Dragged Away

Dragged Away
Isabella’s POV

Agnes stepped in mid-sentence. “Bella, what’s taking you so long? Did you fall in or—?”

Her words died instantly as her eyes flew wide the moment the scene registered, pure shock freezing her in place for half a second too long. 

Her eyes locked on the scene… me pinned, struggling, eyes wide and watering above the handkerchief; two masked men, one holding me, the other blocking the exit.

For one frozen heartbeat, nobody moved.

Then Agnes exploded.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t hesitate for a second before acting.

She just lunged.

Straight at the man in front of me…the one who’d touched my hair…like a missile in red heels. Her purse swung in a vicious arc, heavy with whatever she’d stuffed in there all day (phone, wallet, lip gloss, keys, probably a brick for all I knew). It cracked against the side of his head with a sick thud.

He staggered sideways, hand flying to his temple.

Agnes didn’t stop there. She kept flinging the bag as she started raising an alarm. 

But just as she was about to make more brave moves, the other man moved like a shadow. He was on her in a heartbeat, yanking her back and clamping a hand over her mouth so hard it muffled the sound in her throat.

My vision swam, darkness creeping in from the edges. My body felt heavy, useless. As I slipped, I heard a sharp, furious curse tear through the room.

Agnes must have bitten him.

“Fuck!” the man holding her snarled, pain cracking his control.

“Just knock her out, dammit,” the one restraining me hissed, frustration bleeding through his whisper.

The weight of the chemical dragged me under before I could hear anything else.

Darkness first. Then the ache.



The moment I stirred, my head throbbed like someone had used it for batting practice. 

My mouth tasted like copper and cotton. Every breath pulled dust and stale air into my lungs. I tried to move…nothing. My arms wouldn’t budge. Panic spiked sharp and fast.

I blinked hard, eyes adjusting to the dim. We were in some warehouse…high ceilings, rusted metal beams, concrete floor cold against my bare legs.

A single bulb swung overhead, throwing long, sick shadows. Crates stacked in corners. Chains dangling from hooks like forgotten decorations.

I was sitting on the floor, back pressed against something hard and behind me was someone else.

Agnes.

Our backs were almost flush together, spines aligned, a thick metal pole running vertically between us. Our wrists were bound behind us…around the pole…with rough rope that bit into skin. My fingers were numb, shoulders screaming from the awkward angle. I flexed my hands…the rope didn’t give. It only tightened.

“Agnes?” My voice came out cracked, barely above a whisper. “Agnes, wake up.”

Nothing.

I twisted my head as far as I could, straining until my neck muscles burned. “Agnes…come on, please. Wake the hell up!”

A low groan echoed behind me. Her head lolled, then jerked as she opened her eyes.

“Fuck… my skull feels like it got run over by a truck.” Her voice was thick, slurred. She coughed once. “Bella? That you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

She exhaled shakily. “Did I kill those bastards? I remember swinging my bag and that towel dispenser like a goddamn baseball bat. Pretty sure I cracked one’s head.”

I let out a weak, hysterical laugh that hurt my ribs. “You definitely killed something. I’m not sure it was them, but… yeah. You went wild.”

Agnes shifted, testing the ropes. The movement yanked my arms and I hissed in pain.

“Where the hell are we?” she asked, voice dropping to a hiss. “And which bastard thought kidnapping two women from a five-star bathroom was a good idea?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up a minute ago. Everything’s fuzzy. Who could be behind this? Damien’s enemy?”

“I think that’s the case too,” she replied.

We both went quiet, listening for anything that could give off where we were or what the hell was going on.

But there were no voices. No footsteps. Just the faint drip of water somewhere far off and the low hum of a generator.

I scanned the space again. Empty. No windows we could reach. One heavy metal door maybe thirty feet away. No cameras visible, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. They could be monitoring us wherever they are.

“We have to get out,” I whispered. “Before they come back.”

Agnes snorted softly. “Brilliant plan, genius. Any bright ideas, or are we just gonna sit here and hope they bring us room service?”

I swallowed. “You always carry that little knife in your boot, right? The one you call your ‘emergency attitude adjuster’?”

A beat. Then: “Shit. Yeah. Right… my boot. Can you reach it?”

I tried to twist. The rope sawed into my wrists immediately…hot, stinging pain. I bit my lip hard enough to taste fresh blood.

“I can try.”

I bent forward as much as the pole allowed, shoulders screaming in protest. My fingers scrabbled blindly behind me, searching for her legs. 

Agnes tried to scoot her right foot closer, but every shift pulled my arms tighter. Bone ground against bone in my shoulder socket. I felt something pop…sharp, nauseating..and a white-hot lance shot down my arm.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck,” I gasped, tears stinging my eyes.

“Easy, easy,” Agnes whispered. “Breathe babe. You got it?”

My fingertips brushed leather. Boot. I hooked two fingers under the cuff, tugged. The knife was tucked in the inner side pocket…small, folding, serrated edge.

I got it.

The blade slid free with a soft click.

We both let out the same relieved breath.

“Yes,” Agnes hissed. “You beautiful, brilliant and smart bitch.”

“Shh,” I snapped. “Keep your mouth shut. We don’t want to draw attention.”

She went quiet instantly.

I angled the knife carefully…awkward as hell with my hands behind my back and no visibility. The blade scraped rope. Slowly and carefully as fibers parted one by one.

“Faster,” Agnes muttered in a hushed voice.

“I’m trying! Can’t you see I’m doing my best? My hands are numb and my shoulder feels dislocated.”

Sweat dripped into my eyes. My arms shook. The rope was thick…cheaper than handcuffs but still stubborn. I sawed harder. A strand snapped. Then another.

“Come on, come on…”

More strands started coming off and finally…the rope gave way.

“I got it—I got it—”

“Yes!” Agnes squealed.

Just then… Footsteps. Heavy, multiple sets approaching all at once. 

My heart slammed into my ribs.

“Stop,” I breathed. “Stop moving. Play scared. Act like we’re still tied tight. When they get close…when we get an opening…we run like our lives depend on it”

Agnes let out a shaky laugh. “Doesn’t our life depend on it?”

I didn’t have time to answer as the footsteps stopped outside the door.

Metal scraped loudly and the lock turned.

Soon enough, the door swung open.

Four men stepped inside…silhouettes against the brighter hallway light.

Tall. Broad. Faces half-hidden in shadow.

The one in front smiled…slow, cold, teeth flashing in a menacing manner.

“Well hello, ladies…”