Clara looked left, then right, scanning the street. The sun was high now, casting harsh light across the pavement. She chose to head straight—toward the bus stop. Her steps quickened, her breath shallow.
_From there, I can catch a taxi. Disappear. Please, God, let this work._
She walked fast, her shoes slapping against the concrete, her pulse pounding in her ears. Every second felt stolen, every glance over her shoulder a reminder that time was running out.
_Oh Lord, please see me through,_ she prayed silently. _Don't let them catch me. Not now._
After several minutes, she reached the bus stop. Her heart leapt—freedom was close. She raised her hand, flagging down taxis, her movements frantic.
But none stopped.
Her nerves frayed. Sweat trickled down her back. _They'll start suspecting me soon. What if they've already called Bryan?
She kept waving, desperate, her eyes scanning every car. Finally, one slowed down. Relief flooded her chest. She rushed toward it, hope surging.
Then she saw it.
A black Jeep pulled up behind the car stopped, its engine rumbling like a warning.
Clara's breath caught. Her steps faltered.
As she reached the car and opened the door, she froze.
The driver turned—and she was staring directly into Timini's eyes.
Her blood ran cold.
Clara slammed the door shut, backing away in fear, her heart plummeting.
Timini stepped out slowly, a grin spreading across his face.
From the Jeep behind, Bryan emerged, his expression unreadable.
Another gang member climbed out of the Jeep—Peter, his face grim, eyes scanning the street like a predator.
Bryan and Timini began walking toward Clara, their steps slow and deliberate, like hunters closing in on prey.
"Clara," Bryan called, his voice deeper than usual, laced with warning. "Don't do anything stupid. Just—"
Before he could finish, Clara bolted.
Bryan cursed under his breath and jumped back into the Jeep. Timini and Peter took off on foot, shouting orders as they ran.
Clara sprinted down the street, adrenaline surging through her veins like fire. Her feet pounded the pavement, her lungs burning. She turned sharply into a side street, nearly slipping as she pushed her legs harder.
Behind her, tires screeched. Footsteps thundered. Voices echoed.
She glanced back the two cars were tailing her, and Timini and Peter were gaining ground fast. Panic clawed at her throat.
She veered off the road into a bushy path, branches slapping her arms and legs, tearing at her clothes. Thorns scratched her skin, but she didn't stop. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her legs screamed in protest.
The path narrowed, wild and overgrown. She scanned the area desperately and spotted a thick patch of shrubs near a tree. Without thinking, she dove in, crouching low, her body trembling.
Leaves rustled around her. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and sweat. Her heart thudded violently, each beat louder than the last.
_Oh Lord, please save me,_ she prayed, pressing her hands together. _Please don't let them find me._
Footsteps approached, crunching through the underbrush.
"Clara!" Bryan's voice rang out, closer now. "I know you're here."
She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to silence her breath. Her body shook with fear.
"Come out," Bryan called again, his tone calm but menacing. "Let's stop this hide-and-seek game."
_God, I need you now. Please don't let him find me.
Just stay calm. They'll give up soon. She comforted herself.
She tried to steady her breathing, counting silently in her head. But then she felt something crawling on her arm—a thick, hairy insect.
She flinched, instinctively brushing it off. In the process, she lost her balance and fell hard to the ground, a sharp cry escaping her lips.
The sound sliced through the silence like a blade.
Bryan's head snapped toward the noise. He raised his hand, signaling the others.
The gang members began moving slowly toward the sound, crashing through the bushes.
Clara's eyes widened in terror. _Oh my God,_ she panicked, scrambling to her feet. _They heard me. I need to run. I need to move from here.
Clara pushed through the underbrush, her breath ragged, her limbs aching. She turned to check behind her—no one in sight. Relief surged through her chest, warm and fleeting.
But as she turned forward, she froze.
Bryan stood right in front of her, blocking the path, his expression calm, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Clara gasped, stumbling backward. She turned to run, but Bryan lunged forward and grabbed her wrist.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, thrashing wildly. Her fists flew, her legs kicked, her body fought with everything it had left.
Bryan didn't flinch. His grip tightened, his arm snaking around her waist as he pulled her into a firm hold, locking her against his chest.
Clara screamed again, her voice raw and desperate. "Help! Somebody help me!"
The others arrived—Timini, Peter, Dakolo—emerging from the trees like shadows. Bryan extended his free hand toward Dakolo, who silently handed him a folded handkerchief.
With one arm wrapped around Clara, Bryan pressed the cloth to her nose.
"No!" Clara shrieked, struggling violently. Her body twisted, her nails clawed at his arms, but Bryan held her tight, unmoved.
The chemical scent filled her nostrils. Her limbs weakened. Her movements slowed. Her vision blurred.
Bryan felt her go limp in his arms. Her head dropped against his shoulder, her breath shallow.
He handed the cloth back to Dakolo, then hoisted Clara over his shoulder like a lifeless doll.
Without a word, he turned and walked out of the bush, the gang trailing behind in silence.
---
They arrived at the mansion. The compound was quiet, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the driveway.
Bryan stepped out of the car, Clara still slung over his shoulder. Her arms dangled, her head lolled, unconscious.
"Bring in the security men," he said to Dakolo, his voice cold and clipped.
Dakolo nodded and walked off, while Bryan climbed the stairs, his footsteps heavy, deliberate. He entered the house and headed straight to his room.
Inside, the air was cool and still. Bryan laid Clara gently on the bed, her body limp, her breathing shallow. He stood over her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall.
Then he turned to his drawer, pulled out a set of ropes, and returned to the bed.
He climbed onto the mattress, lifted Clara's arms above her head, and tied her wrists tightly. The rope bit into her skin, but she didn't stir.
Bryan secured the knots to the bedframe, his movements precise, methodical. His expression remained unreadable—calm, detached.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he finished the final knot.
He sat back, staring at her, lost in thought.