And he was not leaving her behind.
Tess had lost track of time.
There was nothing to mark its passing. Other than the men talking and moving around, the only sound that registered was the low, constant hum of something electrical, an old refrigerator maybe, or a generator. It buzzed through the concrete floor beneath her, steady enough to make her teeth ache if she focused on it too long.
Her wrists and ankles were still bound, the plastic zip ties digging into her skin whenever she moved. Faint light filtered through the dirty hood still covering her head, dull and uneven. The fabric smelled old and stale, and dust coated the inside of her nose every time she breathed too deeply.
Without sight, everything else sharpened. She couldn’t see the room or her kidnappers’ faces, only motion and brightness sliding in and out of focus.
Voices drifted in and out around her, but not directed at her. They talked like men killing time—arguing about a drug deal that had gone sideways, bitching about another crew that had encroached on their territory, and laughing about someone getting screwed over. Names she didn’t recognize. Places she didn’t know. The language was crude, careless, and soaked in entitlement.
Every so often, one of them bragged about a woman he’d fucked, and the others chimed in withjeers and commentary that made Tess’s stomach knot. She kept her breathing even, refusing to draw attention to herself.
Beneath the conversation came footsteps moving about the room. Fabric brushed skin. Chair legs scraped against the concrete. Seats creaked. Someone paced, while another person sat close enough to stir the air around her.
She shifted slightly where she sat on the damp floor.
Her bladder demanded relief.
It had been a problem for a while now. A sharp, insistent pressure that came in waves, each one harder to ignore than the last. She’d already asked twice to use a bathroom, calmly, like she was negotiating instead of begging.
The first time, one of them had laughed and told her to shut the fuck up.
The second time, he’d snarled, then said in a low, mean voice, “Ask again, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
He’d clearly meant every word, so now she focused on breathing through it, thighs clenched, muscles trembling with the effort of holding herself together—physically and otherwise. The humiliation of it burned almost as badly as the fear. She refused to give them that too.
Her thoughts narrowed.
Andy.
She pictured her brother’s face—trying to be brave, trying not to let her hear how scared he was. They’d put her on the phone with him to prove they had her, but it hadn’t sounded like the first time they’d talked. From the way the men spoke afterward, they’d already been leaning on Andy, pushing him to do something with crypto on his computer. She didn’t know what they wanted moved or how. She didn’t even know if Andy knew how to do it.
And she couldn’t decide what terrified her more—that he did, or that he didn’t.
Please be smart, she thought.Please don’t try to do this alone.
Her thoughts shifted to Brian.
The thought of him steadied her in a way nothing else could. He was calm when things went bad, methodical when chaos took over—the kind of man who didn’t walk away from problems and didn’t leave people behind. Somewhere along the way, she’d fallen in love with him. The realization was simple and unavoidable, settling deep in her chest with a weight that felt permanent.
If Andy had reached out—if Brian knew—he’d come.
She held onto that as she shifted carefully, testing her restraints and cataloging what little freedom she had without drawing attention to herself. Panic wouldn’t get her out of this mess—but thinking logically might.
She didn’t know how yet, only that she would find a way.
This wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about getting back to Andy and Brian, the two people she loved most.
She wasn’t done fighting. Not even close.
Chapter 32
00:22:38
The DOT service lot sprawled out in front of them, its aging asphalt spider-webbed with cracks, dirt, and dark oil stains. State trucks and orange-striped utility vans lined the edges near metal storage units. A sagging chain-link fence ringed the perimeter, and beyond it, thick stands of pine and scrub oak pressed in on all sides, muting both sound and sight.
After Brian killed the engine, he and Rafe climbed out of the truck. The lot was still washed in late-day light, the sun hanging low but stubborn over the tree line, painting everything in muted gold and long shadows.
