Taken

Taken
POV: Isla

The last thing I could remember was going for a morning run outside the mansion. And now I found myself in this hollow, dark room. A cloth tied against my eyes as panic and fear found their way creeping into my chest like a living thing.

I tried to move, but my limbs responded with weak resistance. The rough ropes that bit into my wrists and ankles seared inside me a brutal pain. I twisted, struggling and tugging at the ropes to try to break free.

But whatever they’d tied me to didn’t give in. The sound of murmured and hushed voices shot through my ears—low at first, then coming closer as its footsteps echoed on the floor.

“Help! Somebody…..please!” 

My first scream came out weak and cracked, it died against the walls and came back to me. Hollow and useless with no answers.

I pushed harder, my voice breaking. 

“Help me! Please!” 

I didn’t know whether I was shouting into a goddamn basement or into a cellar. The footsteps came faster now as though it was coming right at me. Before I could part my lips to scream again, a shove slammed into my shoulder.

The cloth ripped away from my eyes so fast I couldn’t prepare for the pain that exploded across my cheeks instantly—sharp and immediate. 

A cruel and brutal slap that thundered through my skull accompanied by the taste of blood burned in my tongue. 

I opened my eyes to see a man with broad shoulders standing over me. His dark hair and face were marked by lines and a pale scar that carved through his brow. 

This was the kind of face that no one dared to question. He looked at me as though something he owned—cold and merciless. “You can scream all you want,” he growled, voice low and dangerous with something inhuman.

“But no one’s coming to save you, sweetheart.” Those words landed like a cruel punch that settled into my bones. I swallowed hard, my useless fingers curled, clawing weakly at the ropes.

“Who are you? Why have you taken me? What do you want?”  The questions rushed out of my mouth before I could stop them—sharp, pleading. 

“If Damian finds out you’ve kidnapped me…..he’ll kill you. He won’t spare you.”

A bitter laughter tore out of him, slow and empty. A laughter that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Damian Cross will never find out that his precious little wife has been taken,” he said, taking a step closer so his body towered over me.

“Everything has been planned out carefully. Every little detail and by the time he realizes you’ll be dead.”

The room tightened around me, forcing a breath that felt too small. “Dead?” I repeated, and my voice came out as something small and breaking.

He leaned in close until my face was inches from mine, a thin line tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m the leader of the Crimson Jackals,” he said. 

The name landed like a stone in my stomach, it had been the gang that attacked Damian’s safe house the night Mark came rushing to tell him.

And now, to hear the same name spoken plainly in this room made everything colder.“And you, pretty little thing, are the price Damian will pay for getting into a war with me.”

I blinked, a slow, frantic movement that wasn’t meant to do anything.  “You’re making a mistake.” I pushed on the ropes until my wrists screamed.

“I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about. I’m not……please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Anything.”

He straightened his posture, eyes scanning over me with a wicked delight that left no place for pleas. “It’s not about you.” His voice grew harder, edged. “It’s about Damian Cross…”

“……he killed every one of my men, every one of them.” His jaw tightened. “ You are what will make him bleed.”

The words died on my lips before I could try to speak again. My thoughts scrambled for what to say to this man to spare my life, but there was nothing—no plan, no memory that could help. 

Fear crept its way into my spine and settled at the edge of my skull. “I…..please,” I tried, softer now. The ropes dug deeper as I pounded on them, but it was all just a pathetic move in that vast, empty room.

“This has nothing to do with me. You don’t have to—“

He let out a small, humourless sound, but there was nothing funny about it as he forced himself up, and began to pace as though marking time rather than simply leaving me to rot.

“Start counting your days alive,” he said without looking at me. The instruction was casual, which made it worse as I stared at him, not sure what he meant by that.

“Counting my days?” I asked, panic curling into something far darker than I didn’t want to name. “Every morning you wake up is closer to your last day alive,” he continued.  “And trust me….I’ll make your death very slow and painful.”

I felt the world fade away right in my presence. My voice came out small and hoarse. “No…..please……” tears streaming down my cheeks in uncontrollable ways. “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t…..don’t do this.”

He paused at the door and looked back once at me. “Enjoy your last days, Isla.” Making sure I saw the deliberate cruelty in the way he said my name as the door slammed shut behind him.

The sound was a physical thing that left a ringing in my ears while the room folded back into its dark and cold form. I lay there with my heart beating like a trapped animal, each pulse a countdown.

Images of Damian’s face flashed through me—imagining his face right now when he sees that I’m gone. Could he know? 

Would he come? Would he tear this place down to the ground and leave nothing standing?

I had to leave this place somehow if I wanted to stay alive, anyhow. “Help! Please!” My voice comes out raw and sharp.

“Somebody—anybody—please!”

I screamed once more, my voice breaking into a sob. 

“Damian!”