Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [4]
Liz glanced over her shoulder; the kid was still behind them, though he had fallen back a few yards. She and Rachel might be able to rush past him, but to where? Beads of sweat began sliding down the back of her neck, slipping along her spine and eliciting a chill unrelated to the temperature.
An ignition fired, the hum of an engine filled the air; hope sparked in her chest.
Please.
The van parked by the bakery edged onto the street, creeping toward them. Hope twisted and died when the van’s headlights remained dark. They’d have to run.
Decision made, Liz spun back toward Alek, who’d gone from barking to panting, his tongue lolling obscenely in Rachel’s direction in a sick imitation of an animal. There was a small gap between him and the man in the middle of the street. Liz knew she and Rachel could never get past both men. Squaring her shoulders, she threw her foot into Alek’s crotch with enough force to have him choking on his balls. His animal-like pants turned to howls of pain and rage as he doubled over from the blow.
Shoving past him with every ounce of her strength, Liz propelled Rachel forward, placing herself between her friend and the remaining two men.
“Run!” Liz commanded.
Rachel didn’t need to be told twice. She hurtled up the cobblestone street, Liz following close at her heels.
One hundred yards.
White-hot pain erupted in the back of her head—someone had caught hold of her hair and wrenched. The force pulled her off her feet and she hit the street, breath snatched from her lungs and tears of pain burning her eyes. Relief mingled with terror. Rachel hadn’t realized what had happened.
Almost there, almost safe.
Seventy-five yards.
She grasped at the wrist that viciously gripped her hair, pulling her back up to her feet. She didn’t need to see his face to know that the body pressed against hers belonged to the man she had encountered in the bar. “Call her back,” he demanded.
“No,” Liz ground out, proud her voice didn’t waver.
Fifty yards.
“Stop!” The shout startled Rachel enough to glance behind her and slow. “Come back, or I’ll have to hurt your friend.” He shifted his grip, freeing up his right hand. The heavy swish-clink of a butterfly knife opening reached her seconds before the blade bit into her throat. To Liz’s horror, Rachel stopped.
“No!” The tip of the knife nicked her, a bead of blood trickling down to join the sweat running down her neck. Rachel stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open in terror. “Rachel, please, just go.” The pleading tone —so typical of Rachel and so alien to Liz, kept Rachel from moving forward. But she didn’t move back either.
“She won’t go. She won’t leave you.” Amusement laced his voice.
Alek moved forward, taking a few cautious steps toward Rachel. In seconds Rachel would have no chance of escape at all. Liz opened her mouth to yell at her again, but the blade slid up to press tightly to the underside of her chin.
“None of that.” His lips pressed close to her ear, his warm breath sending unwelcome shivers down her spine. “Come here, Rachel,” he ordered.
When Rachel remained frozen, his knife widened the nick in Liz’s neck to a shallow cut. “I will slit your friend’s pretty throat.”
His promise skittered down Liz’s spine.
“It would be such a waste.” Panic clawed through her as his tongue stroked the shell of her ear.
“Lizzy…” Rachel’s torment resounded through Liz’s chest. In that instant, she knew Rachel would never leave her. Liz wanted to be mad. She wanted to scream. But she couldn’t have left Rachel, either.
Time snapped forward. Alek grabbed Rachel roughly by the elbow and propelled her forward. The van pulled up right next to them, the sliding door screaming open on a rusty track. Liz didn’t get the chance to brace herself for the impact as she was shoved to the floor of the vehicle, cheek pressed against the cold metal, her hands yanked behind her back and secured with plastic ties. The last thing she saw was Rachel’s tearstained face as she was forced down next to her. Then the sliding door slammed closed, plunging them into absolute