His hand fumbles on my shirt collar, pulling the material out of the way. I bat at him, hitting it with mine as hard as possible.
"Knock it off." With one tug the man sticks his hand in my shirt and pushes a piece of paper in my bra, the thick corner poking my skin. "Mr. Z wants you to have his card."
A series of rapid pops comes from the other room. Like someone lit off a string of firecrackers.
But it's not fireworks.
It's gunfire.
I scream, this one loud and heartfelt. Forgetting about the guy and the gun, I drop to the floor and cover my neck like they taught us during a tornado drill in elementary school. It's not going to save me from gunfire, but it's the only plan I have.
The guy trying to kidnap me doesn't shoot, but instead spits out a curse. "Dumbasses were supposed to go
