The Lies we Keep

Chapter 5

-Elena’s POV-

The garage smells worse at night. Fumes, dust, something old and sour in the concrete. It’s past ten. I should’ve left hours ago, but I didn’t. David dropped the Martinez file on my desk and said he needed it done. I didn’t argue. I never do. I’m getting married at two, and I haven’t slept in two days. My brain’s mush. I dig through my bag, keys slip, then clatter loud enough to make me flinch. Lights overhead blink once, then give up. Most burned out weeks ago. Figures. My car’s tucked in the far corner. Right under one of the broken lights. The shadows there look heavier.

I speed up. My heels hit the floor harder than I mean to. Every step echoes. Too many echoes.

And then—

A sound I didn’t make.

Footsteps. Behind me.

I spin, nothing but cars and that dumb echo following me around. Then came the scrape of a van door, and before I could even turn, something crushed over my mouth and yanked me off the ground, tight around my middle like a vice.

I went crazy. Kicking, twisting, biting into someone’s glove. More hands caught my legs and yanked. Then it was metal floor under my back and dark everywhere, and I realized I was inside the van without even knowing how I got there.

"No!" The shout burst from my throat but it was too late. I was inside with the door sliding shut. Air stank of cigarettes and sharp chemicals stinging my nose.

Forty-five seconds. Nothing more.

The van lurched and I crashed to the floor, metal scraping my shoulder. Phone still clutched tight, I jabbed at the screen to dial when a hand grabbed my wrist and twisted hard. Fingers gave way. Phone skidded into shadows.

"Don't make it harder." Gruff voice from up front. "Cooperate, and you walk clean."

I squinted through the cab divider. Two shadows driving, one solid bulk across from me in back. Ski mask, arms crossed easy, eyes pinned on me like routine. "What do you want? I got no cash." My voice wobbled thin. Damn it.

"This isn't about money." The masked man leans forward. I press myself against the van wall. "This is about sending a message."

"To who?"

"Your husband."

The word hits me like cold water. "What husband? I don't have a husband!"

"Close enough." He grabbed his phone and flipped it on. Blue light washed up from the screen onto his ski mask, turning his face demonic in the glow. "Smile for the camera, Mrs. Cross."

The flash goes off. I'm blind for three seconds. When my vision clears, he's typing something. I catch a glimpse of the message before he hits send.

She's safe. For now. Cancel the wedding or we send her back in pieces.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

My mouth hung open but nothing came out—just this vise around my chest, choking off my air.

Masked guy barked a laugh that made my skin crawl. "Let's see what you're worth to him."

Van cornered hard. I slid across the floor on my belly, clawing at slick metal. Wrist killing me from the yank, shoulder throbbing where they dumped me in. Whole body rattling, teeth smacking.

Drove forever. Or twenty minutes. No clue back here, no windows. Chemical fumes piled on till my eyes stung, my throat raw as hell, and that's when I knew: they kill me, stage it neat.

Rough hands hauled me from the van into oil-thick night air. Boots echoed as we crossed into a warehouse gutted by shadows, one raw bulb swinging overhead like a noose.

I kicked gravel and concrete but four guys pinned my arms, slamming me under the light into a steel chair that hit like ice. Zip ties locked wrists and ankles tight, skin burning under plastic. No fight left.

No good. They muscled me flat into an icy steel chair and wrenched zip ties around my wrists against the arms, plastic teeth sinking deep. Same for ankles. Locked. Exposed. Game over.

"Please." I don't recognize my own voice. "Please, I didn't do anything—"

"You made your choice when you signed that contract." The masked man crouches in front of me, tilts his head. "Now you get to live with it."

He walks away. Everything went black except the bulb burning right above me. Zip ties cut into my wrists while I sat bound alone in that chair dead center.

The wedding is in nine hours, and Damien probably doesn't know I'm gone yet.