Chapter 21
Sabrina
Being blindfolded, kidnapped, and tossed into the back of a car was so not on my agenda today.
Bile claws up my throat as the vehicle lurches forward, tires screeching as the driver takes a sharp turn too fast.
I scream—can’t stop myself—and my body pitches sideways, shoulder slamming into the door.
Pain flares.
Fear follows.
“Quiet down and stay low!” a voice barks from the front seat.
And that’s when my blood goes cold.
Because I know that voice.
Shit.
No, no, no.
Adrenaline snaps through me, burning away the fog. I wrench my wrists, shocked at how sloppy the knots are, and the cheap rope gives way faster than it should.
Rage fuels me as I rip the hood off my head, gulping in air that smells like gasoline and panic and bad decisions.
And there he is.
“Marco!” I scream. “What the actual hell are you doing?”
I smack him upside the back of the head before I can stop myself.
Then I do it again for good measure, yanking at the rope around my ankles.
“Ow! Jesus, Brina—stop hitting me!”
“Oh, screw you!” I shout. “Pull over. Now.”
“I can’t,” he snaps, swerving again. “I don’t have time to explain—”
“Well, you’d better make time,” I fire back, hands shaking as I free my feet. “Because my bodyguard—”
“The guy you’ve been screwing, you mean?”
That lands like a slap.
My throat goes dry—not because he guessed right, but because of the look on his face.
Wild. Defensive. Cornered.
It’s the same look he used to get when we were kids and he’d broken something important and didn’t know how to fix it.
For one awful second, I feel twelve years old again.
Then I remember the last few years of silence.
Mom and Dad’s funeral.
The way he only showed up to argue about money.
I sit up straighter, fury anchoring me.
“Fuck you, Marco,” I say, cold as ice. “You don’t get to judge me. Not now. Not ever.”
His jaw tightens.
“Now tell me,” I demand, voice shaking but strong, “what is going on—and why you thought kidnapping your only sister was a good idea.”
He exhales hard, running a hand through his hair like he’s unraveling.
“Fine,” he says, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “I’m in deep trouble, Brina.”
I flinch at the nickname.
I’ve always hated it.
But what scares me isn’t the name.
It’s the way his hands tremble on the wheel.
Not nerves. Not impatience.
Fear.
The same cold, bone-deep fear that seeps into my chest and settles there, heavy, and wrong.
The kind that doesn’t come from guilt alone—it comes from knowing you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.
And the horrible, sinking certainty curls tighter in my gut.
Whatever mess Marco dragged himself into?
He’s dragged me into it too.
Somewhere—God, please—I pray that Theo knows something is wrong.
That he’s already moving.
That he’s already hunting.
Because if he doesn’t? I don’t know how this ends.
“Start at the beginning, Marco,” I say carefully, slipping into my teacher voice.
Calm. Steady.
The one I use when a child is scared, overwhelmed, or about to melt down.
Because right now, my brother is all of those things.
And because panicking won’t help either of us.
In the teaching world, patience is a virtue. And dealing with Marco has always felt like dealing with a child who never learned consequences.
So I’ll use every tool in my teacher toolbox to wade through this cesspool of fear and danger he’s dumped me into.
He exhales hard, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.
“I was in Europe,” he starts, jaw tight, “doing IT work for this data-mining group. Contract stuff. Off-books, but legit enough—”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur flatly.
“And I, er, accidentally may have taken something.”
I laugh. It comes out sharp and humorless, scraping my throat.
“You mean you stole something,” I correct, my heart cracking even as anger flares, “and now the guys you took it from want it back.”
He flinches.
“It’s not that easy, okay? I needed money and—”
“Oh, it’s always about what you need,” I snap, the calm slipping despite my best efforts. “It’s never about who you hurt along the way. You never thought about me—never once—”
“Sabrina—”
“No,” I cut in, voice shaking now. “Don’t. Don’t try to soften this. Mom and Dad are gone, Marco. You’re all the family I have left, and you disappear for months at a time and then show up like this?”
My chest tightens.
Old wounds ache.
Fresh fear burns.
“Jesus, Marco,” I whisper.
Then my eyes dart to the road ahead, to the skyline looming closer through the windshield.
“Wait—are you taking me into the city?”
His grip tightens on the wheel.
“Yes.”
My stomach drops.
“Why?” I demand. “Why Manhattan? Why now?”
“Because I don’t have a choice,” he says hoarsely. “They’re already here, Brina. The people I took from? They’re closing in. And they already think—” He swallows hard.
“What do they think?”
“They already think I gave you the key.”
I go still.
“The key?” I repeat slowly. “What key?”
“The access code. The thing they want back. The thing that could burn them to the ground.” His voice breaks. “I didn’t give it to you. I swear I didn’t. But they don’t believe me.”
Cold floods my veins.
“And you thought,” I say quietly, dangerously calm, “that the solution was to kidnap me out of my school in front of my students?”
“They already found you, Brina. Saw your picture and well, the guy in charge? He liked the look of you.”
“So, you what? Said he can have me? Sold me to pay your debts?”
My voice cracks.
“No! It’s not that bad. There’s someone else hunting for the key too. The guys I sold it to, and they’re much fucking worse, Brina. They’ll kill you. I’m trying to protect you!” he shouts.
I laugh again, bitter and broken.
“You don’t protect someone by turning them into bait,” I say. “And you definitely don’t protect me from men like that by taking me toward them.”
His silence is answer enough.
My heart hammers as I look out at the city rushing closer, at the nightmare tightening around us.
Theo is going to lose his mind.
And if he doesn’t get to us soon?
I’m terrified of what Marco’s enemies will do.
But I’m even more terrified of what Theo will do to my brother when he finds us.
Because I know one thing with absolute certainty now.
I don’t know who Marco is anymore.
All I know is this is a war.
And somehow, I’m standing right in the middle of it.