Summer stirred awake in a dimly lit room. Her head throbbed, and her body felt heavy from the effects of whatever they had drugged her with. She blinked a few times, trying to adjust to her surroundings. It wasn't a familiar place; the room had the unmistakable smell of mildew and fear. She wasn't alone either.
A handful of women sat huddled against the walls, their faces streaked with tears and dirt, some quietly sobbing. The air was thick with dread. It didn't take long for Summer to realize what was happening.
Human trafficking.
The memory of the last hour before she was taken flooded back to her mind.
She had been waiting for Tristan, hands stuffed in her pockets as the chilly air tickled her skin. Then, out of nowhere, a group of men surrounded her. It was too sudden—too calculated.
"What do you want?" she had demanded, her eyes flicking between the men, heart beating fast but face remaining calm.
Two of the men lunged at her. Summer, quick on her feet, ducked beneath the first man's arm and kicked the second square in the chest, sending him staggering backward.
"Not bad," she muttered, preparing herself for the next hit.
She twisted out of the way as one of the thugs threw a punch, grabbing his arm mid-swing and flipping him over her shoulder in one swift motion. He hit the ground hard, groaning. Summer's heart raced with adrenaline, but she didn't let it show. She spun to face the next assailant when she heard one of the men's voices cut through the chaos.
"We gotta take this one," the man snarled, stepping forward. "She's worth a fortune. We sell her with the others, and we'll make double."
Summer's eyes narrowed. These men were more than thugs—they were part of a human trafficking ring.
In that split second, she understood what she needed to do. If she wanted to help the others, she needed to go with them. Fighting them all off would waste her strength, and she didn't know how many more were coming.
"Fine," Summer thought. "I'll let you take me."
She pretended to be disoriented, letting her body go limp. The men quickly subdued her, binding her hands and gagging her. One of them pulled out a syringe, injecting her with something that made her head swim and her vision blur.
As they dragged her away, she played weak, letting herself fall unconscious, knowing they wouldn't harm her if they thought she was still 'valuable for sale'.
Now, as she sat among the other girls, Summer flexed her fingers. The drugs were wearing off, and her mind was clear again. Her heart ached for the terrified women around her, but she needed to focus. She needed to get out—and fast.
Summer scanned the room, looking for any signs of weakness—a door, a window, anything she could use to her advantage. She couldn't help but let a bitter smile creep onto her face.
They thought she was some helpless victim. They had no idea who they were dealing with.
She shifted subtly, loosening the ropes binding her wrists. Her combat training came back to her in flashes—how to disarm, how to escape, how to turn the tables. The men who took her didn't know it yet, but they had walked right into a trap of their own making.
Meanwhile, Tristan moved with urgency, following the signal. The address led him to an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
"Classic," he muttered, eyes scanning the building. He didn't have time to wait for Alex and the reinforcements. Every minute wasted was another minute Summer could be in danger. His hands clenched into fists as rage boiled inside him.
He didn't care how many men there were. He'd tear through every one of them if he had to.
Approaching the entrance, Tristan kept to the shadows, moving stealthily. His eyes caught sight of a few guards by the door, heavily armed and unaware of his presence. He needed to get inside without causing a commotion.
Taking a deep breath, Tristan moved with calculated precision, slipping past the guards using the dimly lit corners of the building to his advantage. He finally made his way inside the warehouse, and the scene before him made his blood run cold.
Dozens of women, all looking scared and desperate, were huddled together in makeshift cages. And among them, he saw her—Summer.
His heart skipped a beat. She was awake, alive, but bound.
He moved quickly, determined to get her out.
Summer, her wrists now free, was ready to make her move when she saw a familiar figure creeping through the shadows. She almost smiled.
Of course, it was Tristan.
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Summer gave him the slightest nod.
Tristan crept silently toward Summer, his heart pounding in his chest. The dimly lit warehouse was filled with the scent of mold and fear, and the soft whimpers of the captive girls echoed in the darkness. As he got closer, he saw Summer sitting quietly among them, her eyes sharp, her body tense but composed. She wasn't afraid—she was waiting.
The moment their eyes met, a spark of relief surged through him. She was okay. But there was still so much to do. They were surrounded by over 20 men, and it would take both cunning and precision to get them all out alive.
As Tristan approached, the girls saw him, their faces contorting with renewed fear. Some of them began to sob quietly, one even preparing to scream, but Summer reacted quickly, clamping her hand over the girl's mouth before a sound could escape.
"Shh," Summer whispered, her voice calm but authoritative. "He's with me. He's here to help us. But if we want to get out of here safely, you all need to stay quiet and trust us."
Her words seemed to work. Slowly, the girls nodded, though their expressions remained fearful. They were terrified, but hope began to flicker in their eyes.
Tristan crouched down beside Summer, casting a quick glance over the scene. The warehouse was vast, with several large crates and old industrial equipment scattered around, providing decent cover if they needed it. However, the real problem was the number of guards. They couldn't take them head-on, not with the girls in danger.
"I've called for reinforcements," Tristan whispered, his voice low but firm. "They'll be here soon."
"So have I," Summer replied, her eyes never leaving his. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a calmness in her voice that steadied him.
Before they could move forward with the plan, Tristan's eyes darkened as he remembered the blood he had seen on the street. His gaze scanned Summer quickly, checking her for any signs of injury.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of fear. "I saw blood where you were taken. Are you hurt?"