Twist Me
“Pop! The explosive sound of a car backfiring jerks me out of sound sleep. My heart hammering, I jackknife up to a sitting position, then clutch at the stitches in my side with a hiss of pain.Pop! Pop! Pop! The sound continues, and I freeze. No car backfires like that.I’m hearing gunshots. Gunshots and occasional screams. It’s dark, the only light coming from the monitors hooked up to me. I’m on the bed in the middle of the room—the first thing someone would see upon opening the door. It occurs ...to me that I might as well be sitting there with a bull’s eye painted in the middle of my forehead. Trying to control my ragged breathing, I pull the IV from my arm and get to my feet. It still hurts to walk, but I ignore the pain. I’m certain bullets would hurt a lot worse.Padding barefoot toward the door, I open it just a tiny bit and peek out into the hallway. My stomach sinks. There isn’t a single bodyguard in sight; the hallway in front of me is completely empty. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.Casting a frantic glance around, I look for a hiding spot, but the only cupboard in the room is too small for me to fit into.MoreLess
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