Abducted. Dana Mentink

with a stubbled chin and six feet to his credit staggering home from the bar, angry over some perceived mistreatment from his boss, spoiling for someone to beat. Jett offered himself, goading his father into using him for a punching bag, diverting the anger from his mother. The tide of rage swept through him, the sensation of being powerless choking him. He would not succumb.

      Got to get to Sarah. He made it to his feet, aiming an uppercut at Tom, which he easily dodged.

      “It’s no use, Jett. I told you. You’re not going to win.”

      Yes, I am. But his eyes closed anyway, and he slipped into blackness.

      * * *

      A fine mist on her face awakened Sarah. Her senses were numb and sluggish, eyes gritty and mouth dry as dust. It took her a moment to discern that the rolling motion was not her dizzied nerves but wave action. Waves? Her pulse quickened. She’d thought they were going to be loaded on a truck or van. Now here she was on a boat, lying on her back on a bench seat, Young on the other, unconscious. Maybe Tom had been lying about taking them back to the US.

      Jett. Where was Jett? She jerked to a sitting position so fast it sent her head spinning. Her heart pounded. Had they left him behind in the tunnel? Or worse? She saw a figure lying on the floor between the two bunks. Jett.

      He was very still. She scrambled off the seat and knelt next to him, fingers searching for a pulse, noting they’d bound his hands again. Through her terror, she felt it, his slow steady heartbeat. She stroked her hands over his cheeks to see if she could rouse him. Her relieved exhale caused Young’s eyes to open.

      “Where are we?” Young croaked.

      She forced the words over her dry tongue. “In a boat. I don’t know where we’re going.”