The blacked-out van hit a deep pothole, sending the ex-husband bouncing hard against the cold metal floor.
He groaned, his shoulders aching terribly from his arms being handcuffed tightly behind his back. It was completely pitch black inside the back of the van. He couldn't see his own hands. He couldn't see the walls. For what felt like hours, the van twisted and turned through the city streets, driving deeper and deeper into the unknown.
His heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird fluttering wildly against his ribs. He tried to convince himself this was just a mistake. It had to be a giant misunderstanding. The dirty cops had the wrong guy, right? He was just a small-time crook who had just gotten out of jail. He hadn't stolen any cartel drugs or heavy weapons. Someone was going to realize they made a huge mistake and let him go.
But then, the van finally slowed down.
