“Kid... kid-napped—” I gasped, the syllables breaking apart. “P-please... h-help me...”
The rest dissolved into breath and sound—hoarse, strangled, desperate—because my throat refused to obey anymore.
I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t.
I ran toward the only sign of life within reach—a small, grimy 24-hour convenience store across the wide boulevard. Its neonsign flickered OPEN in uneven red and blue, buzzing like an electrical heartbeat.
My lungs burned. My chest felt too tight.
My bare feet slapped against the cold pavement, each impact jarring all the way up my spine. The borrowed lounge pants twisted around my ankles, threatening to trip me, but I didn’t slow down.
I ran like something hunted.
Like something that knew exactly what waited if it stopped.
The automatic doors hissed open as I stumbled toward them.
Inside stood a bored-looking security guard—late twenties, maybe early thirties, uniform slightly wrinkled, coffee cup in hand. He straightened the second he saw my face.
“Please—” The word tore out of me, hoarse and ragged. I pointed frantically behind me, hands shaking so badly I could barely aim them.
His eyes widened. “Whoa. Hey—are you okay?”
I shook my head violently.
“Someone chasing you?” he asked, already stepping forward.
I nodded again, harder, throat burning.
“Should I call the cops?”
Another frantic nod.Yes. Please. Now.
He didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his phone, fingers already moving. “Okay. Inside. Stay by the window. Cops’ll be here.”
I slipped past him, nearly collapsing against the glass by the energy-drink cooler. My palms pressed flat against the cold surface as I stared out into the parking lot, chest heaving.
Where was Ruslan?
He should have caught me already.
He was faster. Stronger. Calculated. A predator who had survived worse than this without blinking.
Yet the lot was empty.
No black van.
No towering man in white.
Only darkness, asphalt, and the distant wail of sirens growing louder by the second.
My knees threatened to give out.
Less than three minutes later, two squad cars pulled up—lights flashing, sirens cut off as they rolled to a stop. The red and blue washed over the storefront, strobed across my face, my hands, my blood-crusted mouth.
Two officers stepped out—one male, one female, both mid-thirties, hands resting near their holsters but their posture calm, controlled.
