Chapter 18 Amanda
AMANDA
Smoke was acting strange.
He wasn’t usually like this. Smoke was anxious by nature, sure, but this felt sharper. Focused. Like he’d picked up a scent that didn’t belong.
His nails clicked too fast against the floor. His head snapped toward the door every few seconds.
My heart started to beat faster and I tried to breathe through it.
“Hey,” I murmured again, running my hand down his back. His muscles were rigid under my palm. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”
The words sounded wrong the second I said them.
He’d been circling the desk in Cap’s office for the past five minutes. Whining, pacing, ears pinned back. Not begging for treats or nosing at my leg like usual. This was different. Edgy. Tense.
“Smoke,” I said, crouching near him. “What is it, buddy?”
He just huffed and turned another tight circle, eyes darting to the door.
I stood and glanced at Ariel. She was elbow-deep in paperwork, her brows drawn tight as she flipped through a folder of intake forms. “I’m gonna grab the files from the front,” I said softly. “Be right back.”
“Two minutes,” she murmured without looking up.
I nodded and slipped out, the door clicking shut behind me.
The hallway was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your footsteps sound too loud. Like the building itself was holding its breath.
I told myself it was nothing. That the guys were out running drills. That Wrecker was probably halfway across the property, scowling at a fence line.
That thought should’ve comforted me.
It didn’t.
I should’ve noticed the way the hairs stood up on my arms. Should’ve listened to the gut-twist that screamed something was off.
Smoke bolted.
He let out one sharp bark, then took off down the hallway like his tail was on fire.
“Smoke!” I hissed. “Buddy, what are you—?”
I jogged after him.
One turn. One damn corner.
The laundry room door was cracked open. Just a sliver.
I wouldn’t have noticed the shadow if Smoke hadn’t growled.
And by then, it was too late.
A hand shot out.
Rag over my mouth.
Chemical sting.
Burning.
My lungs seized up in reflex, my body fighting before my brain caught up. I thrashed, elbows catching air, heels scraping uselessly against the floor.
Too strong.
Too fast.
The chemical burned down my throat, sharp and bitter. My vision tunneled, the edges going dark first.
Smoke barked again. Wild and furious.
Then nothing.
My scream never made it out.
The world spun sideways.
Darkness closed in.
And just before it swallowed me whole, I heard his voice in my head, gravel rough and low.
Always.
Pain came first.
A pounding in my skull, deep and sharp, like someone had driven a spike behind my eyes. My limbs were heavy. Numb. Like they weren’t mine anymore.
I tried to move. Couldn't.
My mouth was dry. My tongue felt swollen. There was a metallic taste in my throat, like blood, or maybe the chemical that knocked me out.
I forced my eyes open.
Everything was blurry.
Dim light flickered overhead. Fluorescents. A cement floor under me. Cold and unforgiving. My hands were bound behind my back. Plastic zip ties. My ankles too.
I blinked hard, trying to force the fog away.
I was in a van.
A big one. No windows, just metal walls and the low, grumbling hum of an engine. Boxes stacked against one side. A single camera in the corner, red light blinking.
Every bump in the road rattled through my bones. The metal floor vibrated beneath me, cold leaching into my skin.
I cataloged everything automatically.
Engine pitch.
Turns.
Time between stops.
Counted breaths.
It was how I stayed present. How I kept myself from spiraling.
If I stayed aware, I stayed alive.
There were two men in the front. I couldn’t see their faces, just silhouettes. One driving. The other on the phone.
"...got her," the passenger said. "Wasn't even hard. Stupid bitch walked right into it."
Rage lit up in my chest like a fuse.
I flexed my wrists, testing the ties. Too tight. Too thick. My skin burned.
“Keep her quiet until the drop,” the driver muttered. “And check her arm. She’s got a tracker.”
My stomach dropped.
The bracelet.
The one Doc had slipped on me after the ambush, hidden under the bandage on my inner arm. It wasn’t just for monitoring vitals. It was GPS.
Please, God, let it still be working.
The guy in the passenger seat climbed into the back. Taller than me, broad shoulders, black hoodie pulled up over his face. He crouched beside me and yanked my arm up, fingers digging into the bandage.
I bit down on a scream.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, tearing the bracelet free. He crushed it under his boot, grinding it into the floor.
Gone.
My last lifeline was shattered.
I felt it then. The exact moment I became untraceable.
The weight of it pressed into my chest until my ribs ached. Not panic. Not yet.
Isolation.
That was the real weapon.
He leaned closer, breath hot and sour. “You’re not as smart as they think you are, red. But you’re gonna make us a lot of money. Or maybe just a good message.”
He stood and walked back to the front. “It’s done.”
The driver grunted. “ETA fifteen minutes.”
I pressed my forehead to the floor, forcing myself to breathe.
Think. Focus.
Don’t panic.
Panic gets you killed.
I wasn’t dead yet.
That meant I still had time.
I just didn’t know how much.
The van jerked hard to the left.
I rolled with the motion, shoulder slamming into the side wall. Pain bloomed down my arm, but I didn’t make a sound. I wouldn’t give them that.
I needed every second to figure out where we were going.
But there were no windows. No street sounds. Nothing but the thrum of the engine and the occasional rattle of loose metal.
My stomach rolled.
Not from fear—okay, a little from fear—but mostly from whatever they’d used to knock me out. My mouth still tasted like chemicals. My pulse was too fast. My skin felt too tight.
I couldn’t stay like this.
I twisted again, testing the zip ties.
Still tight. Still burning.
But one of them had pressed too hard into my wrist. I could feel the blood, warm, sticky, starting to coat my fingers. Not enough to pass out. Just enough to lube the plastic.
Good.
Let it bleed.
I’d cut my own hands off before I let them win.
The driver spoke again. This time louder, voice edged in something that sounded like nerves.
“We’re here.”
The van slowed. Gravel crunched under the tires. A gate creaked open, then slammed shut behind us. A chain, maybe. The air shifted. It was less stale, more open. Like we were somewhere industrial.
The warehouse. It had to be.
The air smelled wrong. Oil. Dust. Rust. Old water.
Places like this didn’t care what happened inside them. Sound got swallowed. Time got warped.
This was where people disappeared and paperwork got lost.
The back doors slammed open, flooding the van with cold light. Gray sky. Chain-link fence in the distance. I caught a flash of corrugated steel and a loading dock. No signs. No numbers. Just anonymity.
The kind of place you disappear from.
The kind of place no one walks out of.
Two sets of boots climbed inside. The tall one from earlier and a shorter guy with a baseball bat slung over his shoulder. The tall one crouched down again and grabbed me by the arm.
“You gonna behave?” he asked.
I stared him down.
Then spat in his face.
His expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker.
He wiped his cheek and said, “You’ll regret that.”
Then he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me upright.
Pain exploded down my scalp. I gritted my teeth, refusing to scream. Refusing to flinch.
I couldn’t fight like Wrecker.
Couldn’t crush someone like Brutus or slice like Ghost or shoot like Ariel.
But I could endure.
Endurance was its own kind of weapon.
It meant waiting when everything inside you screamed to fight.
It meant saving energy.
It meant surviving long enough for opportunity to show itself.
They thought I was helpless.
They were wrong.
I could survive.
And I could wait.
Wait for the second they got cocky.
The second they turned their backs.
Because Wrecker would come.
And when he did?
There wouldn’t be enough left of these assholes to bury.
The door creaked open behind me.
Boots thudded closer, slow and deliberate. I didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. I just braced my knees on the concrete, every muscle coiled and ready.
A gloved hand grabbed my arm.
I sank my teeth into it.
Hard.
The man howled and ripped his hand back, blood blooming through the glove. “Fucking bitch—”
I scrambled to my feet, vision swimming, heart punching like a war drum. I didn’t care where I ran. I just needed out. Needed air. Needed Wrecker.
I took two stumbling steps toward the open door.
And slammed straight into the second man’s chest.
“Dumb,” he muttered.
Then he drove his fist into my stomach.
Air punched out of me. I dropped like a stone, arms instinctively curling over my ribs.
Rough hands dragged me back to the cot.
My ears rang.
I tried to scream.
Tried to fight.
But I couldn’t get my body to move.
“Stupid girl,” the first man hissed, standing over me with something in his hand.
The rag again.
I thrashed weakly, legs kicking. He grabbed my jaw and forced the cloth over my mouth.
Chemical.
Sharp.
Burning.
My lungs begged for air.
I couldn’t hold my breath.
Darkness swarmed in. Fast and unforgiving.
My last thought wasn’t fear.
It was him.
The sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around me, the promise he made.
He’d come for me.
He always did.