Chapter 45 CHAPTER 45
Vivienne's POV
The Uber driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
"You okay back there?" he asked for the third time.
"I'm fine," I lied, wiping my face. "Just... family stuff."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push either. Just kept driving.
Every minute that passed felt like an eternity. I kept checking my phone—the time, the messages, the map showing how close we were getting.
423 Industrial Boulevard. Warehouse 7.
The area got progressively worse the closer we got. Nice neighborhoods gave way to run-down buildings, chain-link fences, graffiti-covered walls. The businesses changed too—from coffee shops and boutiques to pawn shops and liquor stores with bars on the windows.
This was where Uncle Martin had gotten himself into trouble.
This was where I was going to try to save him.
The thought made me want to throw up.
"We're here," the driver said, pulling up to a chain-link gate with a faded sign that read "Industrial Park - Private Property."
Through the fence, I could see several large warehouse buildings, most of them looking abandoned. Broken windows, rust stains, weeds growing through cracks in the pavement.
"You sure about this?" The driver was definitely concerned now. "This doesn't look like a great area for a young girl to be alone."
"I'll be fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "My... my uncle works here. He's expecting me."
Another lie.
I handed him the credit card, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
The transaction went through, and I opened the door.
"You want me to wait?" he asked.
Yes. God, yes, please wait. Please don't leave me here alone.
But I shook my head. "No, that's okay. Thank you though."
I got out before I could change my mind, closing the door behind me.
The Uber pulled away, and suddenly I was alone.
The silence was oppressive. No cars, no people, nothing but the sound of wind rattling chain-link fences and my own ragged breathing.
I looked at my phone. 5:43 PM.
Four minutes to spare.
The gate was partially open, just wide enough for a person to slip through. I squeezed past it, my jacket catching on the rusty metal.
The warehouses loomed ahead of me, massive concrete structures that looked like they hadn't been used in years. Numbers were spray-painted on the sides in faded white paint.
Warehouse 3. Warehouse 5.
I kept walking, my footsteps echoing too loud in the empty space.
Warehouse 7 was at the far end, set apart from the others. Unlike the rest, its door was slightly open, and I could see light coming from inside.
Someone was there.
Waiting for me.
My entire body was shaking now. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, to get out of here, to call for help.
But I kept walking.
Because Uncle Martin was in there. Because despite everything he'd done to me, I couldn't just let him die.
I reached the door and stopped, my hand on the cold metal.
This was my last chance to turn back.
I pushed it open.
The inside of the warehouse was dim, lit by a few hanging work lights that cast harsh shadows everywhere. The space was mostly empty—concrete floors, exposed beams, stacks of old crates and pallets pushed against the walls.
And in the center, five men.
They all turned to look at me as I stepped inside, and my blood turned to ice.
These weren't just random people. These were dangerous people. I could tell just by looking at them.
The four standing in a semicircle were all big—muscular, covered in tattoos, wearing leather and denim that had seen better days. They looked like the kind of people who hurt others for fun.
But it was the man sitting in the chair in the center who made my stomach drop.
He was older than the others, maybe in his forties, with graying hair slicked back and a scar running from his temple to his jaw. He was dressed better—expensive-looking jacket, nice boots—but his eyes were cold. Empty.
This was the leader.
He smiled when he saw me, and it was the most terrifying smile I'd ever seen.
"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and cultured. Not what I expected. "Right on time. I like punctuality."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
"Come closer," he said, gesturing. "Don't be shy. We won't bite. Much."
The other men laughed—low, cruel sounds.
I forced my legs to move, taking a few shaky steps forward.
"That's better." The leader stood up, and I realized he was tall. Easily over six feet. "Let me guess. You're Vivienne. Martin Chen's niece."
"Yes," I whispered.
"Speak up, sweetheart. Can't hear you."
"Yes," I said louder, my voice cracking. "I'm Vivienne. You... you said you have my uncle. That he owes you money."
"That's right." The leader circled me slowly, looking me up and down like I was a piece of merchandise. "Martin owes us quite a bit, actually. Fifty thousand dollars, to be exact."
The number hit me like a physical blow. "Fifty thousand?"
"Gambling debts. Your uncle has a problem, you see. Can't stop betting on things he can't afford to lose." He completed his circle, standing in front of me again. "And when he couldn't pay, we had to get... creative about collecting."
"Please," I said, tears starting to fall. "Please don't hurt him. I... I don't have that kind of money. I don't have any money. But I'll find a way. I'll get a job, I'll—"
"Relax," the leader cut me off. "We're not asking you to pay the debt."
Relief flooded through me. "You're not?"
"No." His smile widened. "We already worked out an arrangement with your uncle."
"An arrangement?"
"Mmm." He took another step closer, close enough that I could smell cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. "See, your uncle might not have money, but he did have something of value to offer us."
My stomach twisted. "What?"
"You."
The word hung in the air like poison.
"What?" I took a step back.
"You heard me." The leader's eyes traveled over me again, slower this time. More deliberate. "Martin sold you to us. To clear his debt. Said you were young, pretty, obedient. Worth at least fifty grand on the market."
No.
No, that couldn't be right.
"You're lying," I said, but my voice was shaking. "He wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't he?" The leader tilted his head. "He is nothing but a useless animal with a
gambling addiction. You really think he has some line he won't cross when it comes to you?"
Tears were streaming down my face now. "No. No, you're lying. This is—"
"Marcus," the leader called out, not taking his eyes off me. "Bring out our friend."
One of the large men disappeared into the shadows at the back of the warehouse.
And then I heard footsteps.
And then I saw him.
Uncle Martin.
He looked terrible—bruised, bloodied, his clothes torn. But he was walking on his own, not restrained. Not tied up.
Because he wasn't a prisoner.
He was part of this.
"Vivienne," he said, and had the audacity to sound relieved. "Thank God. I knew you'd come."
"You..." I couldn't get the words out. "You sold me?"
He had the decency to look away. "I didn't have a choice. They were going to kill me."
"So you gave them me instead?" My voice was rising, hysteria creeping in. "I'm your niece! I'm family!"
"Family?" He laughed bitterly. "You were never family, Vivienne. You were a burden. An obligation I never wanted. Your parents left you to me when they died, and I've been stuck with you ever since."
Each word was a knife to the chest.
"I took you in," he continued, his voice getting louder. "I gave you a roof over your head. Food when I could afford it. And how did you repay me? By running away. By having your werewolf boyfriend put me in the hospital. By destroying the one chance I had to clear my debts."
"I didn't ask for any of this!" I screamed. "I didn't ask to be your burden! I didn't ask for you to beat me and starve me and try to kill me!"
"Well, now you don't have to worry about it anymore." Uncle Martin's expression hardened. "You're their problem now. Maybe they'll treat you better than I did. Though I doubt it."
The leader laughed, slow and appreciative. "Oh, I like her. She's got fire."
He moved closer to me, and I stumbled backward, but one of the other men was suddenly behind me, blocking my escape.
"Don't touch me," I said, trying to sound brave. Failing.
"Touch you?" The leader reached out, his fingers grazing my cheek. "Sweetheart, I'm going to do a lot more than touch you."
I jerked away, and he grabbed my arm, his grip iron-tight.
"Let go!" I tried to pull free, but he was too strong.
"You really are naive, aren't you?" He pulled me closer, his other hand moving to my waist. "You walked right into this. Came here alone, no backup, no plan. All because you thought you could save your uncle."
"Please," I begged, tears blurring my vision. "Please don't do this."
"Do what? Take what's owed to me?" His hand started to slide lower. "Your uncle made a deal. You're the payment. That's how this works."
"No!" I shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing against concrete. "I'm not property! You can't just—"
"Actually, I can." His grip tightened, becoming painful. "You think anyone's coming to save you? You think anyone even knows you're here?"
The reality of the situation crashed down on me.
He was right.
No one knew where I was. I'd come alone, just like they'd demanded. Emma thought I was reading in my room. The Steeles thought I was safe.
And Rafael...
Rafael didn't even know I was in danger.
"Look at her face," one of the other men said, laughing. "She's just figuring out how screwed she is."
"I do love that moment," the leader said, his breath hot against my ear. "When the hope dies in their eyes."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Panic was overwhelming everything.
This was it. This was how I was going to die.
Or worse.
The leader's hand moved to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. A threat. "You're actually very pretty, you know. Martin was right about that. I think we'll get our money's worth out of you."
"Please," I whispered one more time. "Please don't."
"Shh." He leaned in closer. "Fighting only makes it worse. Trust me, I've done this enough times to know."
His lips were inches from mine, and I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to do anything else.
This was happening.
This was really happening.
The leader pulled back slightly, releasing my throat. "Marcus, bring the SUV around. We're taking her back to the base. I don't want to deal with her here."
"No," I gasped. "No, please—"
"Quiet." He grabbed my arm, yanking me forward. "You're coming with us. And if you scream, if you fight, I'll make sure your last hours are very, very painful. Understand?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but shake.
"I said, do you understand?" His grip tightened to the point of pain.
"Yes," I choked out.
"Good girl."
The sound of an engine rumbled outside, and headlights flooded through the warehouse door. A black SUV pulled up, windows tinted so dark I couldn't see inside.
The back door opened.
"No," I said again, trying to pull away. "Please, I'll do anything, just don't—"
"Too late for bargaining, sweetheart." The leader shoved me toward the SUV. "Get in."
I planted my feet, trying to resist, but two of the men grabbed me—one on each arm—and lifted me off the ground.
"Let go! Let go of me!" I kicked out, struggling as hard as I could, but they were too strong.
They threw me into the back seat like I weighed nothing.
I tried to scramble out the other side, but someone was already there, blocking me. Hands grabbed me, pulled me back, held me down.
"No! Please! Someone help me! Help!"
One of the men climbed in beside me, his bulk pinning me against the seat. Another got in on my other side, trapping me completely.
I couldn't move. Couldn't escape.
The doors slammed shut.
"Drive," the leader said from the front passenger seat.
The SUV lurched forward, and we were moving.
I was trapped.
Terror unlike anything I'd ever felt consumed me. My whole body was shaking so violently I could hear my teeth chattering. The men on either side of me were massive, their shoulders pressing against mine, making the already small space feel suffocating.
"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "Please let me go. I won't tell anyone. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. Please."
"Shut up," the man on my right said, not even looking at me.
"Please, I'm begging you—"
A hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off my words.
"He said shut up," the man on my left growled.
I couldn't breathe. The hand was pressed so hard against my face I could barely get air through my nose. Panic made my vision swim, black spots dancing at the edges.
I was going to pass out.
I was going to die.
The hand released, and I gasped for air, sobbing.
"Keep crying like that and I'll give you something to really cry about," the man threatened.
I tried to stop. Tried to be quiet. But the sobs kept coming, wracking my whole body.
This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.
But it was.
The SUV turned onto what felt like a main road, picking up speed. Through the tinted windows, I could barely see anything—just blurs of streetlights and buildings passing by.
No one knew where I was.
No one was coming.
I was completely alone.
The thought broke something inside me, and the sobs turned into full-body shaking. I couldn't control it. Couldn't stop.
"Jesus, she's losing it," one of the men muttered.
"Let her," the leader said from the front. "Better she gets it out of her system now."
I pressed my face against the window, the glass cool against my burning skin. Tears streamed down my face, soaking into my jacket.
I thought about Emma, probably wondering where I'd gone. About Mrs. Steele, who'd been so kind to me. About Mr. Steele, who'd promised to protect me.
About Rafael.
Rafael, who'd saved me once before. Who'd broken down a door to pull Uncle Martin off me. Who'd looked at me with those intense eyes and promised I was safe.
But he wasn't here now.
He didn't even know I needed him.
Fresh sobs tore through me, and I curled in on myself as much as I could with the men boxing me in.
This was my fault. All my fault.
I should have told someone about the texts. Should have asked for help instead of trying to handle it alone.
But I'd been so scared. So stupid.
And now I was going to pay for it.
The SUV made several turns, and I tried to keep track of where we were going, but it was useless. Everything outside was dark, unfamiliar.
Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. Time had lost all meaning.
My sobs had quieted to pathetic whimpers, my body exhausted from the fear and crying.
I had no fight left.
No hope.
This was it.
And then—
Something.
I felt it in my chest. A pull. A warmth that didn't make sense.
It was like a thread had been tied around my heart, and someone was tugging on it gently.
What—
The sensation grew stronger. Not painful, but insistent. Like my body was trying to tell me something.
Like something was calling to me.
I pressed harder against the window, looking out into the darkness.
We were on a highway now, trees lining both sides. And ahead, where the road curved—
Movement.
Headlights.
A car, coming out of the forest. Fast. Too fast.
And I knew.
I don't know how I knew. I just did.
Rafael.
The pull in my chest intensified, became almost painful in its urgency.
It was him. It had to be him.
"Rafael," I whispered.
"What?" The man beside me asked.
The car was getting closer, and as it did, I could see it more clearly through the gathering dusk.
A black sports car. Expensive. Moving like a bullet.
Rafael's car.
"RAFAEL!" I screamed, pressing my face against the window. "RAFAEL, I'M HERE!"
"Shut her up!" the leader barked from the front.
Hands grabbed me, tried to pull me away from the window, but I fought them with everything I had left.
"RAFAEL! RAFAEL, PLEASE!"
The sports car was gaining on us, closing the distance impossibly fast.
Through the windshield, I could see the driver.
Red eyes. Blazing with fury.
Rafael.
He'd found me.
"RAFAEL!" I screamed again, pounding on the window with my fists.
"What the hell—" The leader turned in his seat, saw the car behind us. "Lose him! Now!"
The SUV accelerated, jerking forward with enough force to throw me back against the seat.
But Rafael's car matched the speed, staying right behind us.
"I said lose him!" the leader shouted.
The SUV swerved, crossing lanes, but Rafael followed effortlessly.
Hope exploded in my chest, so strong it hurt.
He'd found me.
He'd come for me.
I wasn't alone.
The man beside me grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. "Who the hell is that?"
"My mate," I said, the word coming out before I could stop it.
His eyes widened. "Your what?"
"DRIVE FASTER!" the leader was screaming now.
But it didn't matter.
Because through the back window, I could see Rafael's face.
And he looked like death itself.
RAFAEL!