Page 68 of Colton
The safe house is quiet, almost too quiet. The air is cold, biting in a way that seeps into my bones, no matter how many layers I’m wearing. I pace the living room, glancing out the window every couple of minutes, convinced I’m going to see figures in the darkness watching me.
I’m supposed to be safe here. No one knows where I am—other than the cops. But something feels wrong. The house is too still, too dark. Maybe I’m just not used to being safe. I doubt it’s something I’ll ever get used to.
Out of every enemy I have, I expect Colton to find me first, obsessive bastard that he is.
But I’m wrong.
It happens fast—too fast.
I’ve just sat down, trying to clear my mind, when I hear it. A soft click from the front door. Barely a sound, but it’s enough to spike fear through my chest. I shoot to my feet, ready to fight, but it’s too late.
The door swings open, and before I can react, three men rush in, their faces masked, their movements swift and precise. Thefirst man grabs me by the throat, slamming me against the wall. My head rings as his grip tightens, cutting off my air. I claw at his hand, but he’s too strong. The room spins, my vision blurring as I struggle to stay conscious. The second man shoves a cloth over my mouth—some thick, sour scent fills my lungs. I try to scream, but it’s muffled, trapped inside me as the world begins to slip away. My limbs grow heavy, my body goes limp, but I fight. I claw and kick, trying anything to get free.
But it’s not enough. They have planning—and the element of surprise—on their side.
This is supposed to be a fucking safe house!
The third man binds my wrists, the rope biting into my skin as they drag me out of the safe house. My vision spins, the drug taking over, the world slipping further from my grasp with every passing second. I barely make out the shapes around me—the car waiting in the driveway, the men tossing me into the back seat like I’m nothing.
I hear their voices, muted and distant, drowned by the slam of the door. My heart hammers in my chest as the car jolts to life—every vibration of the engine rattling through my bones. The tight leather seat beneath me feels too slick under my damp palms as my fingers tremble. The smell of gasoline and sweat sharpens the air, making it hard to swallow around the lump in my throat. As the car speeds forward, every bump in the road sends prickles of dread crawling up my spine.
For one split second, all I want is him. Colton.
I try to focus, try to burn every detail into my brain—their voices, the scent of the leather in the car, anything that might help later. But my mind keeps slipping, sinking deeper into the blackness swallowing me whole.
The last thing I see is a glimpse of the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror—cold, calculating, filled with malice.
And then, everything fades.
When I wake up,the world is still a blur of shadows and muffled noises. My throat burns, and the sharp pain in my wrists tells me the ropes haven’t been loosened, not even a little.
Bastards.
My head pounds, a dull, insistent throb. I taste something sour on my tongue.
Fucking hell.
Slowly, I shake off the fog in my brain, forcing my eyes to focus on the room around me. A small, dim space stretches out in front of me, the concrete floor icy against my skin. I’m lying on my side, curled up on the rough cement, the faint flicker of a lightbulb above. The air reeks of dampness, mildew clinging to every surface.
A basement. It has to be.
Pain shoots through my wrists as I try to adjust, the rope digging deeper into my raw skin. Blood slicks against the bindings.
Focus, Luella.
I tilt my head, straining to catch the faint creak of footsteps above me. Whoever they are, they aren’t far.
Memories of the attack slam back into my mind. The men. The safe house. I had been ready for Colton to do something drastic, but this? I didn’t think too much about anyone else, meaning I underestimated whoever this was.
This isn’t Colton. This is someone else. A cold weight settles in my stomach.
Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to bring me here. The real question is—why?
And more importantly, where the fuck am I?
Damn it. Think.
It has to be Xavier Blackwood.
