The night she was taken
1421 Words
CHAPTER ONE – THE NIGHT SHE WAS TAKEN
The night was supposed to be ordinary.
Rain fell in fine needles against the city’s cracked sidewalks, turning neon lights into blurred rivers of color. Alice Jane pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders as she hurried down the narrow alley between the old café and the subway entrance. She had stayed too long after work again. Her boss had made her clean the tables twice because “presentation mattered.”
Now, at 11:37 p.m., all she wanted was a hot shower and silence.
The city was its usual mixture of life and decay, laughter drifting from a club a block away, a distant siren, and the faint hum of danger that had become part of everyday life. But she never expected danger to reach for her so directly.
It started with footsteps.
Three. Maybe four. Behind her. Heavy. Synchronized.
Alice turned slightly, catching long shadows stretching behind her. Before she could quicken her pace, a van screeched around the corner and stopped sharply. The sliding door flew open.
“Don’t scream,” a voice hissed.
A sharp sting struck the side of her neck, a cold, metallic prick. The world tilted. The rain grew louder, or maybe it was her heartbeat. Her knees buckled, and darkness swallowed her whole.
When Alice opened her eyes, her head throbbed. The air smelled of metal and bleach. She lay on a cold concrete floor, wrists bound behind her back, ankles tied with coarse rope. A flickering light revealed cages, crates, and people, other girls. Some crying. Some silent, like ghosts.
Her throat tightened.
“Where…?” Her voice cracked. “Where am I?”
A pale girl sitting against the wall shook her head. Her wrists were bruised. “Don’t talk,” she whispered. “They’ll come soon.”
Before Alice could ask anything else, the door creaked open.
Boots echoed against the concrete.
Two large men in black suits entered, guns holstered at their sides. One carried a tablet, scrolling through names and photos. The other pointed straight at Alice.
“That one,” he said. “Boss said she’s not for the shipment.”
Not for the shipment?
Alice’s blood ran cold.
They untied her roughly and dragged her out. Her bare feet scraped the ground as she stumbled forward. The hallway they entered was different, cleaner, silent, expensive. The kind of silence that only power could afford.
They stopped at an elevator. When the doors opened, her breath caught. Inside was polished marble and gold.
They were still in the same building… but she was being taken higher.
The elevator opened into a penthouse that looked like it belonged to a billionaire. Glass walls. Dim lighting. A skyline carved through the storm outside. The scent of cigars mixed with the faint trace of gun oil.
They shoved her forward.
“Boss will decide,” one muttered.
The men left her standing in the center of the room.
Silence stretched until a low voice drifted from the shadows.
“Untie her.”
The command was soft, but heavy with authority. The men obeyed immediately. She rubbed her raw wrists and turned toward the voice.
Anton Kray.
He sat on the edge of a leather sofa, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a gun resting casually on the table beside him. He was older than she expected, mid-thirties with a presence that filled the room like smoke. Sharp jawline. Dark hair slicked back. Eyes the color of an approaching storm.
He didn’t just look dangerous. He was danger.
Alice had heard rumors whispered around the city. Anton Kray. Drug lord. Trafficker. The man who ruled half the underworld. But seeing him in person felt like standing before a myth that breathed.
“Who are you?” she managed, her voice trembling.
He tilted his head slowly. “You don’t need to know who I am. You need to know what you are.”
“I… what I am?” she repeated, confused.
He rose from the sofa and approached her, each step controlled, deliberate. His height forced her to tilt her chin up.
“You were supposed to be part of a shipment,” he said calmly. “But I changed my mind.”
She took a shaky step back. “Why? What do you want from me?”
His eyes traveled over her, sharp, calculating. “You didn’t cry when they brought you in. Most do. You looked… angry.”
A faint curve touched his lips. “I like that.”
He stopped an inch away, their breath almost touching.
“From this moment on, you work for me,” he said. “You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t run. You don’t touch anything without permission. Do that, and you’ll survive.”
“And if I don’t?” she whispered.
He smiled, cold and effortless. “Then I’ll remind you what happens to people who disobey me.”
Her pulse pounded. “You can’t do this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You were in the wrong place,” he murmured, leaning closer. “That’s enough.”
That night, she was taken to a smaller room, somewhere between a guest chamber and a cell. A bed. A locked window. A single security camera watching her from the corner.
For hours, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process. I was supposed to be sold.
Why had he kept her?
A knock sounded. A woman dressed in black entered, expression blank.
“Mr. Kray wants you downstairs. Now.”
Downstairs meant him.
Alice followed silently. When she reached the lounge, Anton stood near the window, staring out at the glowing city.
Without turning, he asked, “Do you cook?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Good. You’ll handle my meals and clean this floor and my office. You have access nowhere else.”
“That’s it?” she murmured.
He finally turned, eyes narrowing. “Would you rather be sent back to the basement?”
She lowered her gaze. “No.”
“Then do as I say.”
Days passed.
Alice worked under constant surveillance, always aware of Anton’s presence. He never raised his voice, but his silence was worse. When he entered a room, the air tightened.
She witnessed his brutality firsthand when a subordinate betrayed him. His rage was precise and terrifying. But later, she saw him alone, staring at his hands, haunted, almost human.
Sometimes, she caught him watching her. Not with lust. Not with ownership. But with curiosity, like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
One evening, while setting a tray on his desk, her hand brushed against a half-hidden photograph, a young woman smiling.
Before she could move her fingers away
“Don’t touch that.”
His voice struck like a whip. She flinched.
“I… I’m sorry.”
He stood abruptly and moved around the desk. For a moment, anger surged in his eyes… then faded into something she couldn’t name.
“Who was she?” Alice asked softly.
His stare darkened. “Someone who made the mistake of trusting me.”
Her heartbeat faltered. “Is that why you do this? Hurt people because you were hurt?”
The room went still.
He didn’t hit her. He didn’t shout.
He just clenched his jaw and turned away. “You ask too many questions.”
She should have stopped. She didn’t.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said quietly.
That made him turn sharply.
In two strides he reached her, gripping her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his.
“You should be.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe I should… but I’m not.”
A flicker, uncertainty? crossed his eyes before he abruptly released her.
“Go to your room,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Now.”
She obeyed, but for the first time since her abduction, she didn’t feel like prey.
She felt… seen.
Anton poured himself another drink, staring at the door she had disappeared through. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t punished her. No one talked to him like that. No one looked him in the eye.
But she had.
And he had let her.
He told himself it was curiosity. Nothing more.
But as the storm raged outside, he realized something he didn’t want to admit:
A crack had formed in the armor he’d spent years building.
And her name was Alice Jane.
- Writer
