My heart thudded against my chest, ruining my attempt to remain calm
My heart thudded against my chest, ruining my attempt to remain calm. This was it, I thought. My life was over.
I was driving my new Mercedes into the garage when I felt it. No cars in the garage, absolute silence all around me. This was very strange for m household. There was always an alarm beeping, or maids running around, or phones ringing. Today? Silence. I walked the long way around the garage to the back door of my house, through the tennis court and around the pool, my superstitions getting the best of me. I stepped into the house, and that same feeling of aloneness swept into me. I slowly walked to the kitchen surprised at how loud the clack, clack, clacks of my heels sounded on the wood floor of my quiet house. Where is everyone? I wondered. My dad, who owned a multi-billion dollar entertainment resorts business, was supposed to be inaugurating some new movie theater in Beverly Hills. He was on a three-month world trip. My mom, a very successful stockholder, was half-way around the world, hosting a meeting in Paris, France.
I walked upstairs to my room, about to slip off my coat, when suddenly, hands grabbed my mouth, stifling my half-second-long bloodcurdling scream. I dropped my purse, frozen in shock for a half-second.
I tried remembering how to get a kidnapper off of me, by punching his nose into their brain. My dad's bodyguard, who for some reason was missing today, had given me a lesson when I was about twelve, telling me that I should always be prepared. That plan vanished quickly when another set of hands locked my wrists in a steel grip. The taller kidnapper tied a rough cloth tightly to my mouth, while the short, slightly chubby one bound my wrists and ankles with strong leather cords. Then the tall one lifted me in his arms, clutching me tightly to his chest. I noticed that they both were dressed in black leather jackets and faded blue jeans. They wore full-face black ski masks that only revealed their eyes. The short, chubby man had dark brown, almost black eyes that fit his character well. His eyes were narrowed at the window, probably checking to see if the coast was still clear. The man who carried me had shocking blue eyes. I could tell that this man did not choose to live the way he did and do what he did. Those eyes belonged with college and football. The face they carried should be surrounded by jock friends and living a normal teenagers life. Instead, what I saw was that same person with those same bright blue eyes kidnapping me. Me, Kyla Peterson, daughter of two of the most well- known people on Earth. How long did they think they were going to keep me wherever they were taking me before the National Guard came to rescue me? Seriously, it wasn't like they were kidnapping some teen runaway living on McDonald's leftovers. It was me, a girl who-usually- was under 24 hour surveillance. I doubted they would even get a few miles without the police tracking them down.
The blue-eyed man carried me quite effortlessly to a waiting white van on the far end of our property, despite my flailing arms and legs. Then the short man thrust me from the blue-eyed man's arms into the wide trunk. Something sharp and hooked tore through my Juicy Couture shirt and into my bare back. As the blood started to ooze, my eyes began to water and I let out a whimper of pain. The short man, now at the wheel, snickered. It was the blue-eyed man's reaction the surprised me.
He was at the backseat, seated right next to my waist. At the sound of my gasp, he almost reached out his hand to console me, but then placed it back in is lap. His eyes bore a pained expression. I wondered why this man, who was helping take my life away from me, was having such a hard time seeing my pain.