A Night With Mr. Woods

CHAPTER 15

The air was thick, damp, and carried the faint sting of mildew. My legs trembled as Damian’s hand tightened around mine, guiding me down the narrow corridor that stretched into shadows. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the walls themselves were closing in, pressing secrets into my skin.

“We don’t have much time,” Damian muttered, his voice low but sharp. His eyes darted to every corner, every flicker of movement. “They’ll realize we’re gone soon.”

My wrists still burned from the rope, raw and tender, but the pounding in my chest made me forget the sting. I glanced back, half-expecting Kira or the stranger to materialize behind us. Only silence followed, broken by the distant drip of water echoing through the passage.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Some kind of underground service tunnel,” Damian replied. “They used it to move us without being seen. That’s our advantage now—we’ll use their path to get out.”

His confidence steadied me, though my heart still felt like it was racing ahead of us, dragging me toward some inevitable collision with the truth.

After what felt like forever, we reached a rusted door at the end of the passage. Damian pressed his ear against it, then motioned for me to stay quiet. With a careful push, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber lined with shelves stacked with old crates and files. Dust clouded the air as we stepped inside.

“Storage?” I asked, my voice barely above a breath.

Damian scanned the shelves, his jaw set. “Not just storage. Look.”

He reached for a box on the nearest shelf and pulled out a file. Papers spilled across the floor—contracts, photographs, names. My breath caught as I spotted one of the photos. My father.

I fell to my knees, snatching it up. It wasn’t a family photo, not anything personal. It looked like surveillance, taken from a distance. My father was walking with two men I didn’t recognize, their faces sharp, their postures tense.

“What is this?” My voice cracked.

Damian crouched beside me, his expression dark. “Proof. He wasn’t just an innocent businessman, Allison. He was connected to something… bigger.”

The weight of the photo burned in my hands. I thought of the stranger’s words, of Kira’s taunts. My father’s estate. The warnings. The folder. It was all circling back to this moment.

Before I could speak, footsteps echoed outside the door. Damian’s head snapped up, his body instantly tense. He shoved the photo back into the file and pushed it into my arms. “Keep it. Whatever happens, don’t let them take it.”

The door rattled, and in the next second, it burst open. A group of men stormed in, their faces hidden behind black masks. Kira’s voice followed, smooth and cruel.

“Did you really think you could run, Allison?”

She stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Her smile widened when her gaze landed on the file clutched in my arms.

“Ah. So you’ve found it.”

Damian moved in front of me instantly, his body a shield. “Stay back.”

Kira tilted her head, her eyes glittering. “You can’t protect her forever, Damian. She’s already tangled in this web. And once you know what her father really was, you won’t even want to.”

Her words struck deep, slicing through the fragile hope I had been clinging to. My father. My family. All of it felt like a puzzle missing half the pieces, and Kira was dangling them just out of reach.

Damian’s voice cut through the tension, fierce and unwavering. “I don’t care who her father was. She’s mine to protect.”

The words sank into me like fire, igniting something I couldn’t name. Fear, yes. But also strength. For the first time since this nightmare began, I didn’t feel completely powerless.

Kira’s smile faltered, her gaze hardening. “Then both of you will burn with him.”

She snapped her fingers, and the masked men lunged. Damian grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the far side of the chamber, weaving between shelves as crates toppled around us. The file pressed against my chest, the weight of it a constant reminder of the danger we carried.

We reached another door, this one metal and sealed with a heavy lock. Damian cursed under his breath, scanning for another way out. Behind us, the men closed in, their footsteps pounding like drums of war.

“Allison,” Damian said, his voice tight. “Do you trust me?”

My throat was dry, my pulse frantic, but I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then run when I tell you.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant. One of the masked men lunged forward, swinging a baton. Damian met him head-on, shoving me back as the impact rang through the chamber. The fight erupted around me—grunts, crashes, the c***k of wood against metal.

I pressed against the shelves, clutching the file, my body trembling. The door loomed ahead, locked, unyielding. My eyes darted to the walls, searching for anything—anything—that could save us.

And then I saw it. A vent, small and rusted, half-hidden behind a stack of boxes. It wasn’t big enough for Damian, but I could fit.

The thought chilled me. Leaving him here, even for a moment, felt impossible. But his voice echoed in my mind. Run when I tell you.

The fight raged on, Kira watching with her arms crossed, her expression smug. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t lifted a finger. She didn’t need to. She was the puppeteer, pulling strings while the rest of us danced.

My hands shook as I set the file down and shoved the boxes aside. The sound drew her gaze instantly. Her eyes narrowed.

“Allison,” she said, her voice slicing through the chaos. “Don’t.”

But it was too late. The vent cover clattered to the floor.

Damian turned just in time to see me. His eyes locked on mine, fierce and full of command. “Go!”

And before I could lose my courage, I crawled into the vent, clutching the file tight against my chest as the chamber erupted into shouts and chaos behind me.