Chapter 18 #3
I pushed myself upright in the backseat.
The movement tore through my injuries instantly.
A sharp, brutal stab of pain lanced through my ribs.
My breath caught—but I forced myself through it anyway.
Gripping the headrest in front of me, I twisted around, angling my body to look through the tinted rear glass.
What I saw made my stomach drop.
Three black sedans.
Low. Sleek.
Unmarked.
They closed the distance with frightening speed, engines growling low and aggressive as they surged forward like predators that had already locked onto prey.
“Call it in,” I said, my voice tight but controlled. “Now.”
The soldier’s thumb pressed harder against the comms.
But before he could even finish the transmission—
Everything changed.
The lead car surged forward.
And rammed us.
The impact hit like a hammer.
Metal screamed.
My entire body was thrown forward violently, restrained only by the seatbelt digging painfully into my chest.
The force knocked the breath out of me.
For a split second—everything blurred.
The SUV lurched.
Fishtailed.
The driver fought for control, hands tight on the wheel as the tires screeched violently against asphalt.
“Hold on!” he barked, though it sounded strained even to him.
He wrenched the steering wheel, trying to stabilize the vehicle.
The tires bit back into the road—
but we were already losing momentum.
“Did you get through?” I forced out, my voice thin, breath uneven.
No answer.
His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
His eyes darted—mirrors, road, mirrors again.
Assessing. Calculating.
Trying to survive.
Then—
A red sedan surged up on our left flank.
Too fast.
And slammed directly into the driver’s side door.
Glass shattered instantly.
A spiderweb of fractures exploded across the window before collapsing inward in a spray of shards.
The SUV lurched violently sideways.
Metal screeched as we scraped along the guardrail, sparks bursting outward in a bright, terrifying shower.
The world tilted.
“We are under attack!” the soldier shouted, but even his voice was starting to crack under pressure.
Then—the third car struck.
From behind.
Hard. Deliberate.
The final blow.
The impact shoved us forward with such force that the entire vehicle seemed to snap.
The SUV lost balance completely.
The ground dropped out from beneath us.
Time slowed.
We tipped—
then rolled.
Once.
The roof slammed against concrete.
The sound was deafening.
Metal crushing.
Glass exploding.
My body jolted violently against the restraints, every wound screaming in protest.
We rolled again.
Sideways this time.
The world spinning.
Up became down.
Side became air.
And then—
we came to a brutal stop.
Upside down.
The SUV lay crumpled in a ditch, the roof crushed inward, windows shattered, the frame groaning under the weight of its own damage.
Shards of glass rained down around me like jagged, deadly snow.
The smell hit next.
Burning rubber. Fuel. Hot metal.
A faint, dangerous scent of gasoline beginning to leak into the cabin.
For a moment—everything went silent.
White. Numb.
Disoriented.
Then—sound returned in fragments.
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.
Distant horns.
The crackle of the dying engine.
The groan of twisted metal settling.
My breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.
I was still alive.
Barely.
Pain came back next.
My head throbbed violently.
Something warm trickled down my temple—fresh blood mixing with the dried streaks already clinging to my skin.
And the seatbelt—
It dug into my chest with merciless pressure, holding me suspended upside down like a broken puppet left hanging after the performance had ended.
My vision swam slightly.
Through the fractured side mirror, I saw them.
Movement.
Outside.
Six.
Maybe eight.
Men.
They emerged from the three cars with practiced coordination, their movements sharp, disciplined, efficient.
Black tactical vests.
Balaclavas.
Automatic rifles held low.
They swept the area first—checking angles, scanning for threats.
Then they converged.
On us.
On the wrecked SUV.
On me.
My heart dropped into something cold and still.
The driver’s door was wrenched open with a groan of tortured metal.
It sounded almost like the vehicle itself was screaming.
Rough hands seized the soldier by the collar and dragged him out into the daylight.
His head snapped to the side as they pulled him free, blood already streaming from a deep gash across his forehead.
His seatbelt had saved him from being thrown clear during the crash—but it hadn’t spared him from the violence of the impact.
He groaned once.
Dazed.
Before they hauled him away without ceremony—like something that no longer mattered.
Like cargo.
His body disappeared around the side of one of the sedans.
Gone.
Just like that.
Then—
it was my turn.
The rear passenger door was torn open with a violent screech, hinges protesting as if they might snap off entirely.
Two masked men leaned in immediately.
One seized my arm.
The other grabbed my ankle.
They yanked.
Pain exploded through my entire body.
A sharp, searing shock that ripped from my joints through every nerve at once.
My body was dragged across broken glass and twisted metal, the interior of the wreck cutting into me with every movement.
Fresh blood welled from reopened wounds, staining the inside of the vehicle in dark streaks.
Gauze tore away in strips, useless against the force they used.
I cried out.
I couldn’t stop it.
The sound tore from my throat, raw and involuntary.
But they didn’t slow.
Didn’t care.
Didn’t acknowledge my pain.
They handled me like cargo.
Rough. Mechanical.
As if I were nothing more than an object to be moved from one place to another.
Sharp voices cut through the air between them.
Spanish.
“Muévela rápido. El jefe quiere esto terminado antes de que Orsini se entere.”
Move her fast. The boss wants this done before Orsini finds out.
My blood ran colder than the air around me.
This wasn’t random.
This was targeted and timed.
They dragged me across the ground toward the nearest sedan, the gravel biting into my skin as my body scraped along the surface.
The trunk popped open with a dull mechanical click.
Without ceremony—they shoved me inside.
My head slammed against the metal interior, a sharp, sickening crack that sent a spike of pain through my skull.
My knees folded tightly against my chest, already bruised joints protesting violently at the sudden compression.
Then—the lid slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Instantly.
Completely.
The world vanished.
No light. No air.
Just silence and suffocating blackness.
The engine roared to life beneath me, the vibration of it shaking through the trunk as the car lurched forward.
Tires spun briefly against gravel—then found asphalt—and we moved.
Fast.
The confined space grew hotter almost immediately.
Air trapped.
Stale. Claustrophobic.
Heat built with every passing second.
Sweat broke out across my skin, stinging every cut, every open wound.
My breathing turned shallow, uneven, my chest rising in small, careful movements as I tried not to aggravate the pain in my ribs.
I curled inward instinctively.
Protecting myself.
As much as I could.
But every bump in the road sent fresh agony through my body, jolting my injuries and making it impossible to stay still.
My thoughts spiraled.
Panic creeping in.
But I forced myself to focus.
Think.
Act.
Do something.
With trembling fingers, I reached down along my thigh, searching through the folds of my ruined skirt.
My phone.
Please—
I found it.
Still there.
Miraculously intact.
The screen cracked in a spiderweb pattern across the glass, but it powered on when I pressed the button.
Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt.
I swiped to unlock it.
Blood from my forehead dripped down, smearing across the glass.
I wiped it away quickly with the heel of my hand, leaving faint red streaks behind.
Another drop fell—this time from a cut in my palm—landing on the screen like a mark.
The display glowed faintly in the darkness of the trunk.
And there—
Vincenzo’s name stared back at me.
My breath caught.
I pressed call.
Once.
No answer.
Twice.
Still nothing.
Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
“No...” I whispered, voice trembling, breaking apart in the dark. “No, no, no...”
The battery icon blinked at the top of the screen.
4%.
Panic tightened in my chest.
“No, please...”
I hit call again.
Nothing.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe as my hands shook.
“Vincenzo...”
The word came out broken.
“I know you hate me,” I whispered into the empty darkness, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I couldn’t say out loud, “but please... just answer.”
3%.
The battery dropped again.
I switched quickly to messages, my thumbs trembling as I typed as fast as I could in the dim light.
Every second mattered.
Vincenzo,
We were attacked on the road home. Car rolled. They dragged me out. I’m in the trunk of their car—black sedan, heading somewhere. I don’t know where.
My fingers shook harder as I continued.
They were speaking Spanish.
Spanish rebels, maybe.
I know you loathe me. I know I mean nothing to you.
But I’m still your wife.
Please save me.
I hit send.
2%.
The screen dimmed slightly.
The light flickered in the confined space, barely illuminating my hands, my trembling fingers, the blood staining my skin.
For a moment—nothing happened.
Silence.
Only the hum of the engine.
Only the motion of the car.
Only the sound of my own shallow, uneven breathing.
Then—
it rang.
The screen lit up suddenly.
His name flashed across the display.
Vincenzo.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I answered immediately—before the first ring could even finish.
“Keep your phone on, Elena.”
His voice came through the speaker immediately—low, urgent.
“Stay on the line. Don’t hang up.”
Panic, wrapped in steel.
“I’m tracking you right now.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“My battery’s at two percent—”
My voice cracked as I spoke, trying to keep the connection alive, trying to hold onto him—
But before I could finish—
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The screen went black.
Gone.
Instantly.
Silence swallowed everything.
Darkness pressed in.