Chapter 73

Chapter 73

Blaze

“That guy’s still behind me, isn’t he?” I mutter under my breath, not bothering to look back again.

I caught sight of him earlier when I walked into the hospital, hanging near the goddamn vending machine. Black suit, shades indoors, that weird stiff posture… too fucking clean to blend in. I ignored it at first. People wear suits. Whatever. But then he popped up again near the elevator while I was headed to my mom’s floor. And again at the pharmacy downstairs.

Now I’m outside, walking past the old kiosk near the bike lot, helmet in hand, and I can feel it. That itch under my skin. That uncomfortable heaviness in the air that tells me someone’s watching. Someone is following me.

I grip the helmet tighter, jaw clenched, eyes forward. I don’t make scenes. That’s not my style. But I’m ready to break someone’s fucking teeth if I have to.

I pass the curve, heading toward where I parked my motorcycle. My mind flashes back to mom. She looked tired as hell today. Thinner. She didn’t say much—just smiled when I brought her the canned juice she likes, the mango one. Sat beside her for about twenty minutes before she dozed off. I tried not to let it show on my face, but fuck, it wrecked me. She’s fading, and there’s jack shit I can do about it.

I tighten my grip. Focus, Blaze.

The guy in the suit kept a distance, but I’m not stupid. I’ve done dirt. I’ve had debts. Enemies. I’ve pissed people off. Maybe it’s a debt collector. Old boss? I thought Carlo already handled that bastard. The man didn’t just forgive and forget, though. Rich fucks always want more. Pride, leverage, ownership—something.

My mouth is dry. I press the helmet to my hip, scanning the street casually, trying to see if he’s still there. Nothing. Maybe he backed off. Maybe I imagined it.

I snort. Yeah right.

As I get to my bike, I slide the helmet over my head slowly, every motion deliberate. My gut’s telling me to wait a bit. Stall. So I sit on the bike, feet planted on the ground, and pretend to adjust the straps.

I’m supposed to meet Alexi and the guys at the track. They’re trying out a new ride line today. I promised I’d show up, at least watch. Was planning to pick up some food on the way too. Haven’t eaten all day.

As I slide the key into the ignition, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I freeze for half a second.

Another buzz.

I pull it out. Carlo. Text: Where are you?

I start to type back: On my way to the track. Everything okay?

Before I hit send, a hand grabs the back of my helmet, jerking my head back so hard my neck cracks.

“What the fuck—?” I manage to get out, but another hand comes over my mouth. Tight grip. The kind that’s practiced.

I kick back, trying to throw myself off the bike, but it’s too fucking late. Someone’s behind me—no, two. I hear the shuffle of dress shoes and feel my legs being grabbed. I kick out, but my balance is gone.

They drag me off the bike like I weigh nothing. I try to scream but there’s cloth shoved into my mouth. A bag comes over my head.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

I twist, I thrash, I elbow someone hard in the gut. He grunts but doesn’t let go. I feel pavement against my shoulder, hard, and then my arms are yanked behind me.

Zip ties.

Fucking zip ties.

I try to breathe through my nose, but my chest is tight and I can’t see shit. My heart’s slamming against my ribs, blood rushing through my ears.

I hear the trunk of a car pop open.

No. No no no—

I try to scream again but it’s muffled, useless. I twist my body, trying to stall, trying to do anything, but the bastards lift me like a goddamn sack of rice.

My back hits the carpeted floor of the trunk and the last thing I feel is the crunch of gravel under tires as the car takes off.

”

Everything smells like rubber and old oil. The bag over my head itches. My wrists are starting to go numb from how tight the zip ties are.

Time stretches. I don’t know if we’ve been driving for ten minutes or thirty. Could be longer. My head’s spinning. Who the fuck are these people?

I try to stay calm. Focus. Think.

I’ve not had any issues with anyone for so long.

The only person who can do this is that old fart.

But why now? Since I crashed and fucked up my leg. They left me to rot after that. He only cared about the money—but Carlo handled it. Or I thought he did.

Is this them trying again?

That doesn’t make sense.

I try to shift my weight in the trunk, but the car takes a hard turn, and I slam against the side wall. I groan, biting down on the cloth gag.

My mind drifts to Carlo. Where the fuck is he? Did he see my text?

God, please let him come find me.

The car stops. The trunk opens. Daylight burns through the fabric over my head.

Hands yank me out. I try to kick again but someone punches me in the gut, and I fold. Air knocked clean out of me.

They drag me again.

Steps. A door creaks open. Cold tile under my shoes.

Then everything goes dark again.

”

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. They didn’t talk to me. Didn’t say who they were. Just left me tied in some room that smells like bleach and sawdust.

I keep running through every fuck-up I’ve made. Every person I owe, every bastard I’ve pissed off. Could be anyone. Hell, with the way I lived before Carlo, I wouldn’t be shocked if someone just wanted to hurt me for fun.

But there’s a knot in my gut… The chairman. My former boss. He always hated unfinished business. Maybe he thinks I’m still his fucking property.

Well, he picked the wrong fucking day. Because once I’m out of this shit, someone’s getting hurt.

I lean my head back against the wall, breathing through my nose, heart still pounding but slower now.

I just hope Carlo’s looking.