The car moved.
Slow at first — then faster, swallowing the night as streetlights slid past the tinted windows. Maya kept her eyes forward, refusing to let them shake, refusing to let fear announce itself before she was ready.
No blindfold.
No chains.
That alone unsettled her.
Most captors hid your eyes so they could break you quietly. He didn't bother.
He wanted her aware.
Opposite her, he sat relaxed, jacket open, one hand resting on his knee, the other drumming lightly against the leather seat — not nervous, not impatient. Comfortable. As if this was not a kidnapping but a long-awaited reunion.
"You still sit like that," he said suddenly.
Maya didn't look at him. "Like what?"
"Like you're already planning an escape," he replied, amused. "Even when there isn't one."
Her jaw tightened.
Silence stretched.
The driver didn't speak. Neither did the man beside him. The engine hummed, steady and merciless, carrying her farther away from everything that had ever felt safe.
"Kelvin screamed," the man added casually. "You heard him."
Her fingers curled slowly against her palm. "You didn't need to hurt him."
He laughed softly. "You still think pain is unnecessary."
Then his tone shifted — sharper, colder.
"Kelvin knew the rules."
That got her attention.
She turned to face him. "Then why are you punishing me?"
His eyes flicked to hers — dark, unreadable.
"Because Kelvin stopped belonging to me," he said. "And you were the price."
Maya's heart stuttered.
"So this is about him," she said quietly.
He leaned back. "Everything has always been about him."
The car turned.
The city thinned. Buildings grew older, darker. The air felt heavier, like it remembered things better left buried.
"You disappeared," he continued. "He vanished with you. No goodbye. No permission."
Maya scoffed. "Permission?"
"You don't walk away from men like me," he replied. "Kelvin knew that."
Her throat tightened. She remembered the nights Kelvin barely slept, the way he checked windows twice, sometimes three times. The scars he never explained.
"So you take my friend?" she asked. "To send a message?"
"No," he said. "I took your friend to make sure you came."
The car slowed.
Stopped.
A building loomed ahead — concrete, dim lights, the kind of place people passed without ever wondering what happened inside.
The doors unlocked.
"Out," he said.
---
Inside, the air was cold. Too clean. Too quiet.
Maya walked beside him, refusing to let her steps falter. If she stumbled, he would enjoy it.
They stopped.
A door opened.
And there was Lena.
Alive.
Bruised, shaken, but alive.
"Maya!" Lena cried, lunging forward as far as her tied wrists allowed.
Maya dropped to her knees beside her without thinking, hands trembling as she touched Lena's face. "I'm here. I'm here."
Tears streamed down Lena's cheeks. "I thought— I thought—"
"I know," Maya whispered. "I know."
Behind them, the man cleared his throat.
"Emotional reunions always feel longer than they are," he said. "Stand up."
Maya stood slowly, placing herself in front of Lena like a shield.
"She goes," Maya said. "That was the deal."
His gaze slid past her to Lena, then back. "The deal was that you'd come quietly."
"And I did."
"Yes," he agreed. "You did."
Hope flickered — brief, dangerous.
Then he crushed it.
"But deals evolve."
Lena's restraints were cut.
Maya's breath caught.
"Lena leaves tonight," he said. "No tracking. No contact. No heroics."
Relief surged — until he stepped closer to Maya.
"You," he continued softly, "stay."
Lena grabbed Maya's arm. "No. Maya, no—"
Maya didn't look at her.
She already knew there was no alternative.
"If I stay," Maya said carefully, "Kelvin lives."
The man smiled.
"There it is," he said. "Kelvin taught you nothing, but he chose well."
That line cut deeper than any slap.
"Fine," Maya whispered.
Lena shook her head violently. "Maya, please—"
Maya finally turned, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "Go home. Lock your doors. Forget my number."
"I can't—"
"You will," Maya said firmly. "You have to."
Lena was dragged away still crying her name.
The door closed.
The sound echoed.
Maya stood alone.
The man circled her slowly. "You know why Kelvin survived as long as he did?"
She said nothing.
"Because he understood leverage," he continued. "He understood loss."
He stopped in front of her.
"And now," he said softly, "so do you."
Maya lifted her chin, eyes burning but dry.
"You won't break me," she said.
He smiled — pleased.
"Oh," he replied, "I don't need to."
The lights flickered.
The door behind her locked.
And Maya realized the truth too late:
She hadn't been brought here to be punished.
She had been brought here to be used.
---
Chapter 8 (Continued): The Ride Back Into the Dark
The car moved.
Slow at first — then faster, swallowing the night as streetlights slid past the tinted windows. Maya kept her eyes forward, refusing to let them shake, refusing to let fear announce itself before she was ready.
No blindfold.
No chains.
That alone unsettled her.
Most captors hid your eyes so they could break you quietly. He didn't bother.
He wanted her aware.
Opposite her, he sat relaxed, jacket open, one hand resting on his knee, the other drumming lightly against the leather seat — not nervous, not impatient. Comfortable. As if this was not a kidnapping but a long-awaited reunion.
"You still sit like that," he said suddenly.
Maya didn't look at him. "Like what?"
"Like you're already planning an escape," he replied, amused. "Even when there isn't one."
Her jaw tightened.
Silence stretched.
The driver didn't speak. Neither did the man beside him. The engine hummed, steady and merciless, carrying her farther away from everything that had ever felt safe.
"Kelvin screamed," the man added casually. "You heard him."
Her fingers curled slowly against her palm. "You didn't need to hurt him."
He laughed softly. "You still think pain is unnecessary."
Then his tone shifted — sharper, colder.
"Kelvin knew the rules."
That got her attention.
She turned to face him. "Then why are you punishing me?"
His eyes flicked to hers — dark, unreadable.
"Because Kelvin stopped belonging to me," he said. "And you were the price."
Maya's heart stuttered.
"So this is about him," she said quietly.
He leaned back. "Everything has always been about him."
The car turned.
The city thinned. Buildings grew older, darker. The air felt heavier, like it remembered things better left buried.
"You disappeared," he continued. "He vanished with you. No goodbye. No permission."
Maya scoffed. "Permission?"
"You don't walk away from men like me," he replied. "Kelvin knew that."
Her throat tightened. She remembered the nights Kelvin barely slept, the way he checked windows twice, sometimes three times. The scars he never explained.
"So you take my friend?" she asked. "To send a message?"
"No," he said. "I took your friend to make sure you came."
The car slowed.
Stopped.
A building loomed ahead — concrete, dim lights, the kind of place people passed without ever wondering what happened inside.
The doors unlocked.
"Out," he said.
---
Inside, the air was cold. Too clean. Too quiet.
Maya walked beside him, refusing to let her steps falter. If she stumbled, he would enjoy it.
They stopped.
A door opened.
And there was Lena.
Alive.
Bruised, shaken, but alive.
"Maya!" Lena cried, lunging forward as far as her tied wrists allowed.
Maya dropped to her knees beside her without thinking, hands trembling as she touched Lena's face. "I'm here. I'm here."
Tears streamed down Lena's cheeks. "I thought— I thought—"
"I know," Maya whispered. "I know."
Behind them, the man cleared his throat.
"Emotional reunions always feel longer than they are," he said. "Stand up."
Maya stood slowly, placing herself in front of Lena like a shield.
"She goes," Maya said. "That was the deal."
His gaze slid past her to Lena, then back. "The deal was that you'd come quietly."
"And I did."
"Yes," he agreed. "You did."
Hope flickered — brief, dangerous.
Then he crushed it.
"But deals evolve."
Lena's restraints were cut.
Maya's breath caught.
"Lena leaves tonight," he said. "No tracking. No contact. No heroics."
Relief surged — until he stepped closer to Maya.
"You," he continued softly, "stay."
Lena grabbed Maya's arm. "No. Maya, no—"
Maya didn't look at her.
She already knew there was no alternative.
"If I stay," Maya said carefully, "Kelvin lives."
The man smiled.
"There it is," he said. "Kelvin taught you nothing, but he chose well."
That line cut deeper than any slap.
"Fine," Maya whispered.
Lena shook her head violently. "Maya, please—"
Maya finally turned, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "Go home. Lock your doors. Forget my number."
"I can't—"
"You will," Maya said firmly. "You have to."
Lena was dragged away still crying her name.
The door closed.
The sound echoed.
Maya stood alone.
The man circled her slowly. "You know why Kelvin survived as long as he did?"
She said nothing.
"Because he understood leverage," he continued. "He understood loss."
He stopped in front of her.
"And now," he said softly, "so do you."
Maya lifted her chin, eyes burning but dry.
"You won't break me," she said.
He smiled — pleased.
"Oh," he replied, "I don't need to."
The lights flickered.
The door behind her locked.
And Maya realized the truth too late:
She hadn't been brought here to be punished.
She had been brought here to be used.
---