Chapter Thirty-Eight.
Amanda worked until seven-fifteen on a motion to suppress. She could have worked a little longer, but she was tired, and Agatha Christie's Witness for the Prosecution was on TV at eight. After locking the office, she headed for the eight-story garage where her car was parked. A cold rain was falling, and there were few people on the street. Amanda hunched under her umbrella. When she reached the garage, a slender man followed her into the elevator. He wasn't carrying an umbrella, and his long dark hair was beaded with water. The man smiled. Amanda nodded and pressed the button for six. The man punched the button for seven.
The garage was open to the elements, and Amanda felt a blast of wind as soon as she stepped out of the elevator. There was no one else around, and only a few cars were left at this hour. Amanda's heartbeat sped up and she became hyperalert, something that happened often in isolated situations since the attack by the surgeon.
Amanda heard footsteps. The man from the elevator was walking a few paces behind her. Amanda fought to keep her panic at bay. She told herself that he was just looking for his car, but she still slid her keys between her fingers, points out, after using the remote on her key chain to unlock her car.
Amanda quickened her pace. To her relief, the footsteps behind her stayed steady. The distance between them widened and she started to relax. Then two men stepped out of the shadows, cutting her off from her car. One of the men stared past Amanda to the man who was following her, and the other man smiled. Amanda spun, sick with fear, and drove her keys into the face of the man behind her. He screamed as Amanda raced by him toward the exit stairs. If she made the street, she could shout for help, but her attackers were coming fast. She'd never have time to open the steel exit door. Amanda veered right and raced down the ramp seconds before a shoulder crashed into her, knocking her off her feet. She threw out her hands to break her fall. The keys went flying as her knees smashed into the concrete. She ignored the pain and struck out, but the man who had tackled her buried his head in her back and she had no place to land a punch. Then the other two men were looming over her. The man she'd punched with the keys was bleeding. He knelt down, said "Bitch," and slammed a fist into Amanda's face. Her head bounced off the concrete, stunning her.
The wounded man drew back his arm again. Before he could strike, the third man grabbed his coat and yanked him back. Amanda stared at the third man's flat, pockmarked face. Their eyes met. Amanda screamed. A hand clamped over her mouth. The man with the pockmarked face took a rag and a bottle of liquid out of his pocket. Amanda felt a surge of adrenaline and almost broke free. The hand over her mouth released, and the rag took its place. She tried to hold her breath but the fumes worked their way into her nostrils. A moment later, she passed out.
It took a second for Amanda to feel damp and cold as the water from the puddle in which she'd been dumped worked its way through her clothes.
"Sleeping Beauty is getting up," someone said.
Amanda turned toward the voice. A sharp pain in her head made her grimace. Raindrops bounced off her face.
"Do we get to fuck her now?" the wounded man asked.
"Patience," answered the man with the pockmarked face, who was obviously the leader.
"I want to make this bitch scream. Look at my face."
The leader nudged Amanda with the toe of his boot.
"What do you say, senorita ? You want us to make sweet love to you? It would be something you'd never forget. We are very good lovers."
A wave of nausea swept through Amanda. She rolled to her side and fought the urge to throw up, afraid to show any weakness.
The leader turned to the man who'd tackled Amanda. "I don't think she likes us." He looked down at her. "But that doesn't make any difference, does it, Amanda."
It took a second to register that they knew her name. She looked up at the leader.
"What you want to do, what you don't want to do, doesn't matter one bit. We own you. We can fuck you, beat you, cut up your face and make you look real ugly so no one would ever want to fuck you again. It's all up to us."
Fear heightened Amanda's senses. She looked around. They'd driven her into the woods. The black silhouettes of trees towered over her. She pushed herself into a sitting position. It hurt to move.
"If you're thinking of running, don't. Running will only earn you a beating. Do you want a beating?"
Amanda stared at her tormentor but did not answer. He reached down, grabbed a handful of hair, and jerked her head up. Amanda gritted her teeth.
"Let's get one thing straight. You don't have free will anymore. Understand? If we tell you to do something, you do it. If we ask you a question, you answer. Now, do you want a beating?"
"No," Amanda gasped. He released her hair and she fell back on the ground. As she lay on the wet dirt, terror overwhelmed her. She had escaped the surgeon only to find herself trapped and helpless again, and this time she was alone, without hope of rescue.
"What are these?"
Amanda tried to focus on the object that dangled from the leader's hand.
"My keys," she answered.
"That's right. We have the keys to your condo, the keys to your father's house, the keys to your office. You can't keep us out. We could go to your condo right now and destroy everything you own. We could go to your father's house and slit his throat. We can do whatever we want. You understand?"
Amanda nodded.
"Stand up."
Amanda struggled to her feet. She was still woozy from being drugged, and her limbs felt like spaghetti.
"Take off your clothes."
Amanda's eyes began to tear, and she bit her lip but could not move any other part of her body. The leader hit her hard in the solar plexus. She doubled over and sank to her knees. This time she did throw up. The men watched her without speaking. She fell on all fours and vomited some more. When she stopped, a hand reached down. It was holding a handkerchief. She recognized it as one she had in her purse.
"Here. Clean up," the leader said.
She wiped her mouth.
"We'll try again." His voice was calm and patient. "Stand up and take off your clothes."
Amanda struggled to her feet and removed her raincoat. She was wearing a skirt and blouse and her fingers tripped on the buttons. The leader showed no emotion as Amanda stripped, but the other two looked excited. As soon as she stepped out of her skirt and took off her blouse, goose bumps rose on her skin. The rain and the wind chilled her to the bone and she began to shiver. Her hair hung limp and heavy with water.
"Lose the bra and the panties."
Amanda did as she was told. Her tears mixed with the rain that coursed down her cheeks. She stared past the men into the dark forest.
"That was good. You did what you were told. Now I have a question for you. You ready to answer?"
Amanda nodded, too afraid to speak.
"What can we do to you?"