Then, slowly, the figure's hand began to rise. Liam's body followed, his feet lifting off the ground, arms flailing slightly as his throat began to close. His eyes widened in panic, face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. The choking sensation was instant and merciless, like an invisible hand squeezing tighter with each second.
Melissa screamed his name, reaching out, unsure what to do.
She stepped forward without hesitation, her hand raised in a plea.
"Wait—please. It's me you want. Let him go," Melissa said, her voice trembling but resolute.
The lead figure tilted his head slightly, then lowered his hand. Liam dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, gasping and clawing at his throat for air.
"A wise choice," the figure said coldly, motioning to the open door behind him.
Melissa turned back to Liam. Their eyes met. She gave a small nod—one filled with sorrow and silent apology. A tear traced down her cheek as she stepped forward toward the doorway, her pace slow but steady.
Liam, still on the floor, groaned and reached for her. He tried to speak, to protest, but the words were crushed beneath his weakness. He couldn't let her go. Not like this.
As they stepped outside with Melissa between them, something inside Liam snapped. With a burst of desperate strength, he scrambled toward the corner of the room where an old baseball bat leaned against the wall. Gripping it tightly, he staggered to his feet, then lunged through the door.
The third figure at the rear barely had time to turn before the wooden bat came down hard—crack! A sickening sound filled the air as the figure collapsed.
The second turned quickly, but Liam landed a heavy punch to the jaw, sending the figure stumbling backward.
Then he charged at the leader, who was already turning around. The impact knocked the hooded figure to the ground. The cloak slipped, revealing a young woman with delicate features—shockingly young, not more than twenty. Liam froze in disbelief. His grip loosened slightly.
But before he could fully comprehend it, his body stiffened. He stopped, mid-step toward Melissa. His breath hitched.
Blood dripped from his lips.
He looked down. The broken bat—splintered into jagged stakes—was now embedded in his abdomen. His knees buckled.
Melissa screamed as she rushed to him, catching him just as he collapsed.
Her hands pressed against his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. Blood soaked her palms, warm and endless.
"Liam… no, no, no!" she sobbed, cradling him as his breathing slowed. The figures that remained simply watched in silence.
Liam's body trembled in her arms, his blood warm against her skin. His eyes, half-lidded and fading, struggled to meet hers.
With what little strength remained, he reached up, fingers brushing her cheek. His voice was a strained whisper, barely audible above the pounding in her chest.
"Please…" he breathed, "…live. For your mum… for me… just—live."
His hand fell.
And so did the silence.
Melissa froze, staring into his now still face, as if willing it to move again, to blink, to breathe—to do something.
But there was nothing.
"No…" she whispered.
A scream tore from her throat, raw and broken. The weight of everything—the kidnappings, the secrets, the loss—crashed down on her like a wave.
She gently lowered Liam's body to the ground, her hands trembling. Then she stood, slowly at first, then faster. Her legs moved before her mind could catch up. She stumbled, eyes blinded by tears, and bolted into the night.
Melissa ran through the streets, her feet pounding the ground. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to keep moving.
But no matter where she turned, they were there.
It felt like the city itself had gone quiet, like the world was holding its breath just for this moment. She turned a corner and stopped only to find that more of them were waiting.
Her knees felt weak and her chest was tight. She spun around, looking at all of them as they slowly closed in.
"What do you want?!" she yelled, her voice shaking. "You already took everything from me! What's left?!"
They just kept moving closer.
Then out of nowhere a van zoomed in.
Its headlights lit up the street as it screeched to a stop beside her. The door flew open.
Hands grabbed her before she could move.
A cloth over her mouth. The sharp smell of chemicals filled her nose.
Everything went dark.
The van disappeared into the night, its red lights fading fast.
The dark figures on the street didn't move at first.
Then the one in front pulled down her hood.
A young woman with cold eyes.
"Tell them…" she said quietly, looking toward the van, "…he got involved."
She turned away.
The rest followed.
And just like that, they all vanished into the shadows.
------------------------
Melissa's eyes blinked open, squinting under the harsh glow of the overhead lamp. It buzzed faintly, casting sterile light over the dim, concrete room. She groaned, trying to sit up—only to find her wrists and ankles strapped tightly to a cold, metallic table. The leather restraints bit into her skin with every movement.
The table groaned beneath her as she shifted again, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet space.
A voice cut through the silence.
"I wouldn't shake too much if I were you," the man said lazily.
Her eyes snapped to the corner of the room, where a figure sat calmly in a chair, half-shrouded by shadows. His face was partially hidden by the tilt of his hat, but the scar running from his jaw to his brow was unmistakable. The fan above him spun lazily, slicing the air in slow intervals. The same man—the one who had been flipping a knife and spinning a bullet between his fingers behind a metal desk.
"You," Melissa said, breath catching. "Who are you? Why am I here? Let me go!"
He didn't flinch. Didn't even look up right away.
"You're not here for me," he said at last, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "I'm just the one making sure you survive the next hour."