Contents
Playlist
Trigger warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Afterword
The end
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Hijacked
Sonia Esperanza
Hijacked
Copyright © 2020 Sonia Esperanza
All rights reserved.
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Cover Design by: Murphy Rae
Edited by: Melinda Utendorf, My Brother’s Editor
Interior Formatting by: Books & Moods
For my mama.
Thank you for loving yourself enough to say, “this is enough.”
Playlist
Best Part of Me — Ed Sheeran (feat. YEBBA)
Easy — Camila Cabello
Everything Has Changed — Taylor Swift
King of My Heart — Taylor Swift
Latch — Disclosure (feat. Sam Smith)
Liar — Camila Cabello
Lover — Taylor Swift
Now That I Found You — Carly Rae Jepsen
Pearl — Katy Perry
Real Love — Carly Rae Jepsen
Rojo — J Balvin
Secondhand Smoke — Kelsea Ballerini
Selfish — PnB Rock
Still Learning — Halsey
Trigger warnings
Domestic Violence (Moderate Detail)
Drinking while Driving (Intermediate Detail)
Violence (Heavy Detail)
“And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for.”
-Taylor Swift
I don’t know who I am.
The thought appeared suddenly, unwelcome, and not for the first time.
At this point in my life, I’ve lost count of how often those simple, but complicated six words came to mind. Hell, I lost count how many times those words assaulted my head today.
In my defense, I knew who I was as much as anyone else did. The important things, I guess you could say, the things that were written on paper.
Annie Miller. Twenty-two years of age as of a month ago, born on April thirteenth to Michelle Miller and he who didn’t deserve to be named. I was a small thing then and I was a small thing now, standing a little bit under five and a half feet tall. I inherited my golden blonde hair and dark blue eyes from my mom.
That was all I knew. The basic things, the things anyone could find out with a quick internet search. But as important as those things were for being able to identify me, in the grand scheme of life, those things didn’t really matter. Because who we were as people wasn’t something you could find on a piece of paper, it was locked inside your chest, embedded into your soul and only those who loved you had the knowledge of who you truly were as a person.
The harsh truth that I faced each day was that I didn’t have any of those people in my life.
I didn’t have any people in my life. I barely had myself.
It had been like this for ten years. Ten years since my world as I knew it burned to the ground, taking everything I held close to my chest with its destruction.
I lost my mom. My childhood, my innocence. I lost Annie Miller as I knew her.
But unlike everything else that day, I still remained, even if it was a version of myself that felt foreign. After the tears dried and the anger settled deep inside every inch of my body, I rose on two unsteady feet, wiped the ashes from my skin and I vowed that I would get justice. A promise to myself. A promise to my mother. A promise to the world.
I could feel how close I was to righting the wrongs of my childhood. Closer as I’d ever been. Readier than I would ever be. And I refused to let something as trivial as the realization that at twenty-two years old I had yet to discover who I was, get in my way.
One plan. Five steps. Ten years of working tirelessly. A list that no longer felt physical, but a vital part of me, maybe the only part of me. The five steps stepped in for my brain, my heart, and my lungs doing what it had to, to keep me alive. It felt like that most of the time, anyway.
1. Learn how to fight.
2. Graduate college.
3. Buy a plane ticket to Mexico.
4. Get revenge.
5. Start over.
In a few hours, after I walked across the stage and held my diploma in my hands, I will have scratched out three of my five goals. All I would have to do is rid the world of one less lowlife and not only would I be on the first international flight out of Philadelphia, far from the memories that haunted me every time I closed my eyes but finally, finally justice would be served.
“Hey, kid, you’re gonna be late.” I ignored the familiar voice that belonged to the city’s most notorious STD-sharer.
Sliding off protective earmuffs and wrapping them around my wrist, I pressed the button to bring the target sheet toward me. Two dozen holes filled the sheet, and it elated me to see every shot met the head or chest area of the silhouette figure. I ripped the paper down and turned around, not surprised to find Matt, the owner of Philly Range, propped up against the bar in the recreational room, his stare aimed at me.
“You screw people my age, Matt. I sure hope you don’t call them ‘kid,’ too.”
He narrowed his eyes at me but I ignored his pointed look, well accustomed to him. Matthew Panini was harmless. If it didn’t interest his dick, he couldn’t give two shits about it. He was six years older than me and the closest thing to a friend I had, if swapping snarky comments made two people friends.
I met Matt three years ago, a couple of weeks into my sophomore year of college. I ambushed him one late morning as he opened the doors to his family business and scared the shit out of him.
Once he recovered from jumping out of his skin and squealing like a kitten being stepped on, he zoned in on my body. Of what he could see of it which wasn’t much. I wore the same thing now that I wore back then. A pair of jeans, some graphic t-shirt of a band I couldn’t tell you a song from, and a pair of Vans. That didn’t deter Matt. He posted up against the door, a glint in his eyes, and his lips tilted in a smirk.
“What can I do for you, lady?” he purred, actuall
y purred.
If I was a weaker woman, I’d have fallen under his allure. But guys weren’t on my radar. No matter how beautiful their face appeared or how smoothly they talked. They weren’t revenge and therefore they did nothing for me.
Matt fell under both of those categories. With his disheveled dark hair, sparkling brown eyes full of promise, and his unblemished tan skin, he was a picture-perfect example of what a woman in her early twenties was searching for in a man. But I wanted something entirely different from him.
“I want a job,” I told him, steel in my voice because I already knew his answer.
The nonchalant Matt vanished, trading in for a more solemn version. He kicked off of the wall, turning away and writing me off instantly. “No.”
“Oh. I’m old enough for you to fuck, just not old enough to work for you.”
Philly Range wasn’t the only shooting range in the city, although it ranked the best. It had what all others lacked: a young business owner. A couple months ago, Matt’s dad, Victor, stepped away for reasons that the public was still dubious to. If anyone were to let a nineteen-year-old work for them, I was betting on Matthew Panini.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “No one under twenty-one is allowed. You’re definitely not twenty-one.”
“I want a job,” I repeated myself. “Cash under the table. I’ll do whatever you need done.”
He rejected me again, and that was that. Until I showed up the next day and the next, wearing him down each time until his resolve crumbled.
On the fourteenth day, he submitted. “Fine. I need someone to clean guns, anyway. Ten dollars an hour under the table and an NDA signed by you about this place. Whatever happens inside these walls, stays. I don’t know if you’re new to the city, kid, but it ain’t safe.”
I didn’t know what safe felt like anymore, but I didn’t tell him that. The shooting range wasn’t my only option for work. A pretty, young girl in one of the best cities on the east coast, I could’ve worked anywhere. But I desperately needed to learn how to protect myself with something more potent than my hands. Earning money for a plan much farther in the future and learning how to shoot killed two birds with one stone.
Moving to the city from New Hazle, the town I was born and raised in, to the city to attend university, there wasn’t much to me. I couldn’t afford a gym membership in high school because I had to save every penny in case I didn’t get a full-ride academic scholarship to the University of Philadelphia. Food wasn’t much of an option, either. Belonging to a foster family earned me a spot on the free lunch program at school, which was where I got most of my nutrition, although it barely had any taste to it. A cup of ramen noodles for dinner every night saved me money, but it didn’t give my body what it needed. The moment I received my acceptance letter and scholarship to the University of Philadelphia, that’s when I started working on step one of my plan.
Learning how to defend yourself sounded easy. A class a few nights a week. I’m sure they offered somewhat cheap online classes for it. My body being smaller and weaker than I originally thought, it took time for me to become healthy, let alone kicking-ass worthy. Once I moved to the city, I took advantage of the free gym on campus and I joined the all-women self-defense class they offered for incoming freshmen. The class taught me everything I needed to know, but the knowledge felt meaningless when my body seemed so damn weak.
It took me months to add meat on my bones, far longer than I predicted. I struggled to eat all of the right things, cut back on cardio and focus my attention on weightlifting. With the exception of classes, studying, and a part-time job, I essentially lived in the gym my first year. I recorded every bit of progress I made, only to obsess over what could be done the following day. It took until the end of the spring semester nearing before I could be proud of my reflection in the mirror.
During the summer, I splurged on a self-defense class from one of the popular gyms. The three-week course, from start to finish, made me stronger. Not only physically, but mentally.
Sometimes it felt as if I hadn’t aged a day. That little girl, ten years old, her world frozen, felt more reachable than the twenty-year-old. My body grew as did my mind but not my heart. My heart kept wishing, praying that this reality was a dream and I would wake up soon. I never did.
After my second self-defense class, something shifted. I felt strong for the first time in my life. I felt free. I no longer felt like a victim but a survivor. A survivor who, in due time, would raise hell on a man who was worse than the Devil.
That deep sense of freedom and independency stuck with me. When the next semester started, I signed up for a free archery class and it didn’t take long for the instructor to show me how to wield a knife.
Enter Matt. He needed me to clean guns, and I needed to learn how to shoot. He didn’t know that I couldn’t or even that I wanted to, and I didn’t offer that information up.
Learning how to work a gun went as smooth as my body training did. Painful and at a turtle’s pace. There were only so many tutorials on the internet you could watch before you had to just do it. My first couple of weeks of working at Philly Range, I people watched. I watched people shoot, feigning interest in the rec room, the open room just beyond the firing lanes. I studied every shooter who passed through as long as I could without bringing attention to myself.
I didn’t have to look far for an opening. Every afternoon at three o’clock, the range closed for lunch. For days, I crept out of my office and edged closer to the firing lanes. The first week, I left my gun in the office. The next week, I brought it with me but still didn’t use it. A couple more weeks passed, and I knew I couldn’t learn or watch anymore. I had to try. And so, I did.
With my feet spread apart, I held the gun in both of my hands at eye-level, my arm fully extended. I translated every piece of knowledge I’d learned in the past couple of weeks into my body. My shaky fingers barely touched the trigger as I took one last deep inhale and shot for the first time.
I failed miserably at being a decent shot the first time. I did succeed in giving myself a swollen eye and a strained wrist. The next time didn’t improve. Or the next day after that. Every day that I worked, I went out there and practiced. If you wanted something bad enough and dedicated yourself to it, failure didn’t exist.
Weeks passed by and I had finally stopped flinching every time I pressed the trigger when Matt busted me. “If I would have known you couldn’t shoot to save your life, I would have hired you that very first day.”
“Ha ha ha,” I deadpanned.
“You know,” he said, his amusement clear as day. “I could be of help.”
“You could help? Or you could get off while you rub up against me?”
He grinned wickedly. “Annie,” he said, pressing his two hands across his heart. “You have my word that I won’t try anything with you.” I shot him a doubtful look. “You have a gun in your hand. And even without that, I like my dick and since I met you, I’ve come to realize, unlike the rest of the 215, you are not a fan.”
In the end, I accepted his help that came with no strings attached or touching. Fast forward three years later and I could outshoot him anytime, anywhere.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” he asked, following me into my office. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“I’m sure. Plus, it might be dangerous for you. Eighty percent of the graduating class has been one of your one-night stands.”
“Ha ha ha,” he deadpanned.
I locked my gun away and grabbed my backpack, swinging it over my shoulders. “Good luck, graduate. I’ll be rooting for you from here.”
I rolled my eyes at him before kicking him out of my office. I wanted to roll my eyes at this entire day. I just wanted to get my diploma and get out.
I survived four years at one of the top academic colleges on the east coast. Surely, my prize didn’t involve spending hours in a humid room with thousands of people whos
e names I didn’t know and faces I didn’t recognize.
Trucking through the city, not paying attention to the bustle around me, I walked the two miles it took to get from Center City to campus.
The University of Philadelphia seemed just as beautiful as it appeared in the brochure. If anything, the brochure didn’t do the real thing justice. Being one of the youngest colleges in the country, it had a contemporary look to it. Breathtaking windows that allowed every room on campus access to natural light. Recycled steel exterior that gave the buildings a fresh glow each day. The school itself spanned almost eight thousand acres. Four years and counting and I knew for certain, I hadn’t seen half of it. I traveled from my dorm room to my classes, which somehow managed to only be located in two of the eight halls, the gym, and the library.
The same gym that would soon be filled up with teachers, family members, and the graduating class. Not to mention every news reporter and journalist since the school was turning one hundred years old.
Walking into the gym, nothing met me but peaceful silence. I knew all too well that the people in your life left a mark on you long after they were gone. But places did, too. I could easily picture eighteen-year-old me enter the doors I stood in front of today, determination in her eyes to change her life. I didn’t make any friends while I was here. I most definitely didn’t date. But I took full advantage of this opportunity that I had earned. I worked hard and I didn’t give up. In a few hours, I’d be holding the reward in my hand.
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