When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions. -William Shakespeare
A bush to my left rustles, so I change direction and keep running.
Approaching footsteps drum behind me, and they're getting closer. Something or someone slams into my body, knocking me to the ground.
Drawing my knees under my body, I crawl forward in the opposite direction. Strong arms wrap around my waist, yanking me back. I pull my bent leg to my chest, then kick out and make contact with a solid object.
My captor groans but fails to release me. Instead, he wrestles me to the ground, pinning me against the dirt. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand stifles my cry for help.
"Stop struggling." Drake's breath is warm against my ear and neck.
My body relaxes, but my heart still races in my chest.
