Hi Everyone,
Today is my stop on the Blog Tour for 29 Seconds by T.M. Logan where I welcome T.M. to my blog where she has kindly provided me with an extract of his new novel. I was thrilled to be asked by Emily Burns from Bonnier Zaffre, now of BrandHive to take part along with some other fab book bloggers. You can find out who else is taking part in this fabulous Blog Tour at the end of this piece so without further ado, here it is:
The BMW swung through a series of turns and she knew they were leaving the campus. Sarah imagined the possibilities, her breath hot inside the bag. There still wasn’t enough air, but in this lying position she was able to shift her head on the seat, creating a tiny gap at her neck to allow more air through. She shivered involuntarily, a violent spasm that went through her whole body. The hand pushed down a little heavier on the top of her arm, pinning her in place on the BMW’s back seat.
Think. What about her dad? How long would it be before he raised the alarm when she didn’t come home? Another thought pierced her like a blade: what if these men were going to take Grace and Harry, too? In her head, she said a silent prayer: Please let this be about me, not about my children. Please let them be safe with my dad. The thought of Grace and Harry and her dad sitting around the kitchen table made her eyes fill with tears. She swallowed hard and fought them back.
This is no time for crying. Not now.
Think.
She tried to count in her head, and guess how quickly the car was travelling. Were they on a fast road, a dual carriageway? No. Lots of traffic lights, twists and turns which suggested they were heading further into the city, rather than away. But the journey seemed to be taking forever. She began counting as best she could, one to sixty, then starting again. Not too fast. Count the minutes. The act of counting kept her mind off other possibilities, helped her stay calm.
She reached what she thought was fourteen minutes, near enough.
The car stopped.
Then the hand was on her arm again and she was pulled sideways, edging along the car seat and stepping carefully down onto hard ground, smelling diesel and rain and cold night air. Men talking in low voices, muffled through the hood. Car doors slamming. The grip on her upper arm loosened slightly. She was still hooded, but her hands were free and she had a sudden urge to rip the hood off and just make a run for it, look for a gap between these men and sprint through it, as fast as she could. She thanked the instinct that had made her wear flat shoes this morning. She could run in these shoes. She used to run for her school, and she had been good, too. 100 metres, 200 metres, 4 x 400 metres relay. It might be her last chance – her only chance. Instinctively, she knew that if it came it would only be a second or two and she would have to be ready to react without hesitation.
More voices, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. The smell of cigarette smoke. The metallic chuck of the BMW’s doors being central-locked.
The hand came away from her arm.
Now.
She ran.
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