VANESSA BELMONT
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the taste of blood.
It coated my tongue, metallic and thick, and I spat the yuck onto the concrete floor. My cheek throbbed where the masked bastard had hit me, and my wrists burned from the zip-ties cutting into my skin.
Still trapped in the same room with the same flickering bulb, the same damp stench of mildew and rust. The air was heavy, suffocating, pressing against my lungs. Every breath tasted of iron and fear.
Footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the door, slow and deliberate, sending a fresh wave of dread through me. I clenched my jaw, which hurt a lot, and tried to push away the rising panic.
None of these things had happened in my previous life. Not hospital visit. Not the car accident with Carver. Definitely not this kidnapping.
I remember the Eastern Sun land deal, though. Ash City procured the acreage to create a cemetery. Not only did the land itself lose the interest of other players, so did the surrounding acres. No one wanted to build living quarters or entertainment venues near a memorial to the dead.
But obviously, the kidnappers didn't know this information or they wouldn't try to use me against Nathan to get it. It's not like the Jangs and Belmoonts didn't have their share of enemies. Figuring out the culprit might be easier said than done.
The cold seeped deeper into my bones, and I wondered if I'd ever see daylight again. I flexed my fingers, testing the restraints. The plastic dug deeper with every movement, but I ignored the pain. Pain was temporary. Death? Not so much.
I scanned the room. Concrete walls. No windows. A single vent in the corner, rusted and looking like a great place to pick up tetanus. It wasn't large enough to crawl through.
My muscles ached from hours of being bound. The zip-ties around my wrists were tight, but not unbreakable. If I could find an edge, something sharp, maybe I could saw through them. My eyes darted to the metal leg of the chair I was tied to, its rough weld marks just visible in the dim light. Worth a try.
I shifted, testing the give in the restraints. Pain flared as the plastic dug deeper, but I ignored it. Every second counted. The footsteps outside had faded, but I knew they'd be back. And maybe next time, they would figure out Nathan didn't give a crap about me.
I'd be so pissed if I ended up dead again.
I rocked the chair, testing its balance. If I tipped it just right … A crash would bring them running, but what other choice did I have?
I took a breath. Then, with a sudden jerk, I threw my weight sideways. The chair slammed to the ground, the impact jolting through my ribs. But the rusted leg snapped—just enough to give me a jagged edge.
Now came the hard part.
I shifted my weight, testing the chair's stability. Cheap metal legs, bolted to a plastic seat. Not ideal, but not impossible.
I rocked forward, slamming the chair legs against the ground. Once. Twice. On the third try, the bolt holding the back leg snapped. The chair lurched, and I threw myself to the side, crashing onto the concrete. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through my ribs, but I gritted my teeth and rolled, using the broken leg to saw at the zip-tie around my wrists.
Plastic frayed. Snapped.
My hands were free.
The door handle rattled.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the broken chair leg and lunged just as the door swung open.
Viktor's masked face appeared first. He barely had time to register what was happening before I drove the jagged metal into his thigh.
He roared, stumbling back, and I didn't wait to see if he fell. I bolted through the door and took off down the hallway.
Gunfire exploded. Bullets pinged against concrete walls, but I was already around the next corner, hauling ass.
I checked the doors and found one unlocked. I hurried into it, shutting and locked the door.
No time to breathe. No time to think.
I sprinted for the window.
I grabbed a rusted pipe from the floor and swung. Glass shattered. Cold night air rushed in, and I climbed through, ignoring the shards slicing into my palms.
Outside, the world was a maze of warehouses and chain-link fences. No lights. No people. Just the distant hum of traffic and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
I ran.
Bare feet slapped against cracked pavement. Every step sent fire through my ribs, but I pushed harder, faster, until the warehouses blurred and the shouts behind me faded.
I didn't stop until my legs gave out.
Collapsing behind a dumpster, I pressed a hand to my side, feeling the sticky warmth of blood. Terrific. Note to self: Avoid getting kidnapped. It's a horrible experience.
However, I was still alive, so that was good.
My bare feet were shredded from the pavement, my clothes torn and clinging to me with sweat and grime. Every breath sent a sharp ache through my ribs, and the metallic tang of blood lingered in my mouth. Exhaustion weighed me down like lead, my muscles trembling from adrenaline. My body was mad at me, for sure. Like, I would need a lot of donuts to make up for this debacle.
Also, I really needed to start working out. I had no muscles or stamina. Not that I planned to be in any more life-threatening situations, but still ... given my recent luck, I might need a gym membership.
The alley reeked of rotting food and motor oil, the Dumpster beside me offering little cover beyond its rusted bulk. Distant shouts echoed from the warehouse district—Viktor's men, probably fanning out to search for me. I needed to move. Now.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onto my knees, biting back a whimper as glass shards embedded in my palms pressed deeper. My vision swam, but I blinked hard, trying to focus. Stay or go? What were my chances for either choice?
I dragged myself forward, using the Dumpster for support. The world tilted dangerously, but I clung to consciousness. One step. Another. My legs threatened to buckle, but I kept going, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then—headlights.
A car turned into the alley, its high beams cutting through the darkness like twin searchlights. I froze, my pulse jackhammering in my throat. The engine purred, too smooth, too controlled. Not a random passerby.
The car rolled closer, tires crunching.
I ducked lower, pressing myself against the Dumpster, but it was too late. The beams pinned me in place, illuminating my torn clothes, my bloodied hands. The engine cut. Silence.
A door opened.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
My fingers curled around a broken bottle nearby, the jagged edge my only weapon. It wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be.
The shadow stretched toward me, long and ominous.
I held my breath.
Who was it? Viktor? One of his men? Or someone worse?
The footsteps stopped.
Heart pounding, I looked into the face of the driver. "It's you?"