In The Arms Of Danger [Sequel to Make You Mine]

24:

24:

The gun pressing into my head sent shivers down my spine. I didn't want to die. Not at this point in my life. I had too much to live for; my son, my parents, and my Jarebear. I had made too many sacrifices to just succumb to death now. I still needed to get Danny and myself out. I still had a role to play. I knew that much.

I knew ultimately, that in order to play that role, I needed to be alive.

"Put your hands behind your back," the voice spoke. A sound so chilling it turned my body to stone. The kind of voice that halts every movement as well as every thought.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" he says, this time his lips linger over my earlobe.

"No." Shaking my head, I place my hands behind my back.

I feel a sharp jolt of pain before realizing he is using barbed wire to bind me. I groan out from the prickly wire that stings my flesh. It hurts like hell.

"No sudden movements or noise." The taunting man orders.

I nod. Although I want to do the complete opposite I can't. If agreeing to this will spare my life longer then so be it. We start walking down a corridor. This isn't our house, just a place Hunt Electrical Inc. reserved for the annual company dinner.

As we walk, I notice his breaths are shallow. I've experienced that enough to know he is nervous. Maybe I could talk him out of this. I've done that with Ian so many times I've lost count. That's how he was able to get better. Our therapy sessions have played a huge part as well.

"Look, you don't have to this..." Whatever this is. I try to turn to face him; to get a clear visual. But he pinches my arm tighter.

"Keep moving," he emphasizes his thick, foreign accent once we make it outside.

I'm in shock, and not only because of the snow, ice and cold. But the people I see knelt on the ground. My heart accelerates when I realize who they are. And just as I am restricted by a weapon, so are they. Two men stand with artillery aimed at my parents.

"What is this?" I ask quickly. "Why are my parents here?"

"Walk over there," is all I receive as a response.

"Please," Shaking my head, I continue staring at my parents. Both of them have aged ten years in the two years since I've been gone. It's dark outside so I can't see much. All I know is they're kneeling with their heads leaning towards the snow.

I open my mouth to call out to them but the punishing gun slams into the back of my head. "No noise," his heavy accent is foreign to my ears, but the heightened anger and vigor in his tone is very familiar. "Just walk." He finishes, still standing behind me. I can hear my own heavy breathing as his fingers graze the trigger.

I close my eyes, trying to prevent sobs. But I can't prevent anything. I'm not afraid of dying anymore. I'm afraid of what will happen to my family.

My scream pierces the tense air when I'm pushed so intemperately that I end up hitting my head on the hard leather car seat. I cry out from landing on my sensitive stomach. I'm about five months into my pregnancy which means any force would be harmful to the baby.

"Don't...please don't hurt them," Tears pour from my eyes as I try to move. But I can't. So he pushes the rest of my body inside for me. I jump from the slam of the car door.

My eyes are closed while I silently plead. For what? My life? No. I plead for my parents' lives and my little boy's safety.

Last time I checked on him he was watching his favorite superhero movie with Mandy.