10. Katelyn
“ I ’m telling you, Kate, this is going to be the party of the semester,” Karmani’s voice rings through my phone, bright and insistent. “You can’t miss it. I won’t allow it.”
I pace back and forth in my room, one hand holding the phone to my ear, the other nervously fidgeting with my necklace. “Karmani, I really don’t feel like going out tonight. I just...I need a night to decompress.”
“You’ve been decompressing since Friday!” she says with exaggerated exasperation.
“Which was only yesterday, by the way.”
“Come on. You need this. Forget about Alex, forget about Corey, forget about school. Just one night. Let loose.”
Her words jab at the wound that’s still too raw. Forget Alex? Forget the way he looked at me like I was nothing? Forget the stinging malevolence in his voice when he said I was just a target? Ha! Easier said than done.
“I don’t know, Kar—”
“Listen to me. You’re not staying in, wallowing in self-pity. You’re going to get up, put on something that makes you look hotter than the sun, and you’re going to show the world that no man gets to make you feel small. Got it?”
I sigh, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale. My eyes are puffy from hours of crying. She’s not wrong. If I stay here, alone with my thoughts, I’ll drive myself crazy.
“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “But I’m driving myself. No pre-party shenanigans.”
“Deal!” she chirps. “See you in an hour, babe. Don’t keep me waiting!”
I hang up and rummage through my closet, pulling out the dress I haven’t dared to wear since I bought it. It’s silver, short, and hugs my curves in all the right places. The kind of dress that screams look at me without crossing into trying too hard territory.
Sliding it on, I check myself in the mirror. It feels good to look like this again—confident, put-together, unshaken. It’s amazing the difference an outfit can make. I smooth the fabric over my hips, fixing my hair, when a dull thump echoes through the house.
I freeze.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice hesitant.
Nothing.
I strain my ears, trying to dismiss the unease creeping up my spine. It’s probably nothing. A branch against the window or the house settling.
Then the front door crashes open, the sound so violent it rattles the pictures on the wall.
My heart leaps into my throat.
Footsteps thunder in the hall downstairs, and voices follow, gruff and commanding.
“You go upstairs. I’ll check the living room.”
Panic hits me like a freight train, jolting me into action. I bolt for my bedroom door, slamming it shut just as the first set of footsteps barrels up the stairs.
“Hey! Upstairs!” one of them yells.
I press my weight against the door, struggling to hold it closed as a shoulder slams into it from the other side. The force almost knocks me backward, and I grit my teeth, digging my heels into the floor.
“Move!” the man growls, shoving harder.
The door flies open, throwing me off balance, and he bursts into the room. He’s smaller than I expected. Lean, slightly on the skinny side, but even with a ski mask on, that reckless look in his eyes is intimidating.
“Don’t touch me!” I scream, backing away.
He lunges, grabbing for me, but Alex’s voice echoes in my head: Upward thrust, fast and hard.
I thrust my palm up under his nose with every ounce of strength I can muster. There’s a sickening crunch as he howls.
“Bitch!”
And then a wild backhand flies at my face. I stumble. The impact is dizzying, and I’m disoriented for a second or two. But I recover faster than him. He’s still staggering back, clutching his face. Blood pours through the material of the ski mask and runs down his fingers.
I don’t stop to think. I run for the door.
But the other one is there. Bigger. Broader. His heavy boots pound against the floor as he hurdles toward me, and I slam straight into his chest. I double back, heading back the other way because I’m ready to hurl myself straight out the second-floor window to get away.
I don’t get far, though. His hand wraps around my wrist in an iron grip, halting my movements.
I twist, remembering Alex’s lesson. Rotate against the thumb. Break free. My body moves on instinct, and to my shock, it works. His grip breaks, and I dart past him, heading for the stairs.
I’m halfway down, but he’s right on my heels . I glance back just in time to see him leap over the banister, landing on his feet with a heavy thud. He’s like some kind of special forces agent.
I skid to a stop, my heart hammering in my chest. He’s fast. Too fast. He’s already on me, his arm locking around my shoulders.
“Let go!” I scream, writhing against him.
He holds tight, dragging me backward, but desperation fuels me. I twist my head and sink my teeth into his forearm.
He hisses in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free.
I sprint for the front door, my bare feet skidding on the hardwood. My hand reaches for the doorknob, hope flickering in my chest.
But before I can turn it, he tackles me to the ground. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I thrash wildly, clawing and kicking, but he’s too strong. A hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my screams. His other arm snakes around my waist, hoisting me up as if I weigh nothing.
I kick harder, my heels slamming into his shins, but he doesn’t let go.
The cold night air bites at my skin as he carries me out the door and toward the black van. I’m still screeching, but virtually no sound escapes past his fingers. My eyes dart around wildly, searching for someone— anyone —who can help.
But the street is dark, empty.
I fight harder, tears stinging my eyes, but it’s no use.
The van door slides open, and I’m shoved inside.
A bag is immediately placed over my head, and it smells faintly of damp fabric and mildew. It clings to my face, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. My heart hammers in my chest, drowning out the faint hum of the van’s engine.
My hands are tightly handcuffed, the cold metal digging into my wrists, biting my skin with every bump in the road. I sit completely still, my shoulders aching from the awkward position they’ve bound me in. Every jolt and swerve rattles through me, a constant reminder that I’m at their mercy.
Where are they taking me? What do they want?
My mind spins in frantic circles, trying to piece together answers that don’t exist. I force myself to focus on the small details. The texture of the seat beneath me. The faint scent of smoke mixed with leather. Anything to keep from drowning in the panic gripping my throat.
“This bitch broke my fucking nose!” someone shouts. The words come out thick, like his mouth is full of cotton.
“Well, you deserved it,” another voice snaps. “You shouldn’t have put your fucking hands on her. Touch her again, and you’ll have me to deal with.”
It’s a deep, firm tone, but sort of muffled by the sound of the engine, so I assume it’s coming from the front of the van.
A few minutes later, it lurches to a stop, throwing me forward slightly. Strong hands grip my arms, hauling me out of the seat and into the cold night air. My bare feet touch the rough concrete, sending a chill racing up my legs.
I stumble as they drag me forward, the bag still over my head. Each step feels wobbly, the darkness disorienting me. The sound of my captors’ boots echoes off unseen walls, and the silence around us presses down like a weight.
The creak of a heavy metal door sends another jolt of panic through me. I have no idea where they’ve taken me or how I could get back home.
My breath quickens, and I force myself to focus on my footing as they pull me inside. The air shifts. It’s colder here, stale, and carries the faint scent of oil and rust.
“Stop,” one of them says, and they wrench me to a halt.
“What do you want us to do with her, Vic?”
The voice that responds is low and smooth. An unsettling chill prickles over my skin. “Nothing yet. Take off the bag.”
The fabric is yanked from my head, and the sudden brightness makes me wince. My vision adjusts slowly, revealing the dingy room around me. Gray, cracked concrete walls. A single overhead bulb casting harsh shadows.
And then my eyes lock onto his.
Stormy gray, cold as winter. Alex.
The air freezes in my lungs.
No. No, no, no.
My mind races, trying to reconcile the man who gently kissed my forehead two nights ago with the one standing here now. I’ve been trying to do this reconciliation since I found out he was manipulating me. But seeing him here adds a hundred new layers to his betrayal. His face gives nothing away. I see no remorse, no regret. His expression is unreadable, the way it always is, and I start to wonder how I ever thought we were making a connection when he’s been this way the entire time.
He turns away, and my gaze darts to the man addressing him.
I’m sure I’ve seen him before. At a banquet or a charity event, maybe? And then it clicks. Victor Salazar. He’s one of my dad’s clients. What does he want with me?
He’s a behemoth of a man, his well-tailored suit cut perfectly to fit his tall, wide frame. There’s an unsettling sharpness to him, something I find so intimidating. His dark eyes scan me with a calm intensity that feels more predatory than curious.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Victor says, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “After all that talk about not wanting to do the dirty work, here you are. What are you doing here, Johnny?”
The skinny one holding my arm chuckles. “Turner wants the rest of his cut.”
Turner? Is that his real name? Who the hell is this guy? And how did I allow him to get so close to me without asking any real questions?
Victor’s gaze flickers back to Alex, then to me. “Huh. Interesting.”
The way he says it makes my skin crawl.
I can barely process their exchange. My thoughts are a whirlpool of confusion and pain. Alex...John...Turner...(whoever the hell he is) was in this all along. He played me, used me. When he said he wanted a big payout, I thought he was trying to con me for money because my dad was rich. I thought it was one of those silly romance scams, like the Tinder Swindler . Not this .
“You told me you wanted to avoid going back to prison. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Back to prison? He was in jail?! As more of these details come to light, I realize how much danger I was in. I literally had an ex-convict in my house. And I was tossing popcorn at him like it was some kind of joke. No wonder he never fricken smiles. He’s a hardened criminal. And that little detail makes me realize how much danger I’m in right now.
“Job’s not done until it’s done, Vic,” Alex replies. “I didn’t waste almost two weeks on this shit just to get half my cut, all because you decided to pull the plug early. I want my money.”
Hearing that knocks the wind out of me. Literally. Air rushes out of me as if someone just punched me in the stomach. It’s such a clinical response, devoid of any feeling. Everything that happened between us was all one-sided. I was just a prop to him, something he had to work around to get the job done.
“I don’t know what’s more admirable.” Victor grins as if he’s proud. “Your loyalty to me or your commitment to the job. It’s precisely why I sought you out for this. But if you want the rest of your cut, you’re going to have to earn it.”
Alex nods, not even questioning what finishing the job will entail.
Victor steps closer, and the room feels smaller as he dominates the space. He reaches out, his fingers brushing the bruise on my cheek with a surprising gentleness. “Who did this to you?”
I flinch but don’t move away. Fear holds me in place.
“The rookie,” the bulky, scary looking one answers.
Victor hums, a low sound that sends another shiver down my spine. His fingers linger for a moment, and then he steps back. “He obviously doesn’t understand how precious you are, how everything I’ve built is riding on you now.”
Without warning, he pulls a gun from his waistband. The metallic click makes my stomach turn over. The shot rings out, deafening in the enclosed space.
A scream bursts out of me, loud and shrill, and I stumble back. The young boy lets out a strangled cry, the bullet narrowly missing him and ricocheting off the wall.
“Just know that I meant to miss.” Victor’s expression doesn’t change. “That was your last warning.” He looks at the boy like he’s nothing more than an insect under his shoe. “I’m going to say this once. No one is allowed to touch her. Do you understand?”
He nods frantically, his face pale, his hands trembling.
“Smith, go back to the house. Tear it apart if you have to.”
“No, please!” The words are out before I can stop them. “That was my grandad’s house. The only things we have left of him are in that house. Please don’t—”
Victor waves away my concerns as if it’s of no importance to him, then turns his attention to Alex. “Time to earn the rest of your cut. You’re on duty. Make sure she never leaves your sight.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, striding out of the room with the same unnerving calm he walked in with.
The scary one hands Alex a key. “First corridor. All the way down. It was an employee rec room or something, so it has a bathroom. Take her there.”
Alex nods and steps forward, his hand clamping around my arm.
“Let go of me!” I yell, pulling back, but his grip tightens.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he mutters harshly before he turns to the young boy. “Rookie, get me some ice and a bottle of water.”
I see now why he’s always barking out orders, but being exposed to the environment that developed that habit only escalates the panic within me. I dig my heels into the ground, but it’s useless. He’s stronger, dragging me out of the room and down a long, dimly lit corridor.
The air feels humid here, thick with the faint tang of something metallic. The walls are stained, old, and crumbling in some places, and every step I take feels like I’m being led deeper into a place I’m not meant to leave.
We stop outside a room, and Alex forces the door open. It creaks loudly, like it hasn’t been used in years. The room itself is bare and uninviting. A single metal bedframe with a thin, gray mattress shoved into one corner and a dingy bathroom opposite it. Beside the bed is a small bedside table with an oil lamp and a box of matches sitting on the top.
Alex shoves me inside, slams the door shut behind us, and then I hear a distinct click as he locks it. The sound echoes, sharp and final, sealing my fate. He uncuffs me, but even though my hands are free, I’m still trapped. There’s no way to get out because this impenetrable force of a man doesn’t move an inch from the door. His broad shoulders block any chance of escape, a living barrier of muscle and intimidation.
Before I can muster the courage to say or do anything, a knock breaks the silence. Alex opens the door just wide enough to take a bucket from someone outside. He closes it with his foot and sets the bucket down on the floor.
Without a word, he pulls a bottle of water from the bucket and hands it to me. I hesitate, glaring at him, but my parched throat overrules my defiance. I grab the bottle and twist the cap off, guzzling it down. The first drop hits my lips, and it’s like my body has been deprived of water for days. I drain half the bottle in seconds before I come up for air.
Alex crouches beside the bucket and rips the pillowcase off one of the dingy cushions. The sound of fabric tearing jolts me, and I instinctively step back. He topples a few ice cubes into the makeshift pouch and twists the end into a knot.
“You need this,” he says, holding the bundle out toward me.
I don’t move. I don’t want him anywhere near me, let alone touching me. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
Before I can respond, he pushes me onto the bed and sits down beside me. He reaches toward the bruise on my cheek, and I jerk away.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl, glowering at him.
He exhales sharply through his nose, his patience fraying. “Stop being so stubborn.”
I slap his hand away when he tries again, and my fists clench as the impulse to fight him rises in me. I want to hit him, shove him away, anything to make him back off. But the fear of how he’d retaliate if I actually tried keeps me rooted in place.
He doesn’t ask again. His hand darts out, gripping the back of my neck with firm, unyielding pressure. “Hold still,” he commands, tightening his grasp when I continue to resist.
The strength in his hand sends a wave of heat and anger through me, but there’s something else, too. A strange, unwelcome steadiness in the way he holds me. Like he’s done this before. Like he knows how to take control of a situation that’s spiraling out of reach. Considering how he’s been manhandling me all night, his touch is surprisingly gentle. And I hate that. It reminds me too much of all the times he touched me...and I wanted something more.
The cool press of the ice-filled pillowcase against my cheek makes me flinch, but he doesn’t let go. My breathing is shallow as the cold seeps into my skin, dulling the throb of the bruise.
His thumb gently strokes the swollen edges of my eye. “Does it hurt?
He asks that with the same tenderness he used when he massaged my aching palm at the gym. How is this the same man? My emotions come crashing over me like a wave, the betrayal flooding back, sharper than the ache in my cheek. Tears well up, hot and stinging, but I blink them away. I won’t break in front of him. I refuse.
I look up, meeting his eyes, searching for something, anything, beneath the mask he wears so well. “What do you think?” I whisper, trembling despite my best efforts.
I’m not sure if it’s the vulnerability he hears in my voice or the fear he sees in my eyes, but he falters. For a fleeting moment, I see it. A crack in his armor. His jaw tightens, and his hand runs down his face as if he’s trying to wipe away some invisible weight. He looks...helpless. As lost as I feel.
He finally releases me, the sudden absence of his touch making my skin prickle. I sit there, rigid and silent, unsure if I feel relief or resentment. Maybe both.
He drops his head, resting his forehead on his clasped hands. “You should’ve answered your phone. Now we’re both stuck here.”
His voice is soft and muffled. I’m not even sure I heard him right.
“What?”
I find myself wondering if that’s why he called me earlier. To warn me? But that can’t be true because he was the one who captured me and threw me into the back of a van.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me. With a huff, he stands abruptly, his shoulders stiffening as if he’s sealing the crack. The Alex who turns to face me is cold and composed once more. The tender flicker I saw is gone, crushed by the impenetrable walls he’s built.
He moves to the door without another word, then he drops down in front of it, blocking any thought I might’ve had about trying to escape.
The room feels colder, quieter, and infinitely more suffocating. My chest heaves as I try to calm my racing heart. I can’t tell if I’m more afraid of what’s happening...or of him.