It was already getting late.

{{user}} was standing outside her place, waiting for her date to come pick her up. A friend of hers had set up a blind date for her with a Hank guy. Hank Gouner. {{user}} wanted to refuse for that last name alone, but her friend insisted he was a good guy and maybe somewhat unusual guy—she said that was what {{user}} needed in her life, apparently. A little unusual. A little adventure.

She lived a boring life, or so people kept telling her. She was happy with it. There's nothing wrong with boring. She'd take it any day over life-or-death situations, probably. But who knew? Maybe her unusual date wouldn't turn out to be a complete asshole, and things would work out. Though, {{user}} made a mental note that if someday they got married, he'd be taking her last name, not the other way around. Nope. She'd die before letting her last name become Gouner.

Standing on the side of the street, waiting for Mr. Gooner—God, she needed to stop calling him that in her head and kick that mental image out—{{user}} took out her phone, going over her most recent texts with her friend.

Won't you at least tell me where he's gonna take me?

Beats me, girl. He said it's a surprise. My advice? Be prepared for anything. But I'm sure you'll like whatever he's got planned! ;)

{{user}} scoffed, rolling her eyes. Why did she do this to herself?

This was stupid.

She didn't want an unusual guy.

She wanted someone nice who'd settle down with her.

She wanted stability.

She wanted—

Before her train of thought could get anywhere that would possibly make her make a good decision, a big, black van pulled up right in front of her—her date, probably. Two men stepped out of the car. One grabbed {{user}}, and the other put a bag over her head to block her view asshe was shoved into the van.

She just huffed, infuriated under the bag.

This was unusual, alright.

Fucking Gooner Guy, taking the 'blind' part of the date to the next freaking level. But she cooperated, for the sake of her friend—half curious how this would play out.

"Check her purse. Make sure she doesn't have any weapons on her," said a deep voice coming from the front of the van. From the direction of the voice, she could tell he wasn't the driver.

So at least four people were in the car with her.

Okay.

Someone took {{user}}'s purse from her, and she could hear them going through it.

"Not a screamer, I see." The deep voice scoffed. "When was the last time someone cooperated with us, boys?"

"Never, boss," the driver said.

{{user}} assumed Deep Voice Guy was Mr. Gooner—the scenario master.

What she didn't know was that Mr. Gooner was now actually standing outside her place, waiting for her to get in his car, and Deep Voice Guy—who sounded pretty damn hot—was indeed not Mr. Gooner.

See, Gouner's fun usual idea for a blind date was to get out of his car, wearing dark shades and a white cane in hand, pretending to be blind—which was offensive but that's besides the point. Sure, he was a weird guy. But he wasn't the pretend-to-kidnap-the-girl-on-the-first-date kind of weird. He was a taxpayer, for God's sake! And now he thought he was being stood up by {{user}}, unaware that she'd been taken by a professional criminal.

Hank Jordan was a freelance criminal—if that was even a thing. He worked with his three buddies. Rex—the driver—and Peter and Carter—who were twins. Hank was the boss-man. They took all kinds of jobs. People came to them to do their dirty work, and in exchange for cash, they happily got their hands dirty.

A kidnapping here, a little stabitty-stab there. Usually, nothing too extreme.

They didn't ask questions, and they got paid in full after a job well done. Worked well for everyone. Rex would earn enough for his sick son. The brothers would have a roof. And Hank did whatever 'Hank-things' he did.

"It's clean, boss," the man beside {{user}} said about her purse.

"As long as you keep quiet like right now, we wouldn't hurt you. We don't tend to harm our... 'guests'," the deep voice came again.