The elevator shakes, comes to a stop, and the doors slide open. I step into the dimly lit parking garage and walk toward my car with my keys in my hand.
"Naomi Salazar," says a gruff voice with a Spanish accent, sending chills down my spine. He could be from Belize, as some people don’t speak English even though it’s our native tongue, but my gut says he isn’t.
I click the lock to my car as I turn my head toward the voice but increase my pace.
There are two men I've never seen before, emerging from the shadows. Both have thick facial hair, dark eyes, and sun-darkened skin. They are covered head to toe in black, including the gloves encasing their hands. They step closer to me as I continue making my way to my car.
My heart races, and my chest tightens. I reach for my door handle, and one of the men shoves me roughly against the car door. My body bangs hard against the metal, pain searing through my hip bones.
He pushes his body tight to mine while the leather of his glove-covered hand grips my face.
I try to scream, but my cries are muffled as I panic.
Screams won't help. No one is here.
Every ounce of energy I have I use to try to escape him, but it's pointless. Both men are double my size. They tower over my petite frame, even in my three-inch heels.
They speak in Spanish, which I'm fluent in, but I'm not familiar with their dialect. I briefly piece together the threat to stop moving or it's going to get worse.
I freeze, not sure what to do but afraid if I try to fight anymore, he won't think twice about implementing his warning.
He drags me across the parking lot to a black van. There are no windows, and he tosses me into the back. One man climbs in with me. The back doors shut, and the rumbling of the engine fills my ears.
Oh God, they are going to kill me.
Stay calm.
I need to get out of here.
In another attempt to escape, I crawl toward the door, reaching for the handle, but the man yanks me to the ground by my hair, then puts something over my face.
It's rough. My assumption is it's burlap. The formation of a thick rope tightens around my neck, and I choke.
I grasp at it, but my hands are jerked to the back of my body and tied. Next, he binds my ankles.
I lay on the cold metal. The rough terrain causes my head, and other body parts, to harshly slam so many times, the pain becomes so overwhelming I can't control my tears. I blackout several times from my head hitting the floor. I breathe stale air as I try to understand what my abductors say whenever I'm conscious.
Time moves slowly. The bumps become more frequent. I attempt to sit up, but a hand pushes me back down. Reggae music blares, but the joyful, calm singing makes me more anxious.
When the van finally stops, I'm forced out onto my feet.
There are no sounds of the city, only birds and monkeys.
I must be in the jungle.
A vehicle moves closer, the sound of wheels skidding on dirt breaks up the sounds of the jungle. Dirty air fills my lungs and nostrils. I cough so hard, I nearly choke.
Men's voices chaotically cheer and shout something about a hole and other things, but I can't fully put the words into a coherent statement. I shudder from fear.
Figure out how to escape.
"Move and you'll regret it," a voice threatens. The ropes are removed from my ankles, hands, and neck. Morning light glares in my eyes when the bag is tugged away from my head.
I blink several times, trying to adjust to the scene in front of me.
Lush green foliage stretches as far as I can see. Dozens of men stand with weapons. All of them wear expressions that turn my blood cold. They purposefully check me out. And the ruthlessness in their eyes makes my skin crawl.
A man steps so close to me, I can smell his breath and sweaty skin. I gag. Arrogance fills his face, but what scares me is the hatred radiating from his dark, cold eyes. Surprisingly, he is immaculately groomed. His white shirt is crisp and clean, minus the sweat stains in his armpits. His long, black hair is pulled into a ponytail, but unlike some of his men, it isn't greasy.