The world dissolved into a prism of terror. The whir of the camera lens was the only sound, a tiny, mechanical insect feeding on the silence before the storm.
The first man—the one with thick, tattooed forearms—reached out. His calloused hand didn't strike me. Instead, it closed around the collar of my white dress. With a brutal, ripping tear, the fabric gave way. The sound was obscenely loud. Cold air hit my exposed skin, and a scream, raw and involuntary, tore from my throat.
The camera flashed, once, twice, blinding me. Capturing the horror etched on my face, the violation.
"Stop! Please!" I begged, my voice a high, desperate thing I didn't recognize. "My father—Kaelen—they'll hunt you down! You'll never get away with this!"
The second man, the one with the cold eyes, let out a short, ugly laugh. "They gotta find us first, princess."
Tattoo-Arms grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. The pain was sharp and stunning. He leaned in close, his breath hot and sour against my ear. "No one's coming for you. Just scream for us. It's better if you scream."
The camera flashed again. I struggled wildly, my body thrashing against the zip-ties. The plastic dug deeper, drawing thin lines of blood from my wrists. It was useless, a moth beating against a windowpane, but the primal instinct to fight was all I had left.
"Let me go! GET OFF ME!"
My struggles seemed to amuse them. The second man, Cold-Eyes, moved to my other side. He didn't hit me. He traced a slow, filthy finger along my bare shoulder, down my arm. I recoiled, a fresh wave of nausea and revulsion rolling through me.
"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, my voice cracking.
Tattoo-Arms backhanded me across the face.
The world exploded in white-hot pain. My head snapped to the side. The metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth, and a ringing filled my ears. Dazed, I felt a trickle of warmth drip from my nose.
"Look at the camera," the scarred leader commanded, his voice flat.
I spat a gob of blood and saliva onto the concrete floor, my entire body trembling uncontrollably. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the blood. The fear was a living thing inside me, chewing through my sanity.
Cold-Eyes grabbed my chin, his grip like iron, and forced my face toward the lens. "Smile for us, princess. Show us how much you're enjoying this."
The grotesque command broke something inside me. A sob wrenched from my chest, harsh and ugly. This was it. This was the moment Bella wanted. The complete and utter humiliation.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to disappear. Kaelen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Tattoo-Arms struck me again, this time on the other side of my face. "I said, look at the camera!"
My eyes flew open, blurred with tears. The camera's red light was a malevolent star, waiting to consume me. I was broken. I was theirs.
"Please... Don't.. Please," I whimpered, the fight bleeding out of me, replaced by a terrifying numbness. "Please stop."
Cold-Eyes grinned at me, his yellow teeth revolting, "That's right princess, beg us to stop, come on now. Maybe if you do it good enough, we will stop." He laughed as he reached out for my thighs, his rough hands gripping my bare skin.
I recoiled, a violent, useless jerk against my restraints. "Get your hands off me!"
"Or what?" Tattoo-Arms sneered, moving closer, his body crowding me, his smell of sweat and tobacco suffocating. "You'll tell your boyfriend? He's not coming. Nobody is coming for you."
The camera flashed, capturing my revulsion, my helpless thrashing. Cold-Eyes's hands began to hike up the torn hem of my dress. The scratchy fabric dragged against my skin, a hideous prelude. The numbness shattered, replaced by a fresh, searing wave of panic so absolute it stole my breath. This was really happening.
"All the crying, it's turning me off," Cold-Eyes grunted. He produced a knife, the blade catching the harsh light. A fresh jolt of pure, undiluted terror seized me. I began to struggle again, my breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps.
"No! Don't! Don't!"
He didn't touch me with the blade. Instead, he used it. He brought the cold, flat side of the steel against my cheek, trailing it down my neck, over my collarbone. I flinched violently at every touch, a scream trapped in my throat. The camera whirred, capturing every flinch, every tear, every shudder of revulsion.
"Stop crying and smile for the picture," Cold-Eyes growled, his face inches from mine. "Or I'll give you a real reason to cry."
I choked back a sob in fear, but I can't seem to control the tears.
"Now that's a good girl," he guffawed as he started tugging on the hem of my dress. His intentions were horrifying clear.
This was the point of no return. This was the moment Bella had orchestrated—the moment that would forever be captured and used to annihilate me.
A sound tore from me, not a scream, but a raw, guttural plea from the deepest, most broken part of my soul. "KAELEN! Please!"
It was a prayer to a god I feared wasn't listening. A final, desperate cry into the void.
I shook my head and struggled violently, a feeble, helpless attempt. The camera flashed again, capturing my utter despair. I was trapped in a nightmare, the seconds stretching into an eternity of terror. I could feel the remains of my torn dress being slowly tugged out from under me, my sanity fraying at the edges, the trauma of my past life and present horror merging into one inescapable reality.
Suddenly, a distant, metallic thud echoed through the vast space.
All three men froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. It came from the main door.
THUMP.
Another impact, heavier this time. The metal door vibrated.
"What was that?" the cameraman whispered, his professional detachment vanishing.
The scarred leader's eyes darted around nervously. "It's nothing. A truck backing up."
THUMP. CRUNCH.
The sound was unmistakably deliberate. Someone—or something—was trying to get in.
A wild, desperate hope flared in my chest, so painful it felt like another wound. I held my breath.
With a final, deafening BOOM, the central lock of the massive door shattered. The door did not swing open gracefully; it was shoved inward with immense force, grinding against the concrete floor.
With a screech, a truck swerved in, the front severely damaged from running down the door. The truck door opened, and a few people jumped out.
That was when I saw him.
Kaelen.
The scarred leader reacted first, yanking his gun from his waistband. "Vancourt! Don't move!"
Everything happened at once.
Kaelen didn't freeze. He dove forward, not away from the threat, but toward me, just as the leader fired.
The gunshot exploded in the confined space. I screamed, my heart seizing.
Kaelen grunted, his body jerking, but his momentum didn't stop. He collided with the leader, tackling him to the ground. The gun skittered away.
Chaos erupted.
Tattoo-Arms lunged at Kaelen, but one of Kaelen's security team, pouring in through the ruined doorway, intercepted him, tackling him into a stack of empty pallets with a sickening crunch.
The man with the knife, Cold-Eyes, hesitated, his eyes wide with panic. He looked from the fight to me, the blade still in his hand. For a terrifying second, I thought he would lunge at me to finish the job.
"Elara!" Kaelen's voice was a ragged command from the floor, where he was pinning the struggling leader.
It broke my paralysis. I threw my weight sideways, chair and all, crashing to the concrete floor. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but it put distance between me and the knife.
Cold-Eyes made a split-second decision. He dropped the knife and bolted for a back exit, only to be clotheslined by another of Kaelen's men.
The fight was over in seconds, but the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and violence.
Kaelen was on his feet instantly, his hand clamped over his upper arm. Dark blood welled between his fingers. He'd been shot.
"Kaelen!" I cried out, my voice trembling.
He ignored his wound, his focus entirely on me. He stumbled to my side, dropping to his knees. His face was pale, but his hands were steady as he pulled a knife from his belt and sawed through the zip-ties.
The moment my arms were free, I reached for him, my hands hovering over his bleeding arm. "You're hurt!"
"It's nothing," he gritted out, his gaze scanning my injuries, his expression a storm of pain and fury. "How are you feeling? Did they..." He couldn't finish the question, his voice breaking.
Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. "No. You came in time."
The relief in his eyes was profound. He shrugged off his tactical jacket with a wince, then his long-sleeved shirt, revealing the bloody graze on his bicep. Gently, he wrapped the soft fabric around my shoulders.
As his security team secured the kidnappers, Kaelen used his good arm to lift me, holding me tightly against his chest.
"Let's get you to a medic, sir," his head of security said, eyeing Kaelen's arm.
"Later," Kaelen said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His gaze swept over the trussed-up men, his eyes promising retribution. "No one leaves. No one talks to anyone but me."
Then he looked down at me, all the fury melting into exhausted tenderness. "I'm taking you home."