Tori
When Marcus realizes I can't navigate the stairs in this overgrown marshmallow of a dress, he doesn’t offer me a hand. No, the man hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, dress and all. Dignity? Never heard of it. Normally, I’d be spouting off a string of colorful commentary about how he smells like cheap cologne and bad decisions, but today? My energy is laser-focused on not getting stuffed into a grave.
The rope around my wrists is my new nemesis. I twist and wiggle, hoping to loosen it just enough to be useful. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t budge. My wrists burn from the friction, and the knot—clearly tied by the ghost of a Boy Scout leader—laughs in my face. Great. Marcus the Kidnapper gets points for being competent. Just my luck.
They always make this look so easy in
