GENRE: Suspenseful Women's Fiction
The protagonist is jumped by skinheads who followed her into the wildflower preserve.
Within seconds three men in black ski masks sprang from the woods and herded me toward an SUV. Someone pushed my face into the back seat and climbed in after me, jamming me between himself and another man who smelled like body odor, who wore mud-spattered Doc Martens with steel toes. The one on my left, apparently the leader, uprighted me and yanked me head toward his. "I'm taking my hand away now, and if you scream or try to get away, my friend here will gut you with his hunting knife."
All of sudden, there was no air in the truck. I was smothering. Then my heart began pounding like it would burst through my chest. I was in the throes of a anxiety attack, which would become full-blown in seconds.
"Go, Junk Man!" the leader yelled.
Junk Man revved the engine, backed out of the parking area, and tore down the gravel lot, turning onto a country lane heading toward the abandoned quarry.
"What do you want?" I asked, barely able to voice my question.
"I know what I want," the goon to my right spewed and reached for my crotch.
"Keep it in your pants, a******," the leader said, knocking the other guy's hand away. Then he grabbed my chin and wrenched my face until it was inches from his. "Look at me."
Was he going to hurt me, rape me, kill me? Shoot me in the kneecaps? Cut off a finger? Scalp me? I locked eyes with the leader and held my breath and my bladder. If I wet myself, they'd know the extent of my fear and become ravenous for violence like all those who preyed on those weaker than themselves.
"I . . . can't breathe." I sucked in air, clutching my chest and wheezing, like I had croup.