The clock on the nightstand glowed faintly past midnight, its numbers burning against the darkness. Jennifer lay on her side, staring at nothing. Her body hadn't moved for an hour, yet her mind refused to rest. Every time she closed her eyes, the kiss came back — Vincent's breath, the weight of his hand against her back, the way the air had gone impossibly still when his lips met hers.
She had whispered goodnight and fled into the safety of her room, but the echo of it lived in her chest, insistent and unbearable. It had been a moment too dangerous to repeat, too dangerous even to remember… yet she couldn't stop remembering.
Her chest ached with confusion. She had promised herself she wouldn't fall. Not for a man like him. Not for anyone again. And yet — that single kiss had stripped away every wall she'd built around her heart.
Jennifer pressed her palms against her face, groaning into the silence.
She needed air.
The condo felt like a prison cell. Guards lingered at every corner, the walls were too tight, the rooms too heavy with his shadow. She told herself a short walk wouldn't hurt. Just the beach. Just the ocean. Nothing more.
She slipped on her cardigan and sneakers, tied her hair into a messy knot, and slipped past the half-dozing guard at the stairwell. He stirred, but she gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I'll just be by the beach," she whispered. "Five minutes."
He hesitated, but said nothing.
***
The night greeted her with a sharp chill. Jennifer breathed it in greedily, wrapping her arms around herself as she crossed the quiet road and descended to the sand.
The moon hung low over the water, painting a silver trail across the restless waves. The tide was climbing, each swell breaking against the shore with a hollow crash. Her shoes sank lightly into the damp sand, the grit clinging to the fabric, but she didn't mind.
For the first time all day, her heart slowed.
The ocean always had that effect — a vastness that humbled her, a rhythm that made her believe her fears might be washed away with the tide. She closed her eyes and let the salt air sting her lungs. For a fragile moment, she almost felt free again.
But freedom lasted only a breath.
The growl of engines tore through the night.
Jennifer's eyes snapped open. Headlights flared at the far end of the beach road — two black SUVs, cutting through the quiet with a predator's certainty.
Her stomach turned. No.
She began walking back, briskly at first, then faster, her pulse matching the beat of her steps. But the SUVs picked up speed. Tires bit into gravel, engines snarled louder. The first one swerved, skidding to a halt across her path, its high beams blinding.
The doors opened.
Men spilled out. Big. Heavy. Their movements sharp, rehearsed.
The second SUV boxed her in from behind.
Her throat closed.
Jennifer turned and bolted. Her legs carried her recklessly across the sand, the cold air slicing her lungs. The waves roared, her heart thundered, every step pounding with desperation.
But shadows closed in on her from both sides.
"Don't make this hard, girl," one of them snarled. His hand shot out, rough fingers clamping around her arm. She jerked violently, trying to rip free. Her nails clawed, her voice split the night.
"Let me go! Help!"
Her scream was swallowed by the ocean.
Another man grabbed her wrist, twisting cruelly. Pain shot through her arm. She kicked, lashed out, but her shoe hit nothing but air. The grip on her arm yanked her off balance, dragging her across the sand toward the yawning SUV door.
"Boss wants a word," one hissed against her ear, his breath rancid with smoke.
Terror spiked like ice through her chest. "No—please! Vincent!" Her cry broke raw, instinctive, her voice scraping against the night.
They shoved her hard. She hit the SUV's frame, pain sparking through her shoulder. A palm pressed against her head, forcing her down. Her knees scraped against the metal edge as they pushed her inside.
Leather and smoke filled her nose.
She thrashed wildly, but weight bore down on her shoulders, pinning her. A hand yanked the seatbelt tight across her chest. Another clamped down on her thigh.
"Easy," one of them muttered. "Don't bruise the merchandise."
Jennifer screamed again, her voice shredding. "Vincent!"
But the waves devoured her voice.
The door slammed shut.
The SUV roared to life. Tires churned up sand as the vehicle lunged forward, swallowing her in darkness.
Her body trembled violently. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window, eyes wide, but the night outside blurred as they sped away.
***
Miles away, Vincent sat alone in the study of his mansion. A single lamp burned low, casting gold across the dark mahogany desk. His shoulders were hunched, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his tie loose and discarded on the chair behind him.
The phone on the desk vibrated once. Then again. Then violently, rattling against the wood as if demanding his hand.
He snatched it up.
"Ser—" Carlos's voice exploded through the speaker, breathless, ragged. "Ser, it's Jennifer. They've taken her."
Vincent froze.
The world stilled.
Carlos's frantic breathing filled the silence, the line cracking with panic.
Vincent's grip on the phone tightened until the leather casing groaned under the pressure. His knuckles blanched white.
For the first time in years, a chill sank into his bones.
Not rage. Not fury. Something colder.
Fear.
***
Jennifer's head hit the leather seat with a dull thud as the SUV lurched forward, tires spitting sand and grit into the night air. Her wrists burned where one of the men had gripped her too tightly, his fingers leaving behind a bruise that was already darkening. The salt from the ocean still clung to her skin, sticky from the spray of waves she had been walking beside only minutes before. Now, all she could taste was fear — metallic, bitter, like blood in her mouth though she hadn't bitten her tongue.
The interior smelled of sweat, gun oil, and the faint musk of cheap cologne. Two men sat on either side of her, shoulders broad and suffocating, their silence more menacing than threats. The one riding shotgun kept glancing back at her, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as though he already owned her.
"Boss wants a word," the man on her right finally said. His voice was gravel, scratchy, as though he smoked a pack an hour. He didn't look at her when he spoke — that somehow made it worse.
Jennifer's lungs strained against the panic clawing up her throat. Don't cry. Don't scream. Breathe. Her nails dug into the leather of the seat, her pulse hammering so hard her whole body trembled.
But her voice betrayed her before she could stop it. "Vincent!" The cry tore out, raw, desperate, swallowed instantly by the roar of the engine. The driver laughed under his breath, muttering something in Spanish to the others that made them chuckle.
She pressed herself against the seat, trying to create distance that didn't exist. Her chest tightened, her mind replaying Vincent's face when he had told her, If he comes near you, I'll bury him.
Where are you, Vincent?
***
The words rang again.
"Ser, it's Jennifer. They've taken her."
For the first time in years, Vincent's hand shook around the phone. A deep, burning pressure gripped his chest, the kind that turned thought into fire. His calm veneer — that carefully constructed mask of control — shattered.
"Where?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"They had two SUVs. Beach road. Northbound."
Vincent didn't wait. The line went dead before Carlos could say more. He was already moving — gun drawn from the drawer, keys clenched in his fist. The storm inside him, the one he'd kept buried beneath layers of discipline, broke free.
Within minutes, his men were mobilized, radios crackling with rapid orders. Vincent's tone was clipped, merciless.
"Lock the city. No one in, no one out. Get eyes on every camera from the pier to the freeway. I want plates, I want faces, I want blood."
Carlos met him at the garage, pale but steady. "Ser—"
"Not a word," Vincent snapped, sliding into the driver's seat of a blacked-out SUV. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "We move now"