Chapter 4
Selene
Coming to was like waking up from a nap that left you dehydrated, disoriented, and drenched in sweat. My mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, my tongue thick and dry, and a dull, pounding ache radiated behind my eyes.
I blinked against the gritty burn in my lids, my vision swimming as I tried to take in my surroundings. The stench hit me first. Mold, piss, and something metallic, like old blood. I gagged, swallowing down the bile clawing up my throat.
The room was filthy. Wallpaper curled and yellowed with age, hanging in strips from the walls.
A rusted bedframe stood against one side of the room, holding a lumpy, stained mattress that looked like it had seen its fair share of nightmares.
The carpet beneath me was stiff with grime, dark patches spread across it like ghosts of past horrors.
I forced myself to focus. Assess.
Hands bound front, not back. Rookie mistake. That meant they weren’t professionals. Or they were cocky and didn’t believe they let a monster right through the front door. Either way, it was a weakness I would exploit.
I shifted, testing my body. Still fully dressed. My forearm sheaths were still in place—good.
A quick press of my ribs confirmed my personal phone was still tucked into my corset.
Boots? Loose. My small gun and knife—gone. My jacket? Work phone missing.
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself. Alright, Selene. Two daggers. One phone. Enough. Lily could track me when I got out of here and called her.
My brain was still sluggish, the remnants of whatever drug they’d used dragging me down. I forced myself to think through the fog, my mind circling back to one thing.
Sugarplum.
That man—the Russian—had called me by my father’s nickname.
What kind of moron hands over personal information to be used in a kidnapping?
Someone who thinks they’ll get away with it.
I almost laughed. Almost. But I had a feeling it’d feel like coughing up sandpaper.
I shifted, repositioning myself so I could reach my dagger. The ejector would work.
But there was a risk—the angle wasn’t great, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d drive the blade straight through my own damn hand.
I flexed my fingers, rolling my shoulders back. A little blood was better than waiting around in this hellhole.
I took a deep breath.
Then I made my move.
The blade shot out of my forearm sheath with a sharp click, biting into the rope binding my wrists.
Too much force. The tip sliced into the side of my hand, but I gritted my teeth, ignoring the sting.
Blood smeared against my palm as I sawed the rope holding my wrists against the blade, the tension on the rope loosening just enough for me to yank free.
Then a scream.
Female. Pained. Desperate.
I wasn’t alone.
I wiped my bleeding hand against my pants and reached for my forearms, pressing the quick-release trigger on my other sheath.
My second dagger slid free, holding one in each hand their cold steel a comforting weight. No gun, no backup. Just me, two blades, and the element of surprise.
I crouched, pressing my ear against the rotting wooden door. Muffled voices as a door closes. At least three. Heavy-footed. Armed, most likely. They won’t be expecting me to be loose yet.
I flipped the blades into a reverse grip, took a steadying breath, then stepped back. One chance. I drove my heel hard into the weak spot near the handle. The wood splintered with a crack, the door swinging open as I lunged forward.
The first man barely had time to register what was happening before I sliced my right dagger clean across his throat. A wet gurgle filled the air as his body slumped.
Two more.
The second man reacted fast, raising his gun. I grabbed the dying man’s weight and shoved him into the shooter, throwing off his aim. The gun fired, the sound deafening in the tight space.
I felt pure fire.
The searing pain tearing through my shoulder, the bullet punching clean through. My vision wavered, but I forced myself to stay upright, swallowing the scream trying to claw its way out. Not now.
I twisted, still holding my daggers, and drove one deep into the shooter’s gut. His breath hitched, his body stiffening in shock.
I yanked the blade up tearing through his insides before spinning behind him and slicing my second dagger across his throat.
One left.
The last man was already moving, coming at me with brutal speed.
He knocked one of my daggers from my hand with a sharp strike to my wrist, the blade clattering against the floor.
His fist connected with my ribs solid. Pain burst through my side, but I rolled with the hit, absorbing just enough to keep my momentum.
He grabbed my jacket, using his weight to slam me against the wall.Hard.
My skull rattled, black spots dancing in my vision.
Fuck.
He grinned, knowing he’d stunned me, and reared back for another hit. Big mistake.
I dropped low, ignoring the fire in my ribs and shoulder, and sliced my dagger across his thigh deep.
He bellowed in pain, staggering.
That was all I needed. I shot up, driving my elbow into his nose, feeling the crunch of cartilage beneath my weight. Blood spurted as he stumbled back.
I followed, gripping his head and twisting—fast, brutal.
His body hit the floor.
Silence.
Father taught me how to snap someone’s neck fast and efficiently.
‘You won’t always have a weapon, so you have to become one’ was his mantra during my training.
My breath came in sharp pants, pain pulsing through my ribs, shoulder, and arm. That was too close.
But I wasn’t done.
The scream of the girl I couldn’t leave behind was still ringing in my foggy mind.
I stepped over the bodies, grabbing the gun from the man whose wrist I’d broken. A Glock. Good. I checked the mag—half full. It would have to do.
I moved down the hall, following the faint, shuddering cries. A locked door.
I didn’t hesitate—I kicked it in.
Inside was a girl close to my age.
She was small for her age of what I assumed was twenty. Bruised, dirty, terrified, shaking.
Her wide eyes locked onto me, filled with fear.
I lowered my daggers. “Hey,” I said, my voice rough but steady. “I’m going to get us out of here.”
She whimpered but didn’t move.
I stepped closer, slow, careful. “What’s your name?”
Her lips trembled. “K-Katherine.”
“Katherine, I need you to listen to me, okay?” I held her gaze. “We don’t have much time. More men will be coming. But we have to move now if we want to get out.”
She swallowed hard, then—a nod.
Smart girl.
I took one of my daggers and cut the zip ties around her wrists, her skin raw and red beneath them.
The moment she was free, she threw herself into my arms.
Shit. I wasn’t good at this part. But I allowed her to hug me, just for a second.
Then I pulled back, pressing the gun into her trembling hands. “Stay behind me. And if anyone but me comes near you—pull the trigger.”
Her fingers curled around the grip, shaky but firm.
I gave her one last nod.
I turned back toward the hallway, daggers raised and ready.
We were getting out of this hellhole.
And anyone who tried to stop us?
They were fucking dead.