The world gave a violent jolt as the car ran over yet another pothole, and within the stifling darkness of the trunk, Amy felt desperation take hold, fuelling her energetic struggles. “Mmmmmppggggh!” she howled, hoping against hope someone might notice. It was of no use; even without the firm sponge filling her mouth and the layers of duct tape wrapped about her head, she doubted anyone could hear her over the roar of the engine, and by the time anyone made the connection, the car would already be too far away for them to help. More tape secured her wrists in front of her, as well as her ankles and thighs, and in her desperation, the pretty brunette accountant began kicking the side of the truck as hard as her cramped prison would permit, high-heeled shoes ringing out against the metal. “Mmmmmppggh, mmmmpggh, MMMMMPPPPGGGHHH!”
Only the pounding of her own terrified heart sounded in answer, and Amy’s head flopped back against the pillow her abductor had provided, straining to catch her breath in the hot, cramped air of the trunk, sweat staining her formal blouse and knee-length black skirt. She’d been kidnapped clocking out from her shift at the First National Bank, her only warning a foul-smelling cloth suddenly clamped over her mouth as she made her way through the underground parking lot. She’d awoke to find herself locked inside the trunk, bound, gagged and utterly unable to protect herself, and with great effort, she forced the panic down.
Without warning, the car made a swift right turn then came to a stop, the screech of the parking brake telling her they’d reached their destination. A few seconds later, the trunk opened up, bathing the bound young woman in light, and grey eyes blinked as she beheld her kidnapper— not some hardened criminal or would-be slaver like she might have expected, but an ordinary-looking man in middle age, clad in worn-looking denim jeans and plaid shirt. “Sorry to put you all through this, girl,” he said, voice made gruff by many hard years and even more disappointments. “But it’s desperate times and I can’t pay for my wife’s surgery on a retail worker’s salary. That fancy, uptight bank o’ yours won’t stoop to give an honest working man like me a loan, so… guess I’ll have to get that money another way.”
From out of his pocket came a familiar, reeking cloth, and Amy shook her head in dismay, desperate, muffled pleas escaping the confines of her gag. “Hold still!” the man snapped, forcing it over her nose and mouth, free hand holding her head in place as her struggles began to weaken. “Bank pays your ransom and you’ll be on your way home before you know it. You just breathe this in, and everything will be fine…”