AGAIN

SYLVIA'S POV

The moment I felt the cold nuzzle press against the back of my head, I knew I was going to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the bullet, for the sharp, splitting pain that would drag me under. But it never came.

Instead, there was a rush of movement, a force knocking the gun away, followed by the sound of bodies crashing to the ground.

"Run! Run and don’t fucking look back!"

That was all I needed. My feet moved before my mind could catch up. I scrambled upright, bolting through the door so fast I nearly smacked my head against the frame. Outside, chaos reigned—people screaming, scattering, the air thick with panic from the first gunshot that had taken Mario down.

I ran.

Ran like my life depended on it.

Tripping, staggering, barely registering the pain as I pushed forward, lungs burning, legs screaming. I burst onto the road, waving frantically for a car to stop. None did.

And then I made the mistake of looking back.

He was coming.

A strangled breath left my throat, and I veered sharply, diving into the woods beside the road. My legs carried me blindly, branches clawing at my skin, my heartbeat a frantic drum in my ears. I didn’t know how far I got before something hard caught my leg.

I hit the ground.

Pain exploded through me, but before I could scramble up, rough hands grabbed me, flipping me onto my back.

It was him.

He grinned—a filthy, rotting grin that made my stomach turn. His teeth were stained brown, lips cracked and darkened from years of smoking.

Then his fist swung.

Pain.

And then—

Darkness.

When my eyes cracked open again, pain shot through my head, sharp and throbbing. My ears were ringing, a high, piercing sound that made me wince.

I groaned and tried to lift my hand, to press my fingers to my aching skull. But I couldn’t.

Something clinked.

I tried again. My arms wouldn’t move.

A slow, creeping fear spread through me.

I blinked, forcing my eyes open wider, my vision adjusting to the dim light. My hands were chained. Thick metal cuffs wrapped around my wrists, holding them to the wall. My ankles—bound too.

A shaky breath left my lips.

Then I looked down.

And my stomach dropped.

I was naked.

Completely bare. My legs—spread open.

A violent shudder ran through me. My mind screamed at me to move, to do something, but I was frozen. My breath hitched. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Had they—?

A choked sound crawled up my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, wiggling my hips, shifting my legs, searching for pain. For any sharp sting, any soreness, any proof that—

But there was nothing. No pain. No blood.

I let out a shaky breath. Okay. Okay. They didn’t…

But that didn’t mean I was safe.

I had to get out of here.

I yanked at the chains, twisting my body, searching the room for a way out. Four walls. Plain. Cold. A small wooden door. No windows. No cracks. Nothing. No way to know if it was night or day. Fuck!

The air felt thick.

Too thick.

I sucked in a breath, but it wasn’t enough.

Another.

Still not enough.

My chest was tight. My lungs squeezed. My skin was damp with sweat.

The walls were closing in. The chains felt heavier.

I wasn’t just trapped.

I was losing it.

And there was no one here to help me.

Just as the darkness started to pull me under, a rickety fan above me sputtered to life, its rusty blades humming, slow at first, then steady. A weak, cool breeze brushed against my clammy skin, chasing away the suffocating heat.

I sucked in a deep breath. Then another. My lungs stopped fighting me. The room was still a prison, but at least I could breathe.

Someone had turned it on.

The thought sent a fresh chill down my spine. There was a control panel outside this room. But how did they know? How did they know I was struggling?

My gaze drifted upward, tracing the ceiling until—

There.

A tiny, blinking red light in the far corner, aimed right at me.

I was being watched.

My stomach clenched. The air turned heavy again. I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering my mantra under my breath, over and over, like a desperate prayer.

Time blurred. I didn’t know how long I lay there, staring at that damn light. Watching it blink. Watching it stop.

Why did it stop?

A minute passed.

Then—footsteps.

Heavy. Steady. Moving toward the room.

Something was wrong.

The door slammed open.

A man stepped inside, his boots thudding against the floor as he stalked toward me. He didn’t hesitate. His eyes flicked straight to my legs—to my exposed body—before he crouched and unshackled my ankles. Then my wrists.

A piece of fabric hit my stomach. A dress.

"Put that on. Let’s go."

My throat was dry. My hands clenched the fabric. "Where are you taking me?"

He sighed sharply, his patience already worn thin. "Put that fucking dress on and let’s go—unless you want to be fucked by those men up there."

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I yanked the dress over my head and stumbled after him, my heart hammering. He had to be one of Mario’s men, right? Or maybe—maybe a cop?

God, please, I whispered under my breath as we hurried down a long corridor. The air smelled damp, metallic. Then we burst into a wide-open space—dimly lit, cluttered with crates and rusting machinery. A warehouse.

"They’re dead."

The voice came from behind me.

I jumped so hard my feet tangled, and I hit the ground, a sharp pain shooting up my palms.

The man I was with barely reacted. He glanced at the newcomer, nodding toward another set of rooms like they’d done this a hundred times before. Barely even looking at me.

"Check those. I’ll take her out of here."

Then his hand clamped around my arm, yanking me up, half-dragging me outside.

The damp, suffocating air of the warehouse gave way to the cool hush of the forest.

We walked.

An hour? Two? Four? I had no idea.

My feet ached, every step sending pain up my legs. I wanted to stop. I needed to stop. But the man ahead of me never slowed, never even looked back.

Then—

A gunshot split the silence.

Before I could react, a hand yanked me backward, a strong arm locking around my waist.

Up ahead, my captor froze, his head snapping toward us.

"Let her go," he warned, stepping forward. "And maybe I won’t have to kill you."

The man holding me let out a low, ugly laugh. "Kill me?" he mocked. Cold steel pressed against my temple. "Or maybe I blow her fucking brains out. Tell me—what would Mario do if I sent him a video of me filling up his little whore?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. I wanted to say something, anything, but then—

Crack.

A gunshot rang out, slicing through the air.

I braced for pain AGAIN.

None came.

Instead, the grip on me went slack.

Then—thud.

I turned, heart slamming against my ribs, just in time to see the body crumple to the ground. Blood pooled from the clean bullet hole in his skull, seeping into the dirt.

Slowly, I looked up.

My captor who shot him lowered his gun, his expression unreadable. But I knew one thing without a doubt now—

He was one of Mario’s men.