CHAPTER 5
397 Words
Clara never made it home that night.
She had just exited Velvette & Co., her sketchbook tucked under her arm, when the street lights flickered. Her footsteps slowed. The air felt heavier than usual—quiet, too quiet. A van pulled up beside her. Before she could turn or scream—
A cloth pressed to her nose.
Everything went black.
---
She woke to the smell of rust and concrete. Her wrists were tied, her mouth dry. She blinked in the dim light of an abandoned warehouse, heart pounding in her chest.
“She’s awake,” a voice said.
Three men stood in front of her, armed and masked. One stepped forward and crouched beside her.
“You’re Clara Sinclair, aren’t you? Your brother made a lot of noise in the past. And your boyfriend’s business partner? Dangerous men. You're the message.”
She glared at him, but her throat trembled.
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Ten minutes later, outside the warehouse—
A sleek black car rolled to a stop.
Dominic Petrov stepped out, slow and silent.
His eyes were cold. Calculated. Deadly.
Beside him stood Gusto Vincent, silent and armed, his expression unreadable. And just behind, Runnip Sinclair, eyes burning, fists clenched so tight they trembled.
“We go in. We get her. No one touches my sister,” Runnip said.
Dominic gave a single nod. “I’ll lead.”
---
Inside, the men guarding the doors never saw it coming.
Dominic moved like a shadow—silent, precise. Two guards dropped before they even registered his presence. Gusto slipped through the back, his gun already raised. And Runnip? He didn’t need a weapon—his rage was sharp enough.
They reached the main room.
Clara sat tied to a chair. Her head lifted weakly.
Her eyes widened.
And then—
Bang.
The lights shattered. Panic erupted.
Dominic stormed in first, shooting with deadly accuracy. Gusto covered him, sharp and quick. Runnip took the brutes by surprise, fists landing with vengeance, bones cracking with every move.
“Clara!” he yelled, running to her.
“I’m here,” she whispered.
Dominic reached her next, cutting the rope at her wrists. “You’re alright now,” he said lowly, gently catching her before she fell.
She looked at him—confused, overwhelmed.
“Why… why are you here?”
He didn’t blink. “Because no one touches what’s mine.”
- Writer
