Chapter 2

“I’m warning you, don’t try anything funny,” he grunted. “You just make sure I have a good time, and maybe I’ll be in a good enough mood to let you go.”
Freed from her restraints, Yvonne slowly rose to her feet, rolling her wrists and stretching her limbs.
She looked at the half-naked man before her and gave him a sweet, bewitching smile, her sharp, fox-like eyes glinting. She looked like a predator sizing up its doomed prey.
“Of course,” she purred. “I’ll be sure to take very good care of you.”
The moment the words left her lips, she lifted her leg and drove her foot squarely into his groin.
“Aaargh!” The man buckled over, howling in agony.
His screams brought the other two kidnappers running.
“Get her! Kill that bitch for me!”
“We’ll see who kills whom,” Yvonne muttered. She had been top of her class in combat training at the academy. These thugs weren’t even a warm-up.
She took on all three of them, unleashing a flurry of precise, debilitating blows. Soon, they were all on the ground, crying for their mothers.
One of them actually tried to make a run for it. Yvonne dragged him back and delivered another brutal beating, leaving him so bruised and swollen that his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.
Just as she was getting warmed up, the piercing wail of police sirens echoed from below the abandoned building.
What was going on? Who called the cops?
Yvonne shot a puzzled look at the men moaning on the floor. One of them was clutching a phone in a death grip.
“Help, officer, please! I don’t want to die the kidnapper wailed, tears and snot streaming down his face.
Yvonne stared blankly.
Couldn’t even take a beating and you call yourself a kidnapper? What a coward. So boring.
“Don’t move! Drop your weapons! Hands over your heads and get against the wall!” Several uniformed officers burst in, guns raised.
Two of the kidnappers scrambled to their feet and obediently put their hands on their heads, shuffling toward the wall. The third was too injured to get up, but he
painstakingly raised his arm in a gesture of surrender.
Only Yvonne remained standing in the middle of the room. Her clothes were disheveled and dirty, and she wore a pitiful frightened expression. “Officers, he whimpered, or the victim. They kidnapped me.
The kidnappers stared at her, speechless.
Who’s the real victim here? How can you say that with a straight face?
Yvonne and the three kidnappers were taken to the police station and questioned in separate rooms.
As a former officer herself, Yvonne knew the procedure for giving a statement like the back of her hand. She recounted the entire kidnapping ordeal truthfully.
The officer taking her statement was a woman in her thirties. After she finished writing, she handed the report to Yvonne to review and sign.
Yvonne signed her name-well, Yvonne Jones’s name with a flourish.
Then, blinking her large, innocent eyes, she asked the officer, “I’m still a little shaken
up from the kidnapping. Could you possibly give me a ride home?”
The officer paused.
Three kidnappers, two with serious injuries, one moderate. What was she shaken up about? Afraid she hadn’t hit them hard enough to kill them?
Still, according to the kidnappers’ testimony, they had called Yvonne’s family. The police needed to verify
the details with them anyway so y
giving the girl a lift wasn’t out of the way.
“Alright. You can come with us.”
“Thank you so much! You’re as kind as you are beautiful,” Yvonne said with a
sugary-sweet smile, then followed the officers to the patrol car.
The police car, siren blaring, sped toward the Spencer family’s villa.
This was more like it. A grand entrance for her return.
At that moment, the Spencer estate was a hive of activity, adorned with festive lights
and teeming with guests. It was a picture of celebration.