Love Is Always Write Volume 4

sidewalk. His arm wrenched from Jory's grasp, and he fell to one knee, hard. He pushed to his feet, but a hand snared the hood of his coat. Jory had paused when Bob fell and he looked back, eyes wide.
    "Go!" Bob yelled. "Go, go, go!"
    Jory took off, running like a shot with two men on his heels. Bob watched as they all rounded the corner and then he was slammed chest-first into a nearby wall by the man holding him. Bob turned his head to avoid his chin colliding with the stone, but the breath was nearly knocked from his body.
    "Don't worry, they'll catch your boyfriend. Into the car you go." The man grabbed Bob's right arm and twisted it behind his back, then walked him to the car and shoved him inside. It was not a long, black model like in the movies, but a sleek, silver sedan. Bob stared around, wondering if anyone on the street noticed him being kidnapped, but the pounding rain seemed to have driven most people inside. There was no one on the street.
    He sat up on the leather seat just as something dark was thrust over his head, blocking all light. The car started to move. Bob fumbled for the door handle with one hand and the covering over his head with the other, intent on escape. His fingers had just located the latch when an arm crushed him back against the seat, and strong fingers grabbed his thumb. The digit was wrenched sharply, and Bob cried out, wondering if the bastard had dislocated it.
    "Sit tight, princess, you ain't going anywhere. And leave the sack on or I'll break it next time."
    The car sped up, and Bob massaged his sore thumb with his other hand. The pressure across his chest did not lessen and soon they were moving too quickly for leaping out of the car with any chance of survival. He tried to pay attention to the twists and turns, but gave up after a few minutes. It became hot and difficult to breathe inside the cloth bag that covered his head. He hoped they reached their destination soon.
    ****
    The car eventually stopped, and Bob was wrestled out of the car. The pavement beneath his feet was uneven—bricks?—and seemed to be a longish sort of driveway judging by the distance walked.
    "Step up," said his captor, who had one hand on his shoulder to guide him. Bob stepped up but caught the toe of his shoe on the step and nearly went sprawling. The fingers on his shoulder tightened, and the man sniggered.
    Bob straightened and then nearly fell again when he was shoved forward. His outstretched hands stopped his fall. One splayed against glass and the other on rough stone that scraped his fingers. His hand was knocked away from the glass, and a door was opened. Bob was thrust inside.
    The hand returned to his nape and he was pushed through a large room, evidenced by the echoing sound of their footsteps on a wooden floor.
    "Step down," he heard, too late, as his foot encountered nothing and he sprawled forward again. The man laughed again. This time, his flailing arms caught nothing until coming up with a painful jolt on a thankfully carpeted floor.
    Bob angrily tore the sack from his head and pushed himself to his feet. He expected a blow or a shove, so he danced away, half turning. The man only grinned at him.
    "Take off your coat and stay awhile," he said and gestured to a wooden chair in the center of the room. "In fact, I insist."
    Bob glared at him. "Are you Snyder?"
    The man laughed and shook his head. "Am I Snyder? I wish I was Snyder. No, you'll know when Snyder gets here. Now take off your coat unless you want me to do it for you."
    Bob did not like the sound of that, considering the man's willingness to see him humiliated and his lack of hesitation in nearly breaking his thumb. Bob unzipped the wet coat and shrugged out of it, wishing he could pull the phone from his pocket without the guy noticing.
    He did not get the chance as the man stepped forward and yanked the coat away, tearing it from Bob's arms. He rooted through the pockets, ignoring Bob's, "Hey!" of protest.
    "Sit down," the man growled and picked up Bob's cell phone. He glanced at it and then pulled Bob's wallet from an inner pocket and flipped it open. Bob debated grabbing for it, but a sharp glare stopped him. Another man walked in, killing Bob's half-baked plan to try to engage the bigger man in a fight.
    The second man held a coiled length of rope.
    "Robert Davis," the first one read. He glanced at Bob in amusement. "Is it Robbie, then? Or Bert?"
    Bob winced. Damn it, couldn't his parents have named him Dominic or