows how long, and so I felt ready to face it all.

I opened my eyes, sat up in a rush, and slapped the head nearest to me, which happened to belong to a young man.

Said young man, Jon, I remembered, turned to me, startled, then opened his mouth to speak, but I got words out first.

"Who do you think you are? Do you realize my father is a lawyer? Do you realize my mother is a police officer? And that both of them were in the army beforehand?" All lies, but I decided to try the scare tactic first. "Do you know what they do to creeps like you?"

The person in the passenger seat, who had an unnaturally large head that was topped with thin, greasy, blonde hair, turned around and glanced between the two of us with disinterest, then he said, "Why on earth did you leave her hands untied?"

"Uh," Jon spluttered, then shrugged.

I slapped him again to make him think about what he had done.

"If you want to continue on in the business, kid, you had better get these simple things straight. There's duct tape under the seat."

Jon muttered something angrily, then ducked down to grab the tape. I proceeded to give him a sharp kick in the jaw, then lurched for the driver.

I suppose that was a bad idea. But the driver had looked harmless enough--a little, middle aged woman with red hair who looked as if she needed to sit on a phone book and have bricks strapped to her feet to even reach the pedals.

The problem is, I forgot that the main reason I own a big dog is because I've never hit five foot, myself. And four foot eleven-and-an-eighth inches versus a wild woman and a weirdly buff guy (and, later, Jon) ended with me scowling on my seat, hands and legs taped securely.

So I tried to go another route. "What do you want with me?"

Big Head rolled his eyes and said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Gah," Jon said, rubbing his jaw angrily. "Why do we always have to go through this, Carl? Why can't we just tell her right off the bat instead of waiting until the last dog is hung?"

"Why don't you take that up with the big boss?" said Big Head, or Carl, I guess.

Jon snorted and crossed his arms, then glanced over at me at the absolute perfect time. I'd opened my eyes as wide as they'd go, mustered up a few tears, and let one drip slowly down my nose. "Please," I whispered, low enough that the two in the front seat couldn't hear me. "Please, I just want to go home."

Jon shrugged, then turned away, and I wanted to kick him so bad. So bad.

But a few minutes later, he nonchalantly showed me an open notebook, which read in all uppercase, block letters,

 

WE NEED TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR PARENTS.

 

~~~

 

Stay tuned for part 4 over on Candence's blog next Monday!