Chosen Blood

Chapter 7 — Saving the Princess

The message came at dusk—short, precise, and cold.

Kidnapped. Warehouse 12B, North Pier. Two hours. —A.D.

Alejandro’s initials flashed on Hima’s phone, and the world narrowed to a single thought.

Lila.

The girl whose frightened face had once dragged them into this life.

The idea of her bound and silenced stirred something feral in Hima’s chest.

They gathered in the kitchen like always—three silhouettes around a table that had carried too many plans and too few meals.

Abi was already at work, tablet open, eyes bright with focus.

“I can pull satellite visuals if it’s not blocked and intercept their comms. Give me twenty minutes,” she said, fingers flying even as

she spoke.

Aya’s hands were white around her cup. “If she’s hurt—” Her voice cracked, then steadied. “I’ll be ready. Supplies, triage, whatever it takes.”

Hima looked at both of them. For a breath, she allowed herself to be their center.

“We’re not waiting for orders,” she said. “We go. Alejandro asked for results; we’ll deliver—but smart.” She folded her hands. “Abi, give me entry points. Aya, prep for extraction. I’ll handle infiltration and escape.”

Abi smirked faintly. “Already got a lead. There’s a blind spot on the north wall—security cams miss it because of the crane’s shadow. Lucky us.”

“Lucky,” Aya echoed, though her voice said otherwise.

They moved like clockwork.

Abi patched a schematic of Warehouse 12B onto a flickering screen—doors, stacked crates, the crane shadow. She looped external feeds, faked patrol routes, and misdirected sensor logs. Hima memorized every angle. Aya packed a med kit with trembling but determined hands.

By the time Alejandro’s lieutenants arrived—grim men carved by survival—the girls were already at the gate.

The leader, a broad man named Lito, eyed them with a mixture of disbelief and unease.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked. “That place is a serpent’s nest. We should wait for backup—”

“Waiting for backup gets girls killed,” Hima cut in. Her voice was quiet, razor-sharp. “Two hours is two hours. We go now, precise and silent.”

Her gaze met his. “You can lead with muscle or with results. Choose.”

Lito’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like being challenged by a seventeen-year-old—but something in her poise made him yield.

“Small team,” Alejandro’s note had said. Discreet. Minimal noise.

“Three of us,” Hima confirmed. “Plus one escort. That’s all we need.”

The north wall loomed—corrugated metal, rusted and dark. Abi’s small jammer hissed softly, looping the security feed. One guard scrolled through his phone, the other lit a cigarette. Both human. Both careless.

Hima slipped through first, a shadow in motion. Aya followed, crouched and steady. Abi came last, tablet hugged close.

Inside, the warehouse felt like a cathedral—echoes, dust, shafts of moonlight slicing through the planks. Voices drifted from ahead—rough, careless laughter. The stench of smoke and oil hung heavy.

Hima motioned—two fingers, then a sweep.

They moved.

Every step synchronized.

A lone guard stood by a crossbeam, chewing a toothpick.

He never saw her coming.

Hima’s arm locked around his neck; pressure, twist, silence. His body dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. Abi tied his wrists, eyes gleaming with quiet thrill.

“One down,” she whispered. “Two to go.”

Then—a voice.

Raw. Muffled. Desperate.

“Hima!”

The name ripped through the warehouse.

They sprinted toward the sound and turned a corner—there, wedged between crates, a metal cage.

Lila sat inside, wrists torn and bleeding, eyes huge with terror.

Hima knelt by the lock. Abi’s fingers were already disabling the alarm line.

“Hey,” Hima said softly, voice like steady flame. “You’re safe now. We’re getting you out.”

“They’ll come back,” Lila sobbed. “They always come back.”

“We’ll be faster,” Aya murmured, already checking her wounds. Her hands worked with mechanical grace, calm under pressure. Lila sagged into her, small and trembling.

“Cover us,” Hima ordered.

Abi was already looping the next patrol feed. “You’ve got five minutes before the cameras wake up again.”

“Thirty seconds is all I need,” Hima replied.

They moved as one. Aya carried Lila, light but fragile. Hima and Abi flanked her—two blades drawn from the same sheath.

At the loading bay, two guards smoked under a hanging lamp.

Hima struck first. One hand to the throat, the other twisting the gun away. The second man lunged—momentum met precision, and a dull c***k echoed against the crates.

No gunfire. No shouting. Just silence.

A fake ping from Abi’s tablet drew the rest of the patrol the other way.

They crossed the tarmac like ghosts.

At the alley’s edge, a van waited—Alejandro’s escort, engine low and waiting.

A shadow moved—another guard. Too close.

Hima turned on instinct, slammed him against the bumper. One motion. Down.

The van’s door slid open, and they vanished inside.

Inside, breath came ragged but alive. Lila sobbed quietly; Aya checked her pulse. Abi scrolled through clean logs and false trails.

Hima leaned back, letting out a breath that felt like a prayer.

Back at the safe house, the three gathered around Lila. Aya tended her wounds with gentle hands. Abi rerouted a few “thank-you” payments into discreet accounts. Hima sat by the door, silent, watching the city breathe through the window.

Later, when quiet settled like dust, Abi spoke.

“You were awesome, Hima. Those guards? Clean, fast, cinematic. Chef’s kiss.”

Hima almost smiled. “We did what we had to.”

Aya’s voice was small, uncertain. “When you hit that man… I didn’t recognize you. You scared me.”

Hima met her eyes. “I know. I won’t let you watch me become something you can’t reach.”

Abi snorted softly. “You say that like anyone could hold you, H. You’re a hurricane.”

Hima’s smirk was faint but real. “Better a hurricane than a drought.”

They let the silence breathe.

Tonight, they had taken one life back from the dark.

And stepped closer to its edge.

The convoy tore through the Manila night, headlights carving silver scars across the asphalt.

In the backseat, Lila clung to Hima’s hand—pale, shaking, alive.

Aya checked her vitals one last time. “No fractures. No major trauma. Just exhaustion.”

“Good,” Hima murmured, eyes still fixed on the window, scanning every passing shadow.

Abi leaned back, typing on her tablet. “I’ve already notified Alejandro’s circle. Every rival in Manila now knows who took Lila—and who got her back. Let’s just say, we’re trending in circles that don’t use hashtags.”

Hima’s lips curved despite herself.

The Dela Cruz estate gates opened wide. Soldiers lined the drive like an honor guard, their rifles gleaming under floodlights.

Alejandro stood at the entrance, coat draped across his shoulders, flanked by Mara and his lieutenants.

When Lila stumbled from the van and into his arms, the Lion of Manila wasn’t a crime lord anymore.

He was just a father.

The hall behind him erupted—cheers, disbelief, relief.

Then, silence as his gaze turned to the three girls.

“Inside,” he said.

The grand hall hushed. Soldiers and lieutenants stood in solemn lines.

Lila sat beside her father, fragile but safe.

Hima, Aya, and Abi stood before him.

Alejandro’s voice carried across the room—measured, powerful.

“You did what my own men could not. You walked into a den of jackals and came back carrying my blood.”

He paused. “You asked to be part of this family. Tonight, you proved you are.”

He stepped closer, his tone shifting from command to reverence.

“Hima—your resolve and leadership cut through fear itself. You didn’t just survive. You commanded.”

“Aya—you carry your mother’s steadiness. You gave my daughter her strength before you gave her freedom. In this family, that’s sacred.”

“Abi—you see through walls, through codes, through lies. Without your eyes, this rescue would have been blind. With them, it was victory.”

Mara approached with a small tray. Three silver pins rested on it—each shaped like a roaring lion.

Alejandro’s voice deepened.

“From today, you are not guests. You are not allies. You are lieutenants of my house.

Your words carry weight. Your failures will be costly.

But if you succeed…”

He gestured to the hall—the empire that bowed to his name.

“…there will be no height beyond your reach.”

The pins were placed in their hands.

The hall erupted—not with applause, but with the pounding of fists against chests, the sound of allegiance.

Lila smiled through her tears.

Mara’s nod carried quiet respect.

Hima closed her fist around the lion pin.

Aya whispered a small prayer.

Abi leaned close and whispered, grinning, “Looks like we just got promoted to very important troublemakers.”

Hima didn’t laugh—but a faint, proud smile crossed her lips.

They weren’t just survivors anymore.

They weren’t just girls.

They were family.

And the city would soon learn what that meant.