Overtime Pt.2 [NC]

This story is not a successor or second part to the original ‘Overtime’ story by me. This story just takes the title from the previous story due to its corporate theme. Hope you all enjoy it.

Thank You

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The office door clicks shut behind me like it’s relieved to see me leave. I don’t blame it. It’s been one of those days—the kind that drags its fingers down your spine and leaves you hollowed out by the end of it. My shoulders ache from hunching over spreadsheets that refused to cooperate. My brain hums with leftover arguments from meetings that went nowhere. My heels, black and pointed, feel like punishment.

By the time I step into the empty parking lot, the sky is washed in that dusky blue that makes everything look colder than it is.

I pull out a cigarette with a shaky sigh.
I shouldn’t be smoking.
But right now, I’m too drained to pretend to care.

The flame flares. The tobacco catches. The first inhale fills my lungs with heat, grounding me just enough to push through the fog of exhaustion.

My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen:
4%.

“Oh come on,” I mutter. “Just stay alive till I get home. Just stay alive, that’s literally all I need—”

I shake the phone like that might magically convince the battery to behave. It doesn’t. The screen dims again, threatening to shut off entirely.

I walk across the parking lot with the cigarette dangling between my fingers, smoke curling behind me like a tail. My heels clack a steady rhythm on the pavement—although “steady” feels like charity; my steps drag with fatigue. The fluorescent lights above flicker in their metal cages, buzzing faintly. The place feels abandoned, far too quiet for the hour.

I take another long drag. Let it out slowly.
Just a few more feet.
Just get to the car.

I reach my parking spot, exhale one last plume of smoke, and let the half-burned cigarette drop from my fingers. I crush it into the asphalt with the tip of my heel, grinding it out until it leaves nothing but ash.

Finally.
Finally I can leave.

I unlock the car, slide into the driver’s seat, and let myself sink against the soft leather with a long, exhausted exhale.

My eyes close for just half a second.

And that’s when I feel the shift in the air behind me.

Before my brain can even process it, something loops around my neck—a thin, hard band—and yanks tight.

My hands shoot up but grab at nothing.

A sharp burst of panic shoots through my entire body.
I gasp—
The plastic of a zip tie digs into my throat.

Not tight enough to cut off my air—yet.
But tight enough to freeze me in place.

A voice breathes against my ear.
Too close.
Too calm.

“Don’t move.”

My heart slams itself against my ribs so hard it feels like it’ll crack them.

“If you turn your head,” he says softly, “or try anything clever… I pull this one notch tighter. Just one. And your neck will be the last thing you ever worry about.”

The words sink into me like cold water.
I go very, very still.

His fingers brush the tail of the zip tie. Just the faintest twitch of his hand is a threat.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now. Take your hands off that wheel.”

I do.

“Put them back on the wheel.”

I obey again, hands shaking violently as they return to the ten and two position.

“Start the car.”

My throat tightens against the plastic as I swallow. The zip tie grates slightly against my skin.

“P-please…” The word crawls out of me without permission. “Please, I don’t—”

“Start. The. Car.”

My hands fumble for the key. The engine shudders awake.

He doesn’t move from behind me. His presence fills the backseat like smoke. I can’t see him—don’t dare turn—but I feel him. The weight of his breath. The heat of his body leaning over the seat. The subtle pressure of the zip tie whenever I shift even slightly.

“Drive,” he says quietly.

I pull out of the parking space, heart hammering so loud it feels like it echoes in the small car.

Maybe someone will see me.
Maybe someone will notice something’s wrong—

But the lot is empty.

“Left,” he instructs.

I turn left.

“Straight.”

I go straight.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I swear, I won’t—I don’t even know who you are, please—”

“Eyes forward.”

My throat constricts. My hands tighten on the wheel until my knuckles burn white.

“Please,” I try again, breath trembling. “I just want to go home. I won’t scream, I won’t—”

“Eyes. Forward.”

Each word is precise, cold. Not angry. Not rushed. Just final.

The city fades behind us.
Buildings thin out.
Streetlights become sporadic, then disappear entirely.

My phone screen goes black.
Dead.

When I finally stop, it’s at the mouth of an abandoned alley I’ve never even noticed before—narrow, shadowed, wedged between two forgotten buildings.

“Turn off the car.”

I do.

“Keep your hands on the wheel.”

I do.

The air feels thick, like it’s holding its breath with me.

Then—

Snip.

The zip tie falls away, clattering against the floor.

I inhale sharply, relief flooding my lungs—

—and something cold and metallic presses into the back of my head.

A gun.

“Slowly,” he says. “Get out of the car.”

My hands tremble so violently I can barely open the door. The night air feels too sharp, too cold when I step out.

He’s behind me immediately. I can’t see him, but his presence fills the space like a shadow poured from a bucket. The gun nudges the back of my head.

“Walk.”

I do.

He directs me toward the alley wall.
The bricks are cold and uneven beneath my hands.

“Face the wall.”

My cheek presses against the rough surface. The texture scrapes my skin.

His hand clamps onto the back of my neck again—not choking, but pinning me still. The pressure is unyielding. My breath stutters.

“Hands behind you.”

My arms shake as I pull them behind my back.
He grabs them, twists them together with practiced ease, and I feel the bite of restraints cinching tight around my wrists.
Another band circles my upper arms, yanking them against my sides, pinning me completely.

I can’t move.
Can barely breathe.

“Down.”

It takes me a heartbeat to understand.
Then the gun nudges my ribs—

I drop to my knees.

The ground is cold, gritty, unforgiving. My legs are already trembling.

Something wedges between my teeth—pushed hard.
A gag. Thick, unforgiving, forcing my jaw open and locking my voice into muffled, useless sound. The strap cinches behind my head with sudden pressure.

“Stay still.”

I can’t answer.
I can only breathe shallowly through my nose as panic surges.

Then—fabric. Heavy. Thick. A hood pulled over my head, swallowing the dim alley light, plunging me into suffocating darkness. The smell of it—old sweat, canvas, something chemical—wraps around me.

The world becomes muffled.
His presence becomes sound and touch only.

A hand clasps my arm. Hard.
“Up.”

I stumble to my feet blindly.

“Walk.”

I feel gravel under my heels.
Feel the tight squeeze around my wrists, the bind around my arms.
Feel the way my breath catches inside the hood as air becomes thick and hot.

We reach the back of my car.
He opens the trunk.
The hinges creak.

“Sit.”

My legs bend automatically. I lower myself into the space, my knees drawn up awkwardly, my bound arms pressed beneath me.

He grabs my ankles.
Something tight circles them.
Then another loop around my thighs, cinching tight, pinning my legs uselessly together.

I’m folded up, compressed, breath shallow, hood dampening every scrap of light and sound.

His hand presses against my shoulder—pushing.
I fall backward into the trunk, helpless.

I hear his breath.
Steady.
Measured.

Then the lid comes down.

The trunk slams shut with a metallic finality that shakes the whole car.

Darkness consumes everything.