Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
They toss us into the van's back—hard metal floor, no seats, zip ties biting into my wrists. The doors slam shut as the engine roars to life. Darkness engulfs us as we peel out. I scoot to Viola, wrapping my bound arms around her as best I can. She's sobbing quietly. "Shh, Vi. Mack'll find us. He will."
But inside, fear whispers: What if he doesn't? What if this is it? I hold her tighter, praying for the man who's stolen my heart. Come find me, Mack. Please.
The van lurches forward, tires screeching as we peel out of the loading dock alley. Every bump jars my body against the cold metal floor, the zip ties cutting deeper into my wrists with each jolt. Darkness presses in thick and suffocating—no windows, no light except the faint red glow from the dashboard bleeding through the partition. My heart hammers so violently I can taste it in my throat.
Viola’s curled against me, her face buried in my shoulder, silent sobs shaking her small frame. She’s trembling harder than I’ve ever felt her, even when Mom used to scream at us after a lost pageant crown. I pull her closer until our foreheads touch. Her tears soak through the thin lace still clinging to my skin.
“Shh, Vi,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
But inside, I’m screaming.
Fear isn’t quiet anymore—it’s a roaring, clawing thing tearing through my chest. Every breath feels stolen, every second stretches into eternity. What if they kill us? What if they hurt her? My little sister—the one who used to steal my lip gloss and cry when I yelled at her for it—is shaking in my arms because of me. Because someone wants to hurt me and she got caught in the crossfire.
Rico’s voice drifts back from the front, low and smug, talking to the driver. “Told you she’d come running for the kid sister. Easy pickings.”
Rage surges so hot it burns away some of the terror. I want to lunge at the partition, claw through it, rip his throat out with my teeth. But I can’t. I’m helpless—half-naked in lingerie and a robe, wrists bound, no phone, no weapon. Just me and Viola and the sickening certainty that this is real. This is happening.
Tears spill over before I can stop them. Hot, furious, terrified. I press my lips to Viola’s hair, breathing her in—cigarette smoke, cheap shampoo, the faint strawberry from the Misfit gum she always chews. She’s still here. She’s still breathing. That’s what matters.
“Mack’s coming,” I murmur against her temple, more to convince myself than her. “He’ll find us.”
The words feel like a prayer and a promise at the same time.
God, Mack.
His name alone cracks something open inside me, raw and aching. I see him in flashes: the way his jaw clenched when he first tackled me off that stage, shielding my body with his own like it was instinct. The rare, crooked smile he gave me this morning in the shower when I teased him about being soft. The rough timbre of his voice when he growled my name while he was inside me, claiming every inch like I belonged to him. The way he kissed me backstage right before the show—like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into that single moment.
I’m in love with him.
The realization hits like a second abduction. It’s sudden, violent, and undeniable. I’m in love with Mack Hawthorne, the grumpy, protocol-obsessed ex-military man who showed up to guard my body and ended up stealing my heart instead. Just a few days. That’s all it took. A few days of banter and danger and filthy promises whispered against my skin, and now the thought of never seeing him again feels like dying.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears tracking down my cheeks. Please, Mack. Please find the ribbon. Please be looking. Please don’t let this be the end.
The van hits a pothole hard enough to knock the breath out of me. Viola whimpers. I tighten my hold.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice tiny and broken. “This is my fault. Rico… he said he needed help with the van money, but I didn’t know—he must’ve—”
“Stop.” I cut her off gently, pressing my forehead harder against hers. “This isn’t on you. None of it. You’re my sister. I’d walk through fire for you. Always have.”
She hiccups a sob. “I love you, Indie.”
“I love you too, Vi. More than anything.”
The van slows, turns sharply. Gravel crunches under the tires. We’re stopping.
Panic spikes fresh and bright.
Doors slam. Footsteps. The back doors yank open.
Rico’s silhouette blocks the streetlight. His grin is all crooked and wrong.
“Time to move, ladies.”
I glare up at him, fury drowning the fear for one blazing second. “You’re dead when he finds you.”
Rico laughs. “Your boyfriend? He’s busy cleaning up confetti. By the time he figures it out, you’ll both be long gone.”