Another Bella-Jasper Kidnap Story

The usual disclaimers – Stephenie Meyer owns all. I just like to play with the characters. Especially Jasper.

I want to thank the amazing beta readers at Project Team Beta for helping me with this story. You guys are phenomenal.

Chapter 1 – the Snatch

I sighed, finishing the last chapter of my assigned reading. I closed the book, To Kill a Mockingbird, and started to straighten up my papers before I grabbed my backpack. After I was done stashing papers in my sturdy, if ragged-looking, backpack, I got up from the table at the library, and got ready to head home. It was a small library, but a generous gift from the local, rich doctor, Carlisle Cullen, had allowed for the library's expansion into this new building. The city had added a computer lab and new reading tables with lamps. I preferred the long tables to the computer cubby holes. I liked the smell and feel of books. I loved grabbing a book off a library shelf at random and opening it, feeling the anticipation of whatever surprises might wait inside.

But really, To Kill a Mockingbird again? Well, only a few more weeks to go and I would be graduating from high school. Supposedly, this classic was a high school staple, and I wouldn't have to read it again in college.

Thank heavens. The upcoming graduation for Forks High School was going to be much smaller than it would have been in my old high school in Phoenix. How I missed Phoenix. I missed the sun and the sprawling, immense city. I missed being part of a huge high school class, where one loner was easily overlooked. After I moved back to Forks earlier in the year, I had been the center of attention, which was a place I hated to be. I felt like I was starring in a movie: The Return of the Chief of Police's Daughter, starring Isabella Swan.

I walked out to my rusty, old truck, a great, old dinosaur that my Dad, Charlie, had bought off Billy Black. Charlie had given it to me as a homecoming present when I had moved to Forks earlier in the year. Sure, it was from the 1950's and was a rusty orange, but it was like a tank. And with my clumsiness, I needed the protection on the road. I climbed into the monster cab, set my backpack on the seat next to me, and put the key in the ignition.

Suddenly, I was aware I wasn't alone in the cab. As I started to turn to the passenger side, I felt a sharp blow to the side of my head. I was vaguely aware of being moved and hearing the truck rumble to a start, before completely slipping under.

The next thing I knew, I was slowly waking up, feeling stiff and sore. I started to move, but since I was lying face down with my nose smooshed into the space between the seat and the seat back, I was having trouble. I pulled my hands out from under me and sat up, rubbing my aching shoulders and neck. I could smell a stale, yet still sweet smell of some chemical in the cab. There was a rag on the floor, as I got closer I started to feel woozy, so I tossed it out the window..

I looked around, and realized I was alone in the cab of my truck. But where?

Gradually I realized it was very sunny, much too sunny and bright for Forks. I drew a sharp breath as looked out the window. I was in the desert? How did I get here? I did a quick self-assessment, trying to commit everything to memory. I was thirsty, stiff, and moving slowly. But I didn't seem to have any injuries, and I wasn't restrained in any way. However I had gotten here, it quickly occurred to me that whoever grabbed me and my truck might still be nearby. The keys were still in the ignition.

I quickly struggled to get behind the wheel and tried to start the motor.

No gas. The gas gauge was on empty, and looking around, I saw I was on a dirt road, in the middle of a desert nowhere. The land was flat and yellow-brown, dotted only by occasional scrappy- looking trees and bushes that I knew wouldn't give any real shade.

What the hell? I felt panic starting to rise in me. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. I was in an isolated spot, in a potentially hostile environment. I couldn't afford to lose it. I grabbed my backpack from the floor and dumped it on the seat next to me. There, among my textbooks and homework assignment, was a half a bottle of water and a Powerbar. I quickly drained the water bottle, ate the Powerbar, and then got out of the cab. I knew my fair skin would burn quickly in the sun, but I had to start walking. Hopefully, there would be a car coming from somewhere else soon.

And with any luck, it wouldn't be whoever dragged me out here.

I didn't have any sunblock in my backpack, of course. I had been in Forks, after all. So I decided to try to use my hoodie for protection from the sun. I pulled the blue hood up, put my hands in my jeans' pockets, and began go walk. I walked in the direction that put the sun at my back, choosing to protect my face from the sun as long as I could.

The heat from walking in the sun wearing the dark-blue hooded sweatshirt and jeans was immediately overwhelming, but I trudged on. Every ten minutes, I gave myself exactly two minutes of relief, putting my hood down. After a little over an hour of walking, I realized I was starting to sunburn, despite my precautions. There was no shade. Where the heck was I?

I finally saw movement on the road ahead and was torn between fear and hope. Someone was coming. I tore off my hoodie, choosing to use it to help flag down the motorist, and began trotting towards the oncoming car.

The vehicle, with its attendant cloud of dust, slowly came into focus. It was a motorcycle. Not just any motorcycle, either. It was a Ducati, with a single rider who was wearing a black leather jacket. I waved to the rider frantically. Whoever they were, they were going to stop, even if I had to run out into the road and grab the handlebars of that bike. I was sure that if I stayed out on this road much longer, I was going to get sun stroke on top of my sunburn and dehydration, and I could die of exposure. I had to get out of the sun.

The rider stopped and balanced the bike effortlessly on one leg.

A female voice came from under the helmet. "Sugar? What are you doing out here alone?"

Relief surged through my body at hearing the sound of another woman. Things were going to be better; women didn't kidnap women. Or did they?

"I ran out of gas," I called out, running to the motorcycle.

"Here, put this on and climb on," said the rider, handing me a helmet that was hanging off the seat. "I'll get you to shelter."

As I got closer, I felt a slight tug of foreboding, but decided it was just the circumstances. This was a woman, and if I could get to a gas station, I could call home.

"Thanks. What's your name?" I asked.

"Charlotte, darling, Charlotte Whitlock. What's yours?" she answered.

"Bella. Bella Swan." Soon we were driving too fast to talk comfortably, so I hung on and waited to get out of the sun. The skin on my face was starting to feel hot from the sunburn, even under the helmet. I needed to put something on it. But for now, I just wanted to get to some form of civilization, call home, and tell Charlie I was ok.

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