Page 162 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

I change into gym clothes and head to the fitness room. I’ve got my phone in the cupholder, music blasting in my ears, while I do two miles on the treadmill. Weights next should get me sufficiently tired. I slip into the running mindset, my thoughts drifting.

Maybe that’s why I don’t notice the two guys until they’re practically on top of me. They grab my arms and haul me backward off the treadmill. As soon as I lose my forward momentum, it spits my feet off.

Something pinches my arm, and they shove me to my knees. I surge right back up, breaking free of their hold and lunging at one. They’re both wearing ski masks and sunglasses. I swing, but they dodge backward.

The room goes out of focus.

The other one hits me between the shoulder blades, and I stumble forward. I catch myself on an exercise machine, but one is immediately in front of me. I swing at him and miss.

Why am I missing?

“Stop moving,” I spit. “Fight me like a…”

I shake my head abruptly.

A tap on my shoulder has me spinning around. The room spins with me. One becomes two. They simultaneously hold up a syringe.

I roar and charge, intending to just tackle one and start hitting him. Except there’s two, and I pick the wrong one. I’m shoved from behind, and I hit the wall hard.

Mirrored wall.

Two masked men grab my wrists and wrap tape around them. I swear and curse them out, both in English and Spanish. The words run together until even I don’t understand what I’m saying.

They spin me around and put tape over my mouth. Exchanging a glance, one pulls something from his pocket. A dark canvas sack. He shakes it out and shoves it over my head, and my world goes dark. It tightens around my throat, and I jerk.

The tape on my wrists holds fast.

What the fuck is happening?

They each take an arm and haul me out of the fitness room. My phone is left behind, the treadmill still whirring in motion. The door closes. They drag me outside and toss me into something. I smack my head against the floor, and stars burst in front of my closed eyelids.

I can’t feel my fingers.

Whatever they injected me with is making me loopy. I can’t seem to grasp reality, never mind where we’re going. All I know is the rumble of an engine under me.

I doze, but I don’t fall asleep or pass out. I keep pinching the tops of my knuckles to bring myself back into awareness. Eventually, the vehicle stops. I’m dragged out. Into an elevator, maybe, which rises swiftly enough to make my stomach drop.

There might be two of them still, there might be more. Either way, I can’t see out of the canvas at all. And the way it hugs my throat, I’m conscious of it every time I swallow.

Suddenly, fingers close around my nose.

I jerk against it, but the second person grips my head with both hands.

I fight in vain, but with my mouth taped, I can’t do anything. I resist until my muscles tremble, but my lungs are screaming.

In the end, it’s not really a choice.

I feel my body drop, and my mind follows a second later.

fifty

sydney

“Are you ready?” Penn practically bounces on his heels.

I let out a low sigh, but I nod. When Perri and Dad asked if I’d get lunch with them, both guys shooed me out the door. While hiding out of sight, of course. My father would probably murder both of them if he caught them in my room.

But Carter’s insights were… helpful.