Damon and I packed our things that night, preparing to leave the city before James or his men could find us. But we weren’t fast enough.
As we stepped onto the quiet street, a van screeched to a halt in front of us. The doors swung open, and before I could react, figures in black masks lunged at me.
“Run!” Damon shouted, but it was too late.
I fought. I kicked, screamed, thrashed. But they were stronger.
The last thing I saw before darkness consumed me was James stepping out of the van, his face cold and unforgiving.
I woke up in a dimly lit room, my wrists bound, my body aching. My head throbbed from the rough handling, and my throat felt raw from screaming.
James sat across from me, twirling a knife between his fingers.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he mused, his voice calm, almost amused.
I glared at him. “Go to hell.”
His smirk widened. “Oh, Zoey. You’re already there.”
Days passed in agony. They didn’t kill me, but they made sure I suffered.
The beatings weren’t brutal, but they were enough to break my spirit little by little. The isolation. The psychological games. James was playing with me, waiting for me to crack.
But I wouldn’t.
I refused to give him the satisfaction.
Then, something unexpected happened.
One night, when I had given up hope of ever escaping, my door creaked open. I tensed, expecting another round of torment.
But it wasn’t James.
It was Kate.
She stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind her. Her expression was unreadable.
“Get up,” she whispered.
I blinked. “What?”
She pulled a knife from her boot and cut the rope binding my wrists. “I’m getting you out of here.”
I hesitated, confused. “Why are you helping me?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just move.”
Still weak, I followed her out, slipping through the shadows of the massive house I had been held in. Every corner, every hallway felt like a trap. But Kate knew the way. She led me to a back door, where a car was already waiting.
As I got in, I couldn’t help but look at her.
Was this some kind of trick?
She met my gaze, her expression unreadable. “Don’t thank me,” she said, her voice cold. “Just disappear.”
After escaping, I tracked down Damon, who had somehow survived the ambush that night. He was hiding in a province with his wife, who had miraculously recovered from her illness.
I expected relief when I saw him. Instead, I felt a deep, unsettling fear.