I should have fought.
Should have clawed.
Should have kicked and thrashed and demanded answers.
Instead, my body betrayed me.
I curled instinctively against him, drawn inward by fear and shock, a trembling rabbit folded into the arms of a wolf who hadn’t yet decided whether to kill or cage.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t look down at me.
He carried me across the moonlit concrete, past rusted tables and abandoned machinery, his stride unhurried and sure. The men who had encircled me earlier melted out of the shadows, forming a loose perimeter without a word, eyes scanning the darkness.
At the edge of the lot waited a vehicle that didn’t belong in a place like this.
A 2025 Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van.
Matte black. No markings. No visible plates. Windows tinted so dark they swallowed light whole. It looked less like transportation and more like a moving vault.
He opened the rear passenger door with one hand.
The interior stole my breath.
Cream leather captain’s chairs faced each other across a narrow aisle, stitched with ruthless precision. Ambient lighting glowed softly—violet and gold—tracing the ceiling and floor like veins of restrained luxury.
A refrigerated console hummed quietly between the seats, stocked with water and sealed glass bottles I couldn’t identify. Touchscreen panels were embedded everywhere—controls for climate, music, privacy screens, window opacity.
The air smelled faintly of new leather and something herbal—sage, maybe. Or cedar.
It was opulence wrapped around violence.
A mobile fortress.
He lowered me gently into the nearest seat, adjusting his grip so my injured ribs didn’t take the brunt of the descent. The care in the movement sent a sharp, confusing ache through my chest.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Studying me.
His white shirt was ruined where my blood had soaked into the fabric, dark and uneven. His eyes were unreadable—storm-gray, distant, as if he were already somewhere else entirely.
Calculating.
Deciding.
Then he stepped back.
The door slid shut with a soft, expensive thud that sounded far too final.
The locks engaged automatically.
The engine purred to life—quiet, powerful.
I sat frozen, hands clasped tightly in my lap, shoulders hunched as if bracing for impact that hadn’t yet come. The seat beneath me was warm, the leather yielding. Too comfortable. Too safe for the fear clawing through my veins.
Where was he really taking me?
