Stanley’s POV
The prison cell was colder than the usual night, the kind of cold that crept beneath the skin and settled into the bones. I sat on the metal bunk, staring at the cracked ceiling, tapping my foot against the floor with an impatience that had grown claws and was tearing at my insides.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
It had been hours, days, and still no word from the men I had sent. No update from Ben. No coded message from my lawyer. Nothing. Only the echo of silence, which, in prison, was louder and more suffocating than noise.
I clenched my jaw, replaying the last text Ben had sent me.
“Stopping the car soon. They’re coming.”
Then… nothing.
I rubbed my face with both hands. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The men I had hired were professionals, ruthless but
