“And I just need you to sign for it.” The delivery driver handed her a clipboard.

Marta glanced at the large package while she patted her pockets. “Do you have a—”

“Pen?” The driver smiled, and producing a pen and holding it out to her.

She smiled back. He was cute. He had good legs for a man who wore shorts to work. And she was allowed to flirt again now.

“Just right there at the bottom.”

Marta thumbed the back of the pen. Instead of the satisfying click, she felt a sharp prick in her thumb. “Ow!”

“What’s the matter?”

She dropped the pen, looking at her injured thumb. A small pool of blood welled up on the pad of her digit. “You’re pen must be broken, I cut myself on it.”

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Martinez.”

“It’s Ms.” she said out of the corner of her mouth, sucking her thumb. “Ms. Aguilar.”

“I think I’ve got a bandaid in the truck. Don’t go anywhere. So you signed the divorce papers?” he asked, climbing back into his van.

“Yes, just this week.” She paused. Had she told him about the divorce? Surely at some point. Word got around. Brushing it aside, she bent down to grab the dropped pen. A wave of dizziness washed over her as she stood back up, staring at the pen. “Is that?” She reached for the railing to steady herself, but she misjudged the distance and stumbled, falling to her knees at the bottom of the steps up to her porch.

“A needle?”

She hadn’t noticed him come out of the truck. She stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes, it is.”

She stared at the pen in her hands, the glint of metal at the end unmistakable even as her vision swam. It was a syringe.

“I should go inside.” Her words slurred as she reached around until her hand connected with the bannister and she pulled herself towards her front door.

“It’s just a mild sedative,” the driver explained, walking back up to her.

“You—you drugged me.” She looked inside, where her phone was sitting on the table by the door. It might as well have been a mile away.

“I did. I’m just the delivery guy; I’m not looking for a struggle.” He had not returned with a band aid as promised, but he was brandishing a roll of packing tape.

She turned back towards her house and tried to stand. Her legs felt like jelly under her, and a fresh wave of dizziness washed over her. Marta lunged forward, reaching out for her phone.

“You won’t be needing that anymore, Mrs. Martinez.” He was already behind her, grabbing the phone from her hand the moment she touched it.

A chill ran down her spine at his insistence on calling her by her married name. “Please, whatever he’s paying you—”

“Is more than you can afford to match,” he said calmly as he pushed her down onto the floor on her stomach. “Can’t say I really blame him. You are one tasty piece of ass,” he said, his eyes lingering on her ass through her tight yoga pants as he pulled her arms behind her back.

“Don’t,” she whimpered.

“You don’t have to worry about anything from me. I’m a professional. You should be glad he thinks you’re worth so much.” He quickly started wrapping her wrists in sticky packing tape. “If you weren’t, I might be tempted to have a little fun before delivering you.”

Marta trembled. She stared at her phone where he’d set it on the floor, remembering her last conversation with her husband. “You’ll be back,” he’d told her over the phone when she told him she was signing the divorce papers, that it was over.

“Help! HELLLPHMM!”

“None of that,” the deliver man said, clamping a leather gloved hand over her mouth. “It’s too late for that.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, and removed his hand from her mouth just long enough to stuff her mouth. “No one is going to help you now, Mrs. Martinez,” he said, wrapping tape around her mouth, covering her long, dark hair.

“Mmmmph!” she complained, trying to wriggle out from under him, but the drug kept her struggles weak.

More tape bound her ankles and thighs together. “Now for that package.” The driver dragged it inside and tore open the top of the cardboard box. He lifted off a wooden lid. “Oh, you didn’t sign for it. I guess I’m going to have to take it back.”

Her eyes widened as he tipped the crate over on it’s side. It was empty, and the inside was lined with foam padding.

“He said you were flexible. I was a little worried you might not fit, but only one way to find out.”

Marta renewed her struggles, worming her way across the floor. His hand caught her by the ankle and easily dragged her back, flipping her onto her back. “I hope you’ve kept up on your yoga.”

“MMMMFFFF!”

The delivery guy grabbed her legs, folding them up to her chest. “Oh yeah, you should fit. With a little encouragement.” He taped her into a brutally tight ball tie. She kicked and flailed her feet, prompting him to take her sneakers off. “I don’t think these will fit. I’m sure your husband will make sure you’re well taken care of in the footwear department.”

“HMMMM! MMMMPHHH!” her cries got louder when he suddenly picked her up off the ground. Her back was pressed against him, her tank top having ridden up in her struggles. She hoped what was pressing against her wasn’t his erection.

“And in you go.” He pushed her butt first down into the crate. The insulated foam compressed to accommodate her bound form until she was forced all the way in.

Marta looked up at her abductor, her eyes wide, pleading through her gag. “Nnnnph! Plmmmmph dmmmmph!”

“He told me you’re claustrophobic,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Seems he’s still a little angry about the whole divorce thing. But I’ll bet he’ll take you back.”

“NNNNNPHH!”

He pushed her head down until her forehead was pressed against her kneecaps. The light dimmed as he lowered the lid back into place. “If he doesn’t, I know several people who would be more than happy to take you.” It was the last thing she heard before the lid sealed shut, trapping her in stifling darkness. She screamed.

A faint hum came from the box. The delivery man closed the cardboard tabs and slapped a few strips of tape across the top, sealing it shut. The box was silent. Whistling, he grabbed his hand cart and scooped the box back up, and loaded it back into his van. He retrieved his pen, careful not to touch the needle as he tossed it inside. The finishing touch, he pulled the FedEx magnets off the side of his van, and the got started. It was going to be a long drive.