Chapter Four —Taken
1082 Words
Rose’s POV
I wake with my wrists and ankles burning, my head spinning from being jostled around. When I open my eyes, there’s nothing but darkness. The movement tells me exactly where I am—the trunk of a car. Steve and I practiced this before, running drills on how to escape a moving vehicle. Step one: reach for the blade sewn into the front seam of my bra.
My bound hands make it hard, but I manage to brush the hilt with my fingertips. Just as I start working it free, the car slows to a stop. I freeze. If they see I’ve got a weapon, I’ll lose my only chance.
My wolf hearing sharpens, catching voices outside. “Her bloodline is valuable. With it, we’ll have power… The Boss wants her pure blood intact.”
The trunk pops open, and the same man who grabbed me earlier yanks me out by the shoulders. A ring of armed men surrounds us. Every cell in my body screams at me to stay quiet. Wait for the right moment.
He drags me inside a house. On the couch, a couple is tied up—the woman sobbing, the man’s face mangled and bloody. I’m hauled upstairs and tossed onto a bed. His smile twists cruelly as his hands slide up my thighs. I jerk my legs back, then drive my forehead into his. Blood spills down his face.
“Stay the hell away from me!” I shout.
“You b***h!” His hand cracks across my face. Pain explodes in my cheek.
“Go to hell!” I scream, fury burning in my chest.
“What the hell are you doing?” another voice roars. A gunshot echoes.
I spin toward the sound. A second man stands in the doorway, a dark jacket marked with the Boston Mafia’s crest. The dissident pack. Hybrids who hunt purebloods like me. They aren’t supposed to be enemies. So why abduct me?
My head swims. He holsters his weapon and stares at me, his eyes weary, almost regretful.
“Don’t take it personal, Rose,” he says, as if he knows me. “Orders from the new Boss. Stay quiet and you won’t get hurt, got it?”
“My father’s going to kill you all,” I snarl. “You bastard.”
“Keep screaming and I’ll tape your mouth shut.”
“Go to hell!” I bellow, voice raw.
He sighs, pulls a strip of tape, and presses it over my lips. Rage seethes inside me. The man drags the injured one out, leaving me locked in the bedroom.
I take in the space. Beige walls, brown furniture, the kind of décor that tries too hard to be warm. Two windows—first floor. From downstairs come the woman’s screams, breaking glass, sickening laughter. My ears catch every word.
“When we extract her blood, our pack will be invincible… pure ancestral lineage.”
Fear creeps in like weeds, trying to choke me. If I let it take root, I’ll die here. I wasn’t raised to be helpless. Too many nights running for my life to break now.
I slide my fingers under my bra, tugging free the tiny blade hidden in the stitching. Holding the plastic hilt, I saw at the rope binding my wrists. The screams below tear at my focus, but I force myself steady. The cord finally snaps. My hands are free. Quick work, and my ankles are too.
I stand barefoot, the cold wooden floor biting into my soles. I test the door—locked. I wedge a chair under the handle and move to the window. Outside, a vine wraps the trellis beside it. Perfect. I scan for guards. The streetlights glow against rows of darkened houses.
I climb out, fingers gripping branches, feet pressing against the frame. Every rustle feels deafening. My hearing picks up whispers below: “If she escapes, the Boss will kill us. We can’t lose the bloodline.”
I hit the grass silently, eyes darting for movement. The porch is empty. I’m about to run when the front door creaks open. I dive behind thick shrubs as two men step out, lighting cigarettes.
I inch backward, slip into the neighboring yard. A wooden fence blocks me, but stacked trash bins give me the boost I need. I scale it and drop to the other side.
A dog growls, eyes glowing in the dark. Chain length—about six feet. I raise my hand. Easy. My wolf instincts hum, settling him without effort. He whines, then follows me silently as I retreat. When he barks, I bolt for the street, sprinting until my lungs burn.
At the end of the block, a young couple stands outside their house. The girl clutches a phone, the guy steps in front of her protectively.
“Please,” I beg, breathless. “Let me use your phone.”
“What for?” she asks, suspicious. “Are you okay?”
“No.” My knees buckle. I collapse on the sidewalk. “I need… to call my father.” My hand shakes as I reach for her. “Please.”
“Here,” the guy says quickly, handing me his phone.
I dial Father’s number with trembling fingers. Tears blur my vision. He answers on the second ring. Relief crashes through me.
“Bird returning to the nest,” I whisper, our code.
“Rose!” His voice cracks with panic.
“Boston men,” I choke out. “I don’t know where I am. Help me, Dad. I’m in the street, exposed—” My words collapse into sobs.
“A team’s already on their way. We’ve got your location. Stay hidden, don’t hang up. It’ll be okay, princess.” His voice is clipped, commanding.
“It’s this guy’s phone,” I add—then freeze as tires screech. A Mercedes barrels toward me at the end of the street. “They found me!”
“Run, Rose!” Father shouts.
I push to my feet, agony tearing through my ankle.
“Run!” I warn the couple. “If you want to live!”
I sprint, clutching the phone. Pain shoots up my leg, each step worse than the last. I hurl the phone into a yard, call still open. If they take me, at least Father can track the signal.
A brutal blow cracks against the back of my skull. The world blinks out.
- Writer
