CHAPTER THREE
Avery
A
crushing weight presses down on my chest, and a sharp throb pulses at the base of my skull as consciousness claws its way back to me. My lashes flutter against the dim light, my vision swimming in and out of focus as I try to make sense of where the hell I am. The pounding in my head rivals the dull ache spreading through my limbs, making every small movement feel like I’m wading through wet cement.
A low moan vibrates in my throat as I bring trembling hands to my temples, rubbing in slow, circular motions to fight off the dizziness. My mouth is dry, my tongue heavy, as if I’ve been drugged—because, let’s be honest, I probably have.
The second my sight sharpens enough to make sense of my surroundings, dread slams into me like a freight train.
I’m in deep shit.
The mattress beneath me is lumpy, the springs digging uncomfortably into my back. Dust swirls lazily through the stale air, illuminated by the single exposed lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. The walls are bare, tinged yellow with years of water damage streaking like rust down their surface. There’s no window. No decorations. Just a battered desk and chair shoved against the far wall, and a filthy toilet in the corner.
But the most damning thing of all—the thick, discolored chain shackled to my ankle.
Horror rips through me like an electric current as I sit up too fast, the room spinning violently in protest. My stomach lurches, bile creeping up my throat, but I push past it, yanking at the heavy metal band locked around my leg. The clinking sound of the chain against the floor sends a chill skittering down my spine.
I’m trapped.
I twist my foot, trying to slip it through the metal ring, but it’s no use. The damn thing is too tight to slide over my heel. The length of the chain allows me about five feet of movement—just enough to reach the desk and toilet, but nowhere near the door.
The only exit.
A loud clack echoes from above—footsteps, deliberate and slow, like a goddamn fashion statement. The sharp staccato of heels against the floor makes my pulse stutter.
She wore heels to my kidnapping?
I hold my breath, every muscle in my body wound tight as I track the approaching footsteps. Each deliberate step echoes against the walls, amplifying the suffocating stillness of my prison. My pulse thrums in my ears, drowning out everything but the ominous rhythm of movement creeping closer.
Then—silence.
The footsteps stop just beyond the door, lingering as if savoring the moment. My lungs burn, but I refuse to exhale, waiting, bracing for what comes next. The faint jangle of keys follows, the metallic chime sending a fresh wave of dread down my spine. The weight of anticipation presses down, my heart hammering against my ribs as the lock clicks open.
A pause.
Then, with a slow, agonizing groan, the rusted hinges creak, peeling open the door like the entrance to a nightmare. The air shifts, a draft sweeping into the suffocating space, but it does nothing to chase away the thick, oppressive fear clawing at my insides.
Then she steps inside.
Sarah.
Her dark eyes gleam with twisted amusement as she balances a tray in her hands, her expression eerily casual, like we’re meeting up for brunch instead of… whatever the hell this is.
“Hi!” she chirps, too damn cheerful for someone who drugged and kidnapped me. “You’re finally awake! I was hoping you wouldn’t die. You were out for a few days—guess I might’ve overdone it.” She giggles, the sound high-pitched and grating. “I brought you a few things.”
She sets the tray down on the desk, neatly arranging the toilet paper, a change of clothes, and a sad-looking sandwich, like she’s expecting me to thank her.
Not. A. Fucking. Chance.
My throat burns with unfiltered rage as I force myself to my feet, wobbling slightly as the dizziness threatens to knock me back down. “Why are you doing this?” I demand, my voice hoarse but laced with venom.
Her expression morphs in an instant. One second, she’s all fake smiles and perky cheer; the next, her face twists into something ugly, her lips curling back as she screams, “SIT DOWN!”
The force of her voice ricochets through the room, rattling my already fragile state. My body reacts before my brain can catch up, my legs giving out as I drop back onto the bed.
Shit.
The room tilts violently, and I press my palms to the mattress, grounding myself against the overwhelming nausea.
Sarah straightens, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress as if she didn’t just lose her goddamn mind. She starts humming, circling the small space like she’s inspecting her handiwork. Then she stops beside me, her dark eyes narrowing, filled with something far worse than hatred—obsession.
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” she sneers, her voice dropping into something dangerously low. “You know why. Jaxton is mine. They’re all mine.” Her nostrils flare as she jabs a finger toward me. “We were supposed to get married.”
My blood turns to ice.
Married ?
They never mentioned being engaged. But Sarah isn’t just delusional—she’s completely unhinged.
She inhales deeply through her nose, eyes slipping shut like she’s savoring the fantasy playing in her mind. Then, just as quickly, she snaps them open again, her eerie smile returning.
“So, now I’m going to keep you.” She says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Without you around, they’ll come back to me.”
A manic giggle spills from her lips, her hands clasping together in giddy excitement. “You should’ve seen Jaxton’s poor face—the agony in his eyes.” She sighs dreamily. “And guess who’s going to be there to pick up the pieces?”
Red-hot fury courses through my veins, cutting through the fear like a blade.
“You’ll never get away with this,” I growl, pushing to my feet despite the wobble. “They’ll never fall for your bullshit! They’ll never love you, never!”
The smirk never leaves her face as she watches me lunge forward, my chain snapping tight and halting my movement just inches from her. My foot dangles uselessly behind me, my arms stretched forward, fingers itching to claw at her smug, twisted expression.
She barely flinches.
I grit my teeth, shaking with rage as I hiss, “You better pray I never get my hands on you.”
Her expression darkens. “Now, now,” she tuts, slipping a hand into her pocket. “If you can’t behave, I’ll have to take drastic measures.”
She pulls out a syringe, the liquid inside catching the dim light.
I freeze, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.
“Be a good girl,” she coos, “or I’ll make you one.”
Fuck. That.
I thrash, trying again to lunge, but I’m too slow, too weak. She steps forward, feints to the left, and then—
Pain.
A sharp, blinding explosion of agony cracks across my skull.
My body crumples instantly, my vision flashing white as I hit the floor hard. A metallic taste floods my mouth, and a warm trickle runs down the side of my face. My fingers brush my temple, coming away slick with blood.
A ragged breath leaves me, my body curling inward instinctively.
A shadow looms above me.
Sarah crouches down, clicking her tongue as she twirls the black metal rod in her fingers—the weapon she used to drop me.
“I warned you,” she muses, amusement lacing her tone. “Now look what you made me do.”
I try to lift my arm, to push up, to fight, but my limbs won’t cooperate. My body is sluggish, weighted, sinking deeper into the cold, hard floor.
A sudden, sharp prick in my arm steals the last of my strength.
I gasp weakly, my head lolling to the side as warmth spreads through my veins, replacing the pain with something thick and heavy. My eyelids droop, my breaths slowing.
Sarah leans in close, her breath tickling my ear as she whispers, “Night-night.”
~~~~~
My eyes snap open, awareness slamming into me like a freight train. No sluggish, hazy awakening this time—just a jolt of sharp clarity, adrenaline spiking through the haze.
The room is suffocatingly dark. Not the kind of darkness that allows your eyes to adjust, but an all-consuming black void, thick and impenetrable. There are no windows, no slivers of moonlight sneaking through cracks, nothing to help me get my bearings. My breathing stutters, chest tightens with the overwhelming absence of sight.
The pounding in my skull throbs in sync with my erratic heartbeat, sending dull waves of pain rippling through my head. A bandage wraps around my forehead, the fabric coarse and foreign against my skin. My fingers twitch as I reach up to probe the mound of swollen flesh beneath it, wincing at the soreness.
I bite down on my lower lip, a quiet moan escaping despite my best efforts to stay silent. I have no way of knowing how much time has passed. Sarah claimed I’d been out for days, but how many? Who knows what’s happening outside this hellhole while I rot in the dark.
With a deep breath, I yank hard on the chain at my ankle, the sharp clink echoing through the stillness. There’s no give, no miraculous escape. I sag against the cold wall, momentarily letting the weight of my situation settle over me like a heavy, unwelcome blanket.
I can’t stay here. I won’t stay here.
A fresh wave of panic crashes into me as my mind drifts to the people I left behind. They must be freaking out.
The guys…
My heart clenches at the thought of them—Liam, Jaxton, Kamden, Lennox. Their worry must be unbearable. They’ve spent years in the public eye, dealing with crazed fans and dangerous stalkers, but this? This is personal. This isn’t some overzealous fan crossing a boundary—this is calculated, malicious, and it’s aimed directly at me to get to them.
I imagine them tearing through the town, searching every alley, kicking down doors, demanding answers from anyone who might have seen something. Liam would be the most volatile, barely containing his rage as he tries to think logically but fails spectacularly. Jaxton would be the one keeping him in check, his mind constantly racing through possibilities, hunting for any clue that might lead them to me. Kamden would be quiet, controlled fury simmering beneath his skin, organizing a plan to methodically track me down.
And Lennox…
God, Lennox. His easygoing demeanor would be gone, replaced by an edge so sharp it could cut steel. He’s been through something like this before. He knows what it’s like to be trapped, at the mercy of a psychotic woman with delusions of love and ownership. The fact that it’s happening again—to someone he loves—must be destroying him.
A fresh stab of guilt twists in my stomach as my mind shifts to my dad.
He must be beside himself.
The last time I saw him, he was grilling the guys, trying to figure out if they were worthy of me. Now, he’s probably on a warpath, tearing through town like a one-man army, demanding answers. He doesn’t understand our relationship completely, but he does know one thing—those men love me. And if I’m in danger, they’ll do everything in their power to bring me home.
But knowing my dad, he won’t just sit back and wait for them to figure it out. No. He’s in the trenches, making calls, digging up every piece of information he can get his hands on. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already confronting the police, demanding why the hell they haven’t found me yet.
The thought of him suffering like this guts me.
And then—there’s Roman.
I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing my best friend pacing back and forth in the bakery, running a nervous hand through his hair, his expression caught somewhere between worry and full-blown panic.
He probably thinks I ghosted him, at first. But after missing a shift at the shop? After not answering my phone?
He knows.
He knows something is wrong.
And if he knows, that means he’s already spiraling, calling my dad, calling the guys, calling everyone who might have the slightest clue where I am.
Roman doesn’t do well with fear. He masks it with sarcasm and dramatics, but I can feel his voice trembling through the memory of our last conversation. He knows I wouldn’t just disappear. He knows I wouldn’t leave him hanging like that.
And the bakery…
The thought of it sitting there, doors locked, lights dimmed, the scent of cinnamon and sugar lingering in the air from the last batch of pastries I made before I was taken—it’s unbearable.
Who’s running it? Is Roman trying to keep things going, praying that I’ll walk through the door any second?
Or has he closed it entirely, shutting down our little piece of the world until I come back?
A broken sob shatters the silence.
I barely register that it’s mine.
I press the heel of my palm against my mouth, forcing myself to swallow the rest of my emotions. Breaking down won’t get me out of here. Crying won’t save me.
But thinking will.
I have to stay sharp.
Think, Avery.
I try to recall anything from before Sarah drugged me. Was the door locked? Did I hear a car? Was there anyone else with her?
No. Just her.
Sarah is dangerous, but she’s only one person.
That means she’s limited.
She’s keeping me alive for a reason. Maybe it’s to gloat, maybe it’s to wait for the right moment to stage her grand entrance back into the guys’ lives.
But she’s underestimating me.
She thinks I’ll break. That I’ll wither in the darkness, waiting for rescue.
But she’s wrong.
I shift my attention back to the shackle around my ankle. My fingers trace the metal, looking for any weak points, any imperfections I might be able to exploit. The chain is old, rusted in some areas, the metal corroding from time. That’s something.
My mind scrambles, flipping through every escape story I’ve ever read, every survival documentary I’ve ever watched.
I force myself to focus, searching for anything—any weakness, any edge, any chance. I don’t have anything sharp, no tools, no leverage, but maybe if I can weaken the metal enough—
A wave of dizziness crashes into me, pulling me under like a riptide. My limbs feel heavy, my thoughts sluggish, like wading through thick fog. No. No, stay awake. Stay alert.
I shake my head, trying to fight it, but the effort is useless. If it’s been days, these drugs are strong. Too strong. Or worse—she’s been drugging me while I sleep.
The realization sends a fresh surge of panic through me, but it’s fleeting, drowned by the blackness creeping in from the edges of my mind.
My body sags, unable to fight anymore.
Darkness wins.