10. Anton
CHAPTER 10
ANTON
EARLY MORNING – SOMEWHERE NOT IN THE UK – FINDING OUT OUR FATE
“ W ake the fuck up, sleeping beauty,” a voice said, only just penetrating the layers of blackness in my mind.
Pain exploded through my side, the kick was hard and brutal, dragging me from the depths of unconsciousness. I grunted, instinctively curling in on myself. Another kick landed, this time cracking against my shoulder.
What the hell?
I tried to move away but my limbs felt like lead. The gritty, damp ground dug into my side, and it took me a second to realise my hands were bound tightly behind my back.
“Wake up.” Someone slapped my face, hard.
“You gave him too much,” another voice said.
“Nah, he’ll be fine once he’s on his feet and gets some air,” the first voice replied.
Rough hands latched onto my arm, hauling me upright with brutal force.
I groaned, my eyelids flickering as I forced them open. Everything was hazy, a mix of dark shapes and harsh lights that made my head throb.
“Get the hell up, arsehole,” someone growled, their voice cold as they yanked me to my feet.
The sudden movement sent everything tilting, and I thought I was going to throw up. My vision still blurry, I tried to make sense of my surroundings. Where was I? What was going on?
My legs wobbled and buckled, and I felt myself start to drop. Those rough hands tightened their grip, keeping me upright as they pulled me forward. I was half-lifted, half-dragged down a dim corridor, my boots scuffing along the floor as I fought to stay on my feet and remain conscious. I barely registered the sharp, stale smell—like blood, rot and sweat—clinging to the air, all I could think of was that I had to stay awake.
More voices penetrated the fog of my mind.
“Not such a tough arse now,” one of the goons sneered.
“Yeah, some ex-forces he is. This fucker couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag,” one of them jeered, their laughter cutting through the sluggish heaviness pressing on my mind.
Fury ignited inside me. “Not while I’m drugged to fuck,” I muttered, my words slurring as I forced them out. “But when I’m not, you’ll see what I can do.”
The guy on my right snorted. “You’ll get your chance to fight soon enough,” he said, an edge of malice in his voice.
Whoever these bastards were, I’d make them pay. As soon as my head cleared, as soon as I could focus—I’d kill every last one of them.
They dragged me forward, my feet barely skimming the ground. Where the fuck were they taking me? My mind was still scrambled, fragments of memory just out of reach.
I stumbled along, half-carried, but a flicker of awareness returned as we passed through a door. The cool, stale air inside gave way to a wall of oppressive heat. The sun beat down, unrelenting, its glare forcing me to squint as the heat gnawed at my skin.
With a final shove, they forced me to my knees. Pain exploded through my legs as they slammed against the sunbaked ground. “Oof!” I grunted, pitching forward. Dry dirt met me as I twisted just enough to land hard on my shoulder instead of my face. The jolt reverberated through me, but I clenched my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
Then, without warning, icy water blasted over me. A gasp tore from my chest as the freezing spray shocked me out of the haze. The chill cut through my clothes, soaking me to the bone and plastering fabric against my skin. The heat evaporated, replaced by a biting cold that brought everything back into sharp, brutal clarity.
Marcie.
A sickening fear crawled up my spine. The last thing I remembered was trying to get to Marcie. Where was she?
Several masked men surrounded me. What had they done to her? If they had hurt her, I’d fucking kill them.
“Where’s Marcie?” I demanded of the closest, my voice rasping from my dry throat. Bloody hell, I wished I’d swallowed some of that water.
The guy sniggered. “Shut it!” he snapped, backhanding me. My head whipped to the side as blood sprayed from my split lip, and I grunted. The sharp metallic tang filled my senses, and I spat thick, crimson saliva onto the ground.
Before I could react, a noise drew my attention to the dirt track ahead. An old-style jeep barrelled toward us, screeching to a halt and spraying dirt into the air.
I squeezed my eyes shut as grit scraped beneath my lids, the sting sharp enough to make me blink rapidly in an attempt to clear it.
The jeep door slammed, and another masked guy jumped out
“We need to get him to the starting point now,” he said, his voice clipped. “The boss is there, and you know she hates to be kept waiting.”
She? I barely had a second to process that, before a rough, scratchy hood was yanked over my head, cutting off my vision. More hands grabbed me and shoved me forward. I stumbled before being hurled into the back of a vehicle. My shoulders and ribs slammed against hard metal, sending fresh spasms of pain radiating through my side. The engine roared to life, and within seconds, we were bouncing along a rough, uneven trail.
Every bump, every jolt, felt like a punch to the gut, grinding my bones and sending waves of pain through my body. The stale air inside the hood clung to my face, each breath thick with fabric and dust, making it hard to draw a full breath. The terrain was unforgiving, and with each violent sway, my wrists strained painfully against the bindings behind my back, my shoulders protesting as I fought to stay steady against the walls of the vehicle.
After what felt like miles, the vehicle screeched to a halt. Rough hands latched onto my arms, dragging me out and shoving me to my knees. Gravel and grit bit into my skin through the thin fabric of my trousers. The earth beneath me was damp, and I strained to make sense of what was happening. Murmurs and footsteps shuffled around me, but the hood remained tight over my head, blocking all but muffled sounds and vague movements in the darkness.
Eventually, the hood was yanked away, and blinding light assaulted my eyes. I squinted, blinking hard against the harsh glare until my vision began to clear. Then it hit me, a familiar sensation that set every nerve on edge and made my heart hammer in my chest. She was here. Marcie.
My head jerked up just as she was dragged into view. She stumbled, pulled along by a big burly guy. Dirt and dust smeared her clothes, her hair was a tangled mess, but otherwise she looked okay. Relief surged through me so fiercely it was nearly painful—she was dishevelled, but at least she was alive.
Marcie struggled, wrenching against the guy’s grip, her jaw clenched in defiance. Her captor grunted in frustration, gripping her tighter as she thrashed and clawed, until finally, he wrapped his arm around her, pinning her back against his chest. His hand slid up to her throat, pressing just hard enough to make her struggle to breathe, but she didn’t back down. A flicker of that fierce, cheeky defiance lit up her face, and even though her lip trembled, she spat out, “You’ll regret laying a finger on me, you sick freak.”
I couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at my lips. My Marcie—fearless even in the face of monsters.
The man holding her sneered. “Bitch, if we weren’t running late, I’d take you back inside and make you pay for that remark. But that’ll have to wait. I’ll have all the time I need to break you later, and when I do, you’ll be begging for mercy.”
Marcie grimaced, shivering in disgust as he leaned in closer. He chuckled, pressing his hips into her bottom in a twisted display of control. “When I finally get you under me, you’re going to scream,” he taunted, tightening his grip on her throat until her breaths came in shallow gasps. Then, with a sick, twisted smile, he dragged his tongue along her cheek, savouring her fear.
That fucker!
Little Miss Sassy hadn’t noticed me yet, too focused on struggling with the pervert. I clenched my fists, trying to push myself up, but hands clamped down on my shoulders, forcing me to stay still. Rage and helplessness coiled inside me, tight as a spring ready to snap.
My gaze locked on the bastard gripping Marcie, noting the tattoo snaking up his hand—a jagged mark that set him apart from the others. That tattooed hand would be the first thing I took from him. He’d pay dearly for putting his hands on her.
The guy laughed, whispering something in Marcie’s ear before releasing her so suddenly that she stumbled, dropping hard to her knees on the rough ground. She caught herself, chin tilted defiantly. The slight quiver of her bottom lip betrayed her fear, but it didn’t stop her from shooting a glare that could burn.
“If you come anywhere near me, it’s you who’ll be screaming, when I rip that dick off,” she spat at him. The men around snickered, but the tattooed bastard took another step toward her.
“Leave it, Joel. You can make her pay later. The boss is on her way,” another man said, stepping in front of him, blocking her from his sight and grabbing her arm.
My brave, defiant Marcie. Pride and fear warred inside me. I loved seeing her stand tall, but I feared her defiance would only make things worse.
I ached to be by her side, to shield her from this, but the fuckers wouldn’t let me get close. Not yet. But I could still let her know she wasn’t alone.
“Marcie,” I murmured, my voice low and steady, keeping any trace of desperation locked away.
Her head jerked toward me, eyes widening as she registered my presence. For a fleeting moment, the tension in her features eased, and I saw something more than fear—hope, relief, and beneath those, a fierce determination.
I smiled at her, and she returned it, a small but defiant gesture.
The men holding me down loosened their grip, but before I could move, the cold press of metal dug into my temple.
“Don’t even think about it,” a voice growled behind me, the barrel pressing harder into my skull.
I stilled, every muscle locked. I didn’t flinch. My focus never left Marcie. She saw the weapon at my head, and her breath caught, panic flashing in her eyes.
“Anton—” Her voice cracked, but before she could say anything more, the man holding her jerked her to her feet, making her stumble. She gasped, her hand clutching his arm, but he only tightened his grip.
The urge to kill him surged through me. To rip him apart for daring to touch her. But all I could do right then was kneel there, unable to move, my chest tight with a suffocating mix of fury and frustration.
Around us, men stood in a tight formation, each one armed, faces obscured behind black masks. The sharp gleam of metal flashed in the sunlight, a stark reminder that this was no random kidnapping. This was planned—carefully orchestrated. Whoever they were, they didn’t look like amateurs.
Their attention shifted toward the hacienda-style house in front of us and I followed their gaze. The heavy main door swung open, and a woman emerged. The shadowed porch kept her features obscured and at first, I didn’t register who it was. She looked older, her dark hair pulled back in a tight, severe bun. But as she stepped fully into the light, her features came into sharp focus. Recognition slammed into me, leaving a cold, hard knot in my stomach.
Marcie gasped, and I felt the same wave of disbelief crash over me.
Elizabeth Traynor.
The high court judge who, until recently, had been behind the bench of so many high-profile cases—until she retired, disappearing abroad before her corruption could be brought to light.
And now… now she was here, standing in front of us like some twisted queen, her eyes cold, her lips curving into a smile that sent a chill straight through me.
“You,” Marcie whispered, horror creeping into her voice.
Elizabeth’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Marcie, darling. Anton. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
I could hear the venom in her voice, the satisfaction as she watched us kneel before her like prisoners of war. This wasn’t just about power. It was personal. Her cold gaze scanned us both before settling on Marcie, and I saw a flicker of hatred flash in her eyes.
“You’ve been a naughty girl, helping the Rominovs…” she shook her head at Marcie, her chiding tone mocking. “But you’ll pay for that.”
Her attention moved to me. “You too, Anton DuPont. My Timmy may be gone, but I’ll continue his legacy and see that everyone who took part in his demise pays dearly.”
The pieces fell into place then, snapping together with brutal clarity. The Rominovs had been dealing with enemies for years, one after another, but it had all led back to the corrupt MP they’d exposed. The same man we’d both helped bring down. Elizabeth had been his lover. How hadn’t we known that?
When he’d been killed in prison only a few days ago, we had breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it was all over. But obviously, there was even more to his operation than we’d known. And a secret lover. Even though we knew Judge Traynor was linked to the MP and had ensured he was initially bailed despite his horrific crimes, we’d obviously missed the depth of their relationship. How had we missed it?
“You’re doing this for him?” Marcie asked, her voice trembling. “For the MP?”
Elizabeth’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glare. “He was a great man. Misunderstood. And thanks to you, not only was his life destroyed, but he was murdered in prison.”
Marcie shook her head, her breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts. “You know what he was doing. The hunts he was running. How can you defend him?”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. “What he was doing is irrelevant. He was my lover. And because of you, he’s dead.”
“We should have known when you remanded Luca, while your precious MP got bail, that there was more to it than merely corruption,” I said, my voice low.
Her eyes flicked to me as I spoke, a cruel glint in them. “Unfortunately, things didn’t quite go to plan with Luca. He’s out of reach for now, but like the Rominov’s, his time will come. In the meantime, I will just have to settle with starting my revenge from the bottom, with you two, and then working my way up to the pakhan himself.”
Her smile widened, and I could see her relishing the idea. In that second, I realised just how unhinged she was.
“You’re mad!” Marcie gasped. “I don’t know how we didn’t see it before,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“I believe the correct term for me is psychopath. Something I’ve been aware of since childhood. Timothy understood me perfectly. All of this,” she gestured to the men and terrain around her, “was my dream. My Timmy set it all up for me so I could indulge my darkest desires. Hence the name,” she smiled happily, as if she found that romantic.
“You wanted these hunts? You wanted innocent people tortured and killed? But why?” Marcie asked, her voice betraying her disgust.
“They were the dregs of society; hardly innocent,” Elizabeth scoffed. “This was just a fun way of taking out the trash,” she laughed and the men around her chuckled. “These people were the lowest of the low and I was simply doing society a favour by getting rid of them and providing entertainment, and in some cases, revenge, to my clients in the process.”
“You’re sick,” Marcie cried.
“I prefer to think, enlightened,” she replied with a smirk that could only be described as pure evil.
I clenched my jaw, anger surging inside me. I wanted to fight, to break free and tear the smug satisfaction off her face, and take a bit of revenge for myself, and for all of the victims of this sick operation, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not with Marcie’s life hanging in the balance. I’d have to get her safe first and then…
“Revenge,” Elizabeth said, her voice cutting into my thoughts, “is a dish best served slowly. And painfully. Which is why I’ve come up with something special for you both.”
She turned slightly, gesturing to another group of men who’d followed her out of the house. “These are my clients. Very powerful, very rich. And they’re here for a little… entertainment.”
My blood ran cold as her words sank in.
“They’ve paid for the privilege of hunting you,” she continued, her tone almost conversational. “No rules, no mercy. Just you two, and them. Oh, and my own men of course.”
Marcie’s breath hitched, her body trembling.
“You can run,” Elizabeth said, her smile returning. “I’ll even give you a head start.” She checked her watch and whispered something to the guy standing next to her, who nodded. “A two-hour head start to make it more exciting,” she aimed the last words toward her ‘clients,’ who responded with nods and eager, twisted grins.
Marcie’s eyes met mine, wide with a flicker of terror before she masked it with a familiar, fierce glare. My Little Miss Sassy. Even now, when most would be begging or broken, she held onto that defiant spark that made me proud.
“But once the hunt begins…” Elizabeth shrugged, as if the ending were a foregone conclusion. “Well, let’s just say it won’t end well for you.”
One of the men leered, his gaze dragging over Marcie in a way that made my blood boil. He reached down, adjusting his belt in a crude, suggestive motion. “Hope she’s a good runner,” he sneered, voice thick with anticipation. “Makes it more fun when they have some fight in ’em.”
Another of the ‘clients’ snickered, leaning toward her with an ugly grin. “I like when they scream,” he said, loud enough for all of us to hear. His gaze didn’t stray from Marcie, and his tongue darted over his teeth as if tasting the fear in the air.
Elizabeth raised a hand, laughing softly. “Gentlemen! Keep a rein on your excitement. You’ll have your fun soon enough.” She cast a smug, knowing look over her shoulder before turning back to me with a smirk that promised nothing but pain.
“Considering your background, Anton, I’m expecting this to be one of our longer hunts. And as such, I’ve decided to be kind and let you stay together, as I believe it will be far more entertaining that way. Of course, it means that one of you will get to see the other killed before you die,” she smiled another sickening smile.
“But just to show I’m not totally unsympathetic to your plight. Here’s a bottle of water to help keep you moving a little longer.”
She nodded to the guy beside her and he threw a bottle of water at me. It landed near my knees and the psychopath grinned gleefully before checking her watch again.
Her grin widened. “Time to run!”
Cheers rang out from the men and my hands were untied. Marcie was pushed towards me. “Run,” the guy behind me shouted, gesturing with his head for us to move.
“Good luck!” Elizabeth’s mocking words grated on my last nerve.
My heart thundered in my chest as the reality of her intentions hit me. We were being thrown into a game—one she believed we had no chance of surviving. But I’d do everything in my power to thwart her plans.
“Come on, honey,” I said, grabbing the bottle and Marcie’s hand, and turned, tugging her behind me as we did what we were told, and ran.
We’d been given a head start. I wasn’t sure Elizabeth would keep her word and allow us the full two hours, but whatever time we had, we needed to make the most of it. Tugging her along behind me, I ignored the laughter and jeers of the men and concentrated on putting as much distance between them and us as possible. I’d deal with each one of them later. Right now, there was only one thing on my mind.
Protecting Marcie.