Finding Hope (Belladonna #3)

Prologue

Jenny

The punching bag swayed with each strike of my small fists. Left jab, right cross—I’d been doing this combination since I was seven, back when the other kids first started calling me “shrimp.” Brody always said size didn’t matter if you knew how to use your opponent’s weight against them. I bounced on the balls of my feet, circling the bag like a tiny predator, just like he’d taught me.

“Looking sharp, kiddo!” Sensei called from across the gym. “Bella will be proud when she gets back.”

I grinned, throwing another combination. Bella might not have been the best fighter, but she was the best friend an eleven-year-old could ask for. Most grown-ups ignored kids like me, but not Bella. She actually listened when I talked about the mean girls at school, about feeling different, about being scared to fight back. And now Bella was learning too, working so hard even though she had been terrified at first. I loved watching her improve, loved being the one to cheer her on for a change.

The gym felt emptier without Brody teaching class, without Drake lounging by the desk pretending not to watch everyone’s form, without Bella’s determined face as she worked on her basics. But they had to go to that funeral. I understood—Bella had lost her best friend, which made me think about Sarah, my only friend from school, who had moved away last month. At least I could still text Sarah—Bella would never talk to Maddy again…

I shook off the thought, focusing on my form. The gym’s familiar sounds wrapped around me like a warm blanket—the rhythmic thud of fists on bags, the squeak of shoes on mats, the quiet encouragement of instructors. This place had saved me from being just another bullied kid. Here, I was strong.

The door chimed. Tommy’s voice carried across the gym. “Yo, squirt! Ready to go?”

I threw one last combination—the tricky one Brody had spent weeks helping me perfect—before bouncing over to my brothers. Jake ruffled my hair, and I ducked away with an exaggerated groan. “Gross, you’re messing up my warrior braids!”

“Oh, excuse me, sensei junior,” Tommy teased, bowing dramatically. “Shall I fetch your royal gym bag?”

I stuck out my tongue, grabbing my bag myself. “You’re just jealous because I can flip you now. Brody says my form is better than yours ever was.”

“In your dreams, pipsqueak.”

The evening air hit my face as we stepped outside, still playfully bickering. I inhaled deeply—I loved how the city smelled after training, like possibility and—

The screech of tires drowned everything else.

It happened so fast. A van materialized from nowhere. Men in dark clothes poured out. Tommy shoved me behind him, but someone was already there. Jake’s fist connected with a masked face, but another attacker struck him from behind. The sickening crack of skull meeting concrete.

“NO!” My scream tore through the air as Tommy fell next. My brothers, my protectors, crumpled on the sidewalk like broken toys.

Hands grabbed me. I exploded into motion. Everything Brody taught me burst out at once. I drove my elbow back—strike the solar plexus, just like in practice. I kicked, twisted, bit down hard enough to taste blood. Someone cursed. I almost broke free—almost—but there were too many of them.

“Little bitch!” A hand clamped over my mouth. I bit that too, remembering Bella saying how she’d once fought back the same way.

They lifted me, kicking and fighting, into the van. Through the closing doors, I saw my brothers lying motionless on the blood-spattered concrete. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying wouldn’t help. Fighting would.

The van lurched into motion. I cataloged everything, just like Drake had taught me to be observant. Four men. Black clothes. One bleeding from where I’d bit him. Another favoring his leg where I’d kicked. They thought I was just a scared little girl.

They were wrong.

Fear churned in my stomach, but Brody always said fear was just energy you hadn’t used yet. And I had a lot of energy to spare. They might have taken me, but they had no idea what they were in for.

I wasn’t some helpless kid anymore. I recited to myself the mantra Brody had taught me, ‘I am a fighter. And fighters don’t give up. Ever.’

I pressed my face against the van’s window, trying to track our route. The familiar city streets gave way to highways I’d never seen before. My stomach churned as the towering buildings of downtown shrank behind us, replaced by unfamiliar suburbs and then… nothing but trees.

We’d been driving forever—or maybe just thirty minutes, but it feels like forever being scared and angry and trying not to show either. The man I’d bitten kept glaring at me, holding a bloody tissue to his hand. Good. I hoped it hurt.

“Little psycho,” he muttered, and one of the others laughed.

I memorized their voices, just like Drake always said to do. The laughing one had a weird accent—not quite British, but something close. The driver hadn’t spoken at all. The fourth one, the one whose leg I’d kicked, kept checking his phone.

The van turned onto a bumpy road, making me bounce in my seat. I’d never been this far from the city. I’d never needed to be—everything in my life was within walking distance of our apartment or a short subway ride away. The gym. School. The park where Sarah and I used to practice our kicks until she moved away.

Trees pressed close to the road now, their shadows making the van’s interior even darker. I forced myself to breathe slowly, like Sensei had taught us. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to beg. I was going to watch, and wait, and remember everything.

Because Brody was going to come looking for me. And Drake would help him find me. And Bella… Bella would understand exactly how scared I was, but believe in me anyway. Just like I had believed in Bella when she first started training.

The van slowed, turning onto what felt like gravel. I sat up straighter, every muscle tense. Whatever happened next, I was ready.

My small body shook, no matter how hard I tried not to be afraid, I knew I was in real danger. I whispered to myself, “I am a fighter. And fighters don’t give up. Ever.”

The van crunched to a stop. Through the tinted windows, I caught glimpses of what looked like an old factory or warehouse, its brick walls stained dark with age. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the property—I made note of that, just like Drake always said to look for escape routes.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” the British-not-British one warned as they pulled me from the van. I stumbled purposefully, testing their grip. The one I’d bitten held me too tightly, angry and careless. The one with the phone barely touched me, distracted. Good information.

Inside smelled like dust and old metal and something chemical that made my nose wrinkle. My footsteps echoed on concrete floors as they marched me down a dimly lit hallway. Security cameras blinked red from the corners—I counted four before they shoved me into a room.

“Home sweet home,” Phone Guy sneered, pushing me toward a metal-framed bed bolted to the floor. A small bathroom stood open in one corner, no door. A ceiling vent pumped in cold air that smelled slightly sweet.

I cataloged everything: One window, high up and barred. Door when they opened it. It had three locks—deadbolt, chain, and something electronic that beeped. Camera in the corner with a blinking red light. Air vent, too small to climb through, but maybe big enough to hear through.

“Someone will bring food later,” British-not-British said. “Behave, and this doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

I met his eyes, channeling my best Brody death glare. “My brothers—”

“Will live. Unlike you if you cause trouble.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Get some rest, little warrior. You’re going to need it.”

The door slammed shut. Locks clicked into place. I waited until their footsteps faded before moving.

First, I checked the bed—bolted down, but the frame had sharp edges I might be able to use. The bathroom had a sink near the vent I could stand on outside of the camera’s view—good for hearing through walls, Drake had once mentioned. The window was too high to reach, but its light cast shadows I could use to track time.

My hands shook as I explored, but I kept moving. Brody always said that action beats anxiety. So I’d act. I’d plan. I’d wait.

And when they least expected it, I’d show them exactly why they should never underestimate a kid who’d spent half her life learning how to fight.

Only when I’d checked every corner, tested every surface, and memorized every sound did I finally sit on the thin mattress. The tough mask I’d worn since the van cracked, then shattered completely.

“Tommy… Jake” My whisper echoed in the empty room as the image of my brothers lying motionless on the bloody concrete flooded back. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Were they okay? The British-not-British guy said they’d live, but bad guys lied. They had to be okay. They had to.

I pulled my knees to my chest, making myself small like I used to do when the bullies at school got too mean, before I learned to fight back. But this wasn’t school. This was real, and scary, and I didn’t even know why they’d taken me.

A sob caught in my throat. “Mama” I hadn’t called for my mother like that in years. I had been so determined to be grown- up and tough. But right now, I wanted nothing more than my mom’s arms around me, my dad’s voice telling me everything would be okay.

The chemical smell from the vent made my head feel fuzzy. The shadows from the high window grew longer as evening crept in. Soon it would be dark. I was eleven years old, and I’d never spent a night away from home except for sleepovers at Sarah’s.

“Please,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice small and broken. “Please let my brothers be okay. Please let someone find me.” My shoulders shook with silent sobs. “I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.”

But even as tears soaked the dingy pillow, my hands curled into fists. Because being scared didn’t mean giving up. Bella got scared too, but she kept fighting. And I would make her proud.

Tomorrow I would be strong again. Tomorrow I’d start planning. Tomorrow I’d be the fighter Brody had trained me to be.

But tonight, just for a little while, I’d let myself be eleven years old and terrified in the growing darkness.