The night was alive, but not in the way I wanted it to be. Cars hissed past, their headlights cutting across the pavement, and voices drifted from somewhere down the block. Still, every sound felt wrong, like the city itself was whispering warnings James refused to hear.
He walked with purpose, pulling me along as if every corner had already been mapped out in his mind. His grip wasn't painful this time, but it was enough to remind me I couldn't slip away even if I tried.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely above the hum of traffic.
"Somewhere safer," he muttered, scanning the shadows as though Mitch's name might crawl out of them at any second. "Somewhere he won't find us."
But the way he said it… it didn't sound like a promise. It sounded like a gamble.
We crossed another street, my bag heavy against my shoulder. That's when I noticed them. Three men, standing too still across the road. They weren't laughing, they weren't talking—they were waiting. Watching.
My chest tightened. "James—"
"I see them." His voice dropped low, sharp, and full of steel.
Before I could blink, the men moved, stepping out of the shadows with smug grins stretched across their faces.
"Going somewhere, James?" one of them called out. His voice carried across the street, slick with amusement. "Mitch says hello."
I froze. My legs screamed to run, but James's hand only tightened around mine, anchoring me in place. His jaw clenched, his body tensing like he was ready to fight.
No matter how ready James was, he definitely wasn't prepared to lose me just yet. His hand clamped firmly around mine, and without another word, he yanked me forward.
"Run," he hissed.
My feet stumbled at first, the world tilting as James pulled me into a sprint, weaving us down the street. Shouts erupted behind us, the men's voices echoing as they gave chase. My heart pounded against my ribs, every step like fire in my lungs.
The night blurred—streetlights flashing past, cars honking as James dragged me across roads without hesitation. His grip never loosened, his pace never faltered.
He wasn't running from them.
He was running for me.
He ran so fast that I couldn't keep up. My legs burned, my lungs screamed, and the distance between us stretched. The men were gaining on me. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow loomed.
Before I could even cry out, rough fingers clamped around my arm. The force nearly yanked me off my feet, dragging me back with a violent tug.
"Got you," a voice growled in my ear. His grip was bruising, his breath hot against my skin. He leaned close, his words slicing through me.
"So you're James's new play toy. We meet again."
I froze.
I knew that voice. It echoed in my ear like a death note, ready to drag me back into the nightmare I thought I'd escaped.
It must be bad luck—pure, cursed bad luck—that I've crossed paths with all three of my kidnappers again. Each one had left their mark on me, and now, standing before me, was the worst of them all.
Duncan.
The one who clawed onto me the night they took me, whose grip bruised my arm so deep I thought it would never heal. Who laughed while I struggled, like my fear was his amusement.
And yet… he looked like a dream boy. Sharp jaw, flawless skin, tattoos snaking over his arms and chest, black clothes, a silver chain around his neck, an eyebrow piercing glinting in the light.
What's with all these men looking so fine but being clearly dangerous?
His lips curled into that sick grin. "Damn, you look like you again—fresh." His gaze locked on me, feeding on my fear like it was his reward. He didn't move, though. He just stood there, waiting.
Waiting for James.
"Duncan, what the hell!"
James's voice ripped through the tension like thunder. He stormed in with a rage I had only ever seen in glimpses before, every step heavy with fury. My breath hitched—how long had it taken him to notice I wasn't running alongside him? How many seconds had I been trapped here, frozen under Duncan's gaze, before James realized I was gone?
Duncan didn't flinch. He didn't even move. He just grinned wider, like James's anger was exactly what he wanted.
"You always were late," Duncan said smoothly, his fingers tightening around my arm. "Can't even keep track of your own little prize."
James's fists clenched at his sides, his whole body bristling with the urge to lunge, but he held still. His eyes flicked to me for the briefest second—checking, calculating—before locking back on Duncan. The silence between them was suffocating, every second dragging longer, heavier, as if the whole world was waiting for one of them to make the first move.
And me? My pulse was in my throat, my lungs barely working, because I knew—this was only the beginning.