Facing Moriarty

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Kyna's POV:

Not again.

This time, my captor didn't bother knocking me out. But this time, he was also much stronger. I couldn't move in his arms, and his hand was cutting off my oxygen.

"Let me go!" I managed to gasp as he stuffed me into the back seat of a black car.

"Stop struggling." He growled in a deep voice. I ignored his command; my fingers clawed at his arms and face, but he grabbed my hair by its roots and yanked me back.

"Stop it!" We were in the car by now, and he was wrestling with me. I was panicking and it was blinding my judgement. I rammed my elbow into his chest and he grunted.

"Sit STILL!" He backhanded me so hard I hit my head against the leather seat. My mouth opened in shock and my cheek stung where he had hit me.

"Now be a good girl." He threatened, turning around and starting the car. As we drove away, I could see Sherlock and John storming out onto the street. I screamed until I was hoarse and pounded my fists against the windows.

"It's no use." The man said. I glared at him, evaluating his personality. He wasn't afraid to hurt me.

Think, Kyna. I could imagine Sherlock advising me to use my mind. As we drove, my gears turned.

The doors didn't open from the inside. Otherwise, I would have jumped out. Dad would be looking for me. I knew it. He had heard me scream from the front door. I had seen him run out into the street.

That brought me to my next problem.

"You work for Moriarty." I guessed. The man didn't reply.

"Are you a metal man?" I asked.

"No." He said.

"Then what are you?"

He opened his mouth to reply and momentarily took his eyes off the road. I seized the moment and lunged forward, grabbing the wheel and jerking it hard to the right. The tires screeched as we veered off the side of the road. The man struggled to take control of the car and finally with a firm hand, he clutched my shoulder and shoved me back.

"My dad will come for me." I warned him.

He laughed. "Exactly."

In about two seconds I realized his plan. I was the bait.

"I'll kill myself." I told him.

"How?" He asked.

"I'll crash the car."

Suddenly he leaned back, grabbed my hand, and with a quick flick, broke my wrist.

I screamed and tears blurred my vision. My good hand clutched the broken one in agony.

"Try crashing the car now." He dared. My lip was bleeding from the bite I had given it. My wrist throbbed and my head ached. I sobbed in anger and outrage.

At about that time, I shut my mouth. My brain started working against me, telling me what was right and wrong.

My previous actions had been wrong.

Time for plan B.

I was silent, and even though the pain in my wrist made me want to pass out, I deleted it from my mind.

My eyes observed every sign, every tree, every house we passed, until it was memorized in my mind.

We were not in London anymore.

Finally we stopped on the side of the road, and the kidnapper turned around to tie a blindfold over my eyes.

"Now don't scream when we get out, or I'll break your other wrist." He mumbled.

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