Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CONSTANCE
My mind is running a million miles an hour.
I have so many things on my plate and I only wish I had a clone.
How amazing would that be! They could handle my job while I had all the other hours to spend with Chance and have some much-needed me time.
Something I haven’t been able to do since Jordan passed away.
I had time blocked today for some personal errands.
I needed to pick up a couple of meds for Chance, sign some paperwork at his doctor’s office and the school.
So while I was out, I decided to add one for Nocturne Enterprise.
I could’ve given it to someone else to do, but I figured I could hand-deliver the documents.
Expedite their return to Morgan. Something I knew would make him happy.
So I added them to my to-do list. Now I am running late getting back to the office.
As I step up to my car in the parking garage, I pull my phone from my pocket to call Morgan and let him know I was on my way back to the office. I’m so distracted I forget my father’s number one rule that he taught me when I was younger. Always pay attention to your surroundings.
I can hear the movement behind me before my mind has a chance to process it.
The hairs on the back of my neck stick up as a hand slips around my waist and another crashes over my mouth.
I try to fight, my phone and keys in my hand dropping to the ground, but the person holding me is stronger than I am.
I try to scream, but the sound is muffled by the large hand over my mouth.
“Stop fighting, bitch. This will be easier if you don’t.” Then he laughs. “But continue fighting if you want. It makes me hard.”
I want to vomit.
The world tilts violently as I’m pulled away from my car.
My shoes scrape against the concrete as he drags me toward an old black cargo van at the far end of the parking garage in the shadows.
Why is no one trying to help me? The side door hangs open, and I’m handed off to another man waiting inside.
I can’t tell what he looks like; his face is covered by a black ski mask.
Once the other guy gets in the van, the door is slammed shut.
I do the only thing I know to do. I take advantage of the moment and start kicking wildly.
“Get her legs and tie them up!” the man holding me growls.
“I’m trying, man. You be on this end and get kicked with her fucking heels.”
I thrust my feet toward him one more time as I try to break free of the other man’s hold.
My feet are caught mid-air, gripped tightly as he furiously ties them up with rope.
He moves like someone who has done this before.
Pain courses through me, stealing my strength.
Once he’s done, my hands are tied next, before I’m gagged and a blindfold slides over my eyes.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I bare my teeth on reflex. I don’t think—I twist, thrash, and fight like an animal; feral and cornered. Every survival instinct in me detonates at once.
His hand shifts, and two fingers press into the soft space beneath my jaw. Pain explodes down my spine, white and electric.
“Hook her up,” a deep voice says.
I’m dragged backward and my spine slams into the van wall hard enough to send a searing pain through me. Before I can twist away, my arms are wrenched up. Something sharp bites into my wrists.
My heart races and I can feel a panic attack coming on.
I hear the van start and begin to move.
Morgan will notice I’m gone, right? I'm pretty sure he’ll try to find me. At least I hope he will.
But Chance?
Chance will be waiting for me. And when I don’t show up, he’ll think I abandoned him. He already lost one parent. He can’t lose another. My sweet boy won’t know how to process what’s happening.
The thought of my baby crying, wondering where I am, punches the air from my lungs.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. I roll my shoulders despite the burn, flex my hands, stretch against the restraints until they cut into my skin.
I can’t disappear, I can’t break, I have to fight.
Chance needs me.
Whatever they want, I’ll give it. Whatever they need to hear, I’ll tell them. I will bend, lie, endure—anything that keeps me breathing long enough to get back to my son.
The hair on my arms prickles with fright. I feel someone near me. His hot breath hits my skin before something rough and chemical presses over my nose and gagged mouth.
I try to turn my head, hold my breath, anything to get away from it. But I can’t. The world blurs at the edges, as everything seems to fade away.
The last thing I see before darkness takes over is Chance’s face.
My eyes flutter open, my throat burning like I swallowed smoke, and my head is splitting in pain. My vision is slow to focus, as every nerve in my body is screaming at me to fight. They remove the blindfold.
I try to move, but I can’t. I’m sitting up, my head so heavy I can barely hold it up. My wrists are bound to a chair, and my ankles are too.
The room smells wrong—dust and old wood and something stale, like the air hasn’t been disturbed in years. It clings to the back of my throat when I inhale. My vision swims at first, but as my eyes adjust to the dimness, dread begins to settle low in my stomach, slow and tightening.
I’m in an attic.
The ceiling slopes sharply on either side. Boxes are stacked along the walls in uneven towers, an old dresser sits crooked in the far corner, one drawer half-open, and a cracked mirror leans against the wall beside it.
There are no windows or a door, that I can see.
Just stale air, dust motes drifting lazily through the room along with the suffocating realization that I am alone in here.
Where the hell am I? Why was I taken? This doesn’t feel like a rushed kidnapping but one that was planned.
My heart hammers against my ribs as my fear claws at me for control.
I need to calm down, to think, to figure out a way to escape and get back to my baby.
I try to move my arms and legs, working against the ropes to see how much leeway I have.
How tight they’re, if there's a chance they left some slack in the knot.
But there’s nothing.
My eyes move slowly, tracing every shadow, every seam in the walls, every place someone could be hiding. I listen past the rush of my own breathing, straining for anything—a footstep, a shift of weight, the faintest scrape of movement.
These men fucked up. They took the wrong woman…the wrong mother.
They don’t know what they’re in for or how hard I'm going to fight to get back to my son