Marcus's POV
I break every traffic law getting to Elena's house.
Adrian's in the passenger seat, already calling Daniel's phone for the fourth time. Still no answer.
"Maybe they're asleep," Adrian says, but his voice shakes. He doesn't believe it any more than I do.
"At 10pm?" I snap, taking a corner so fast the tires squeal. "Daniel never sleeps this early. Not since the accident."
My phone is connected to the car's speakers. I dial Elena's number one more time.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
"Come on," I mutter. "Pick up. Please pick up."
The call goes to voicemail. Elena's cheerful voice: "Hi! You've reached Elena. Leave a message and I'll call you back!"
I want to put my fist through the dashboard.
"We're five minutes out," Adrian says, checking his phone's GPS. "Marcus, maybe we should call the police—"
"And tell them what?" I demand. "That we think a dead man is kidnapping our friend based on some old security footage? They'll think we're insane."
"Better than arriving to find—" Adrian stops himself, but I know what he was going to say.
Better than arriving to find Elena gone. Or worse.
I press the accelerator harder. Four minutes now.
"Tell me about the face in the video," I say, needing to focus on something other than the terror eating my guts. "You recognized him. Who is he?"
Adrian's jaw clenches. "I'm not sure. It was just a glimpse. But I swear I've seen him before. Recently."
"Where?"
"I don't know!" Adrian's voice cracks with frustration. "At the hospital maybe? Or... God, Marcus, what if he's been following us too? What if he knows everything about us, not just Elena?"
The thought makes my blood run cold. Because if Victor Price—The Collector—has been watching Elena for three months, planning this, then he'd need to know about me and Adrian too. About Daniel. About the arrangement.
About everything.
"He's been playing us," I realize out loud. "This whole time. Cameron was just a distraction. Someone to focus on while The Collector prepared. And we fell for it."
"We got Cameron arrested," Adrian argues weakly.
"Cameron wanted to get arrested," I counter, the pieces clicking together. "Why else would he crash through that diner window? He could have waited. Grabbed Elena quietly later. But instead, he made a scene. Made sure the cops came. Made sure we'd all be tied up at the police station for hours while The Collector—"
"Had a clear shot at the house," Adrian finishes, his face gray. "Oh God. We played right into his hands."
Three minutes. We're flying down Elena's street now. The house comes into view, all lit up like normal. No signs of struggle. No broken windows.
But something feels wrong. The air feels wrong.
I screech to a stop in the driveway. We're out of the car before it fully stops, running for the front door.
It's unlocked.
My heart drops into my stomach.
"Daniel!" Adrian shouts, bursting inside. "Elena!"
Silence. The house is too quiet. Too still.
We split up. Adrian heads upstairs. I check the main floor, my architect's eye noticing details others might miss. A chair knocked over in the kitchen. Elena's phone on the counter, screen cracked like it fell. And something else.
Blood. Just a few drops on the tile near the back door.
"Marcus!" Adrian's voice from upstairs sounds panicked. "Get up here!"
I take the stairs three at a time. Adrian's in the master bedroom, standing frozen.
Daniel's wheelchair is empty, tipped on its side. The sheets are torn off the bed. And on the wall, written in what looks like lipstick:
SHE'S MINE NOW. YOU SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED HER BETTER. —V
"Where's Daniel?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Adrian points to the bathroom door. It's closed.
I walk over slowly, dread building with each step. I knock. "Daniel? You in there?"
A groan. Weak but alive.
I shove the door open. Daniel's on the floor, blood running from a cut on his forehead. His eyes are unfocused, dazed.
"Elena," he mumbles. "Took Elena. I tried to stop him. But he hit me. Hit me with something and I couldn't—" His voice breaks. "I couldn't protect her."
Adrian's already examining Daniel's head wound. "You've got a concussion. Maybe a fracture. We need to get you to a hospital—"
"No!" Daniel grabs Adrian's wrist with surprising strength. "No hospital. We need to find Elena. Now. Before he—" He can't finish the sentence.
I pull out my phone, dialing 911. But before I can hit send, Adrian's phone buzzes.
He looks at it and goes pale.
"What?" I demand.
"It's a video message," Adrian says slowly. "From an unknown number."
"Play it," Daniel orders from the floor.
Adrian hesitates, then hits play.
The video shows Elena. She's in a car, unconscious, her head lolling against the window. And driving the car is a man I recognize instantly now.
Detective Morrison.
The same detective who interviewed us at the police station. The one who seemed so helpful. So professional.
"Hello, gentlemen," Morrison's voice comes through the phone speaker. "Or should I say, hello Victor Price. You look confused. Allow me to explain. I'm not really a detective. I'm a businessman. And I collect rare things. Elena is the rarest thing I've seen in years. Beautiful. Innocent. And already willing to be shared. Perfect for my clientele."
My hands shake with rage. "That son of a—"
"I have to thank you," fake-Morrison continues. "For making this so easy. All that time at the police station? I was copying every file. Learning everything about you. Your arrangement. Your secrets. And while you were chasing Cameron, I was free to prepare."
The video shifts. Now it shows a room. Elegant but wrong. A bed with silk sheets. Chains hidden artfully in the décor. A closet full of dresses.
"This is where Elena will live now," Morrison says. "At least until my clients get bored with her. Then..." He shrugs. "Well. You don't want to know what happens then."
Daniel makes a sound like a wounded animal.
"But here's the generous part," Morrison continues. "I'm willing to make a deal. One million dollars by sunrise. Bring it to the address I'll text you. Come alone. And maybe—maybe—I'll let Elena go."
"He's lying," I growl. "He's not letting her go—"
"Probably not," Morrison agrees, like he can hear me. "But what choice do you have? Pay up and hope, or don't pay and guarantee she disappears forever. Your call, gentlemen. You have six hours. Tick tock."
The video ends.
For three seconds, nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Then Daniel speaks, his voice ice-cold despite the blood running down his face:
"Get me off this floor. Get me in my chair. And somebody find me a gun."
"Daniel—" Adrian starts.
"That man took my wife," Daniel interrupts, his eyes harder than I've ever seen them. "The woman I love. The woman I failed to protect. So here's what's going to happen. We're getting that million dollars. And we're getting Elena back. And if Morrison—or Victor or whatever his name is—if he's touched one hair on her head, I'm going to kill him myself. Wheelchair or not."
I help Daniel up, getting him back in his chair. Adrian's already on his phone, calling someone.
"Who are you calling?" I ask.
"My bank," Adrian says grimly. "I have about $300,000 in savings. Medical school paid well, and I never spent much. What about you?"
I do quick math in my head. "Maybe $200,000. My firm's been successful. But that's still only half."
We both look at Daniel.
He wheels to his desk, pulls out a checkbook. "I've got $400,000 in our emergency fund. Elena wanted it for a new house someday. Somewhere without stairs." His voice cracks. "I guess this qualifies as an emergency."
"That's $900,000," Adrian calculates. "We're still $100,000 short."
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number:
I can get you the missing $100,000. But I need something in return. Meet me at the warehouse on 52nd Street. Midnight. Come alone, Marcus. This is between you and me. —Someone who owes you
I show them the text.
"It's a trap," Adrian says immediately. "Another setup."
"Or it's our only chance," I counter. "We need that money. All of it. Or Morrison won't deal."
"We don't even know if he'll deal anyway," Daniel points out. "This could all be a lie to get the money AND keep Elena."
He's right. But what choice do we have?
My phone buzzes again. Another video. This one short. Just three seconds.
Elena's awake now. Crying. Struggling against restraints.
And Morrison's hand is touching her face.
"I'm going," I say, standing. "Whoever this person is, whatever they want, I'm getting that money."
"I'm coming with you," Adrian insists.
"The text said alone—"
"I don't care what it said," Adrian snaps. "We're not splitting up again. That's how we lost Elena in the first place."
Daniel wheels toward us. "And I'm not staying here bleeding while you two play hero. We're all going. Together. We get the money, we get Elena, and we end this tonight."
The three of us head for the door, a unified force now. Too late to save Elena from being taken.
But not too late to bring her home.
At least, I hope not.
My phone buzzes one final time. A text from the same number:
Oh, and Marcus? You might want to hurry. The person with your money? They're not very patient. And they're VERY interested in meeting you. You've met them before, actually. But you don't remember. Yet. See you at midnight. Don't be late. —Your Past