Chapter 8 The Survivor #2
“Come home with me,” he commanded, voice dropping to a deadly quiet. “Now.”
He moved again, reaching for her arm—stubborn, furious, desperate. “Have you had enough fun roaming around? Where have you even been staying? Do you even have a place to live?” His voice rose. “Enough of this fucking crap. We’re going home tonight!”
But then something flickered in him.
That night replayed in his head—the video of her lying injured in the snow, blood spreading across the white around her—burned itself into his memory.
His eyes darted instinctively to her forehead.
The change in his face was instant—his jaw tightened, the muscles around his eyes pulled taut, and a storm gathered behind his gaze.
‘There’s no wound…’
Relief surged through his chest so fiercely it nearly stole his breath. For the first time in months, his lungs actually felt like they could expand. But the relief lasted only a heartbeat before panic crept back in.
‘But it must have hurt like hell. All that blood… What if she doesn’t even know how bad it was? Did she even go to a damn hospital to get checked?’
The questions clawed at him, the worry chewing through him like it had every night since she vanished.
Before he could reach for her again, Mia jerked back—sharp, fast, rejecting his touch completely.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she said flatly, “you seem to have forgotten something. I am not Mrs. Sinclair anymore. We are already divorced. Your home is not my home.”
James snapped like a live wire.
“We are not fucking divorced!” he roared, the sound echoing through the parking lot like thunder. “There is no divorce in my family.” He stepped toward her, eyes blazing. “The only time you stop being my wife is when you become a widow.”
Mia almost laughed in disbelief.
“You don’t need to worry about that, James,” she said. “Ask anyone. They already call me a widow. You should know that by now.”
James’s vision blurred for a moment, rage hitting him so hard it tightened every muscle in his body. His hands curled into fists at his sides as a memory pushed its way to the front of his mind, sharp enough to make his chest ache.
‘That woman—no wonder everyone at our parties calls her a married widow. Married to a name, not a man. Even though her husband is alive, there’s no one to care for her. A dead marriage… a widow married to a ghost of a husband.’
When James’s eyes lifted to Mia again, the shock settled in his chest.
She stood there so steady, so cold, sharp-tongued, unafraid—nothing like the woman he remembered. This version of her was new, unfamiliar… and it scared him. It thrilled him. And it infuriated him so deeply that his voice shook when he finally forced out the words.
“What is the meaning of all this?” he demanded, barely holding himself together. “Mia—what the hell is going on?”
Gavin stood beside James, hands tucked casually into his pockets, watching the chaos unfold with one eyebrow rising higher and higher. He looked maddeningly relaxed—cool, amused, almost entertained.
‘This bastard really lied to me,’ he thought, eyes drifting over Mia with undisguised shock. ‘His wife is this beautiful? This fiery? This is the “lifeless, boring woman” everyone talked about? Not even close.’
A slow, appreciative smirk tugged at his lips.
He stepped forward with the easy confidence of a man who’d never been rejected a day in his life. His shoulders were loose, his smile charming, his eyes sparkling with interest. He extended his hand to Mia.
“Hi, Mia,” he drawled, voice warm, flirtation dripping off every syllable. “James is clearly not good enough for you. How about you and I—”
He didn’t get another word out.
James slapped Gavin’s hand away with such force the crack echoed across the quiet parking area.
James rounded on him, jaw tight enough to break, eyes burning with a possessive fire that bordered on feral.
“Back. The fuck. Off,” he growled. “Leave. I need to talk to my wife.”
Gavin lifted both hands in surrender, though irritation flashed across his features. “Fine, fine. I’m going,” he muttered. But he still shot Mia one last amused, lingering glance before turning and strolling off like he owned the world.
The second Gavin disappeared around the corner, James spun back to Mia. The jealousy in his eyes was vicious—boiling, choking, barely contained.
“Mia,” he snapped, reaching for her hand again, “stop embarrassing me. Come home with me. We’ll talk there.”
Mia jerked her hand violently out of his grip, stepping back, spine straight, shoulders rigid. “I told you, I have no interest in—”
But she never finished.
It happened fast. Too fast.
Four men emerged from the shadows at once. The parking lot was nearly empty. Just Mia. James. No witnesses.
“James—” Mia started, panic spiking in her voice.
But a cloth slammed over her mouth.
A sharp, chemical sweetness hit her nose. Everything blurred instantly.
James lunged, shoving one man off, but another clamped a cloth over his face. He fought—violent, furious—but his limbs quickly weakened, his vision swimming.
Within seconds, both Mia and James collapsed. Limp, unconscious.
The kidnappers grabbed them by the arms, dragging their bodies toward a black van waiting in the shadows.
And within moments, the parking lot fell silent again. Empty. As if they had never been there.
***
Mia was the first to wake.
Her eyelids fluttered, a dull throb pounding behind them. The moment she opened her eyes, a wave of dizziness washed over her, forcing her to bite down on her lip to stay present.
The room came into focus—dim, dirty, smelling of cheap alcohol, smoke, and dust. Faded neon lights flickered above, giving everything a sickly glow. A storage-like club room. Metal walls. A shut, bolted door. No windows.
Her hands and legs were tied tightly, ropes scraping her wrists raw.
She inhaled slowly, forcing her heartbeat to steady.
Beside her, James was slumped against the wall, head hanging forward, his shirt wrinkled, dirt smeared across his cheek. His wrists were tied just as tightly, his breathing shallow but steady.
Before she could call his name, he groaned—low, pained.
Mia stiffened instinctively.
And then she noticed them.
A man stood directly in front of them, dressed in all black—hood up, face half-covered. A gun hung loosely from his hand, casual, familiar, like he was born holding it. Several other men positioned themselves around the room—shoulders broad, eyes cold, alert and silent.
Predators.
James blinked awake a few seconds later, confusion fogging his eyes before everything sharpened at once.
His gaze jerked to Mia. Then to the gun pointed in their direction. Then back to the men surrounding them.
His entire body went rigid.
Before he could speak, Mia sucked in a shaky breath and said through clenched teeth, “I don’t have any money. If you want to kidnap someone, then kidnap James. Why drag me into this? I’m literally bankrupt.”
James’s head snapped toward her, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Mia—?”
She ignored him.
The leader stepped forward, gun lifting until it pressed right against James’s forehead. The metal clicked softly, chilling the air.
“It is your fault,” the man said, voice low and deadly, “for messing with the wrong people.”
James didn’t flinch. But his jaw tightened, his body subtly shifting, placing himself marginally closer to Mia as if by instinct.
“Who hired you?” James asked, voice steady, though his eyes blazed with restrained fury. “I’ll pay you double. Just let us go.”
The man let out a short, mocking laugh. “I don’t want your money. I want more than that.”
He snapped his fingers.
One of the men dragged a heavy suitcase forward, dropping it onto a dusty table. A loud thunk filled the room. The zipper ripped open, revealing stacks, towering stacks, of cash inside.
The leader looked at Mia this time.
“You have two options,” he said, voice cold enough to freeze bone. “First, you can die together.”
He tapped the briefcase.
“Second, you separate from this man, take the money and leave. What do you choose?”
Silence fell. Every pair of eyes in the room shifted to Mia.
Mia looked from the gun… to the suitcase… then back at the man.
“If I separate from James,” she asked slowly, “then what happens?”
“If you choose the second option,” the leader said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “you walk out with the money.”
He pointed the gun harder into James’s forehead. “But he dies.”
James stared at her with an intense, burning gaze that could’ve set the whole room on fire.
Mia didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she muttered under her breath, low enough that it sounded like she was talking to herself. “I know you won’t actually let either of us go… I’ve watched too many movies to fall for that.”
A beat.
“But still… I’ll give it a shot.”
Then she lifted her chin, spine straightening, and looked directly at the kidnapper.
“Alright then,” she said coolly. “Untie me. I want to leave.”
The man actually blinked, startled. “You’re choosing the second option?”
“Of course,” Mia replied instantly, without a flicker of hesitation. “Keep him. I don’t want him anyway. I just want the bag of money.”
James’s entire face twisted. Shock. Betrayal. Fury.
His body jerked as if her words were physical blows. His eyes widened with disbelief—like she had just stabbed him right through the ribs.
But Mia still didn’t look at him.
She simply raised her tied wrists toward the kidnappers. “Hurry up. My hands are hurting.”
The leader snorted, entertained. “Great choice.” He flicked his fingers. “Untie her.”
One of the men knelt beside her and loosened the ropes. The moment her hands were free, Mia rubbed her wrists, flexing her fingers to get the blood flowing. Then she slowly stood, steadying herself against the wall for a moment.
James’s gaze followed every movement, trembling with barely contained rage. His chest rose and fell in harsh, uneven breaths. He looked up at her from the floor like she had just shattered every last piece of him.
Mia finally glanced down at him.
The fury in his eyes was so violent that she instinctively leaned back with a startled jerk.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “My life is very valuable to me. Don’t worry—if you die, I’ll make sure you get a proper funeral. Even if your family doesn’t bother.”
James snapped.
“MIA SINCLAIR!” he roared, his voice cracking with fury and something wounded, something deeper. “I am not dead yet, and you’re already planning my funeral?!”
The kidnapper burst out laughing—loud, wild, almost thrilled—as if Mia’s choice entertained him more than anything else.
“You,” he pointed at her with admiration, “have a brilliant mind for survival. Smart woman. Much smarter than your husband.”
Mia gave him an awkward, polite smile. “I mean… I have to survive. If someone gives me a choice, I’m not going to die voluntarily, right?”
She lifted her hand slightly, pointing at the suitcase on the table. “So… can I get my money now?”
“Of course,” the kidnapper said with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “It’s all yours.”
Mia took a slow step forward, conscious of every eye tracking her movements. The kidnapper turned back toward James, sneering down at him like a wolf toying with a trapped animal.
“Learn something, James Sinclair,” he taunted. “Your wife knows how to stay alive. Look at her. Calm. Smart. Practical. You businessmen are so stupid—you think brains come from your suits.”
He crouched low, his face inches from James's.
“Tell me, Sinclair… if you were given the same choice, would you have chosen survival or stupidity?”
James’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding. He didn’t answer—but his glare was murderous.
The kidnapper threw his head back and barked out a laugh.
That laugh carried him straight into Mia’s trap.
She moved like lightning.
The moment his guard dropped, she grabbed the suitcase—both hands gripping the handle—and swung it with all her strength.
The metal edge smashed into the back of his skull.
He lurched forward with a furious grunt.
Then the room erupted.
The gun slipped from his hand, clattering across the floor.
Mia dove—knees scraping concrete—fingers stretching toward the gun’s handle—
—but three men jumped at her instantly.
One twisted her arm until she gasped. Another kicked the gun far across the room. The third grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked hard, dragging her backward.
Her cry broke out—
And then a slap. A brutal, bone-rattling slap.
Her head snapped to the side, and she crashed onto the floor, cheek burning, vision blurring.