They kidnap you

I never asked for much. Growing up with almost nothing taught me to be grateful for what little we had. My dad worked hard, even if it wasn’t enough. There were days we didn’t have enough to eat, but we managed. We made it through because we had each other, and that was enough, right? At least, that’s what I told myself.

Our apartment was small, cold in the winter, and hot in the summer. The furniture was old, the wallpaper peeling, and the fridge was always on the verge of breaking down. But it was home. My dad always made sure to smile, even when I could see the tiredness in his eyes, even when things were rough. He’d say everything would be okay, but I didn’t believe him anymore.

There were times when I’d wake up late at night, and the apartment was eerily quiet. My dad wasn’t home, and it was hard to ignore the weight of it. He’d come back later, his face drawn, and there’d be something in the way he looked at me—like he was sorry for something I couldn’t understand. He’d always brush it off, though. “I’m just tired, sweetheart,” he’d say. “Don’t worry about it.”

But I did. I started to worry more than I should’ve.

One night, after a dinner of canned soup, he told me to go to bed early. I didn’t question it. He didn’t usually say that unless something was off, but I figured it was just another late night for him. “Where are you going, Dad?” I asked, almost absentmindedly, when he stood to leave.

He hesitated for a second before answering, a shadow crossing his face. “Just to take care of some things,” he said. His voice was tight, like he was holding something back. He didn’t look at me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say more, but then he just left, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stared at the door for a long time, unease growing in my chest. Something about the way he said it made my skin crawl.

Hours later, I was still awake, my mind racing, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment. And then I heard it—a knock at the door.

It wasn’t the usual knock, the kind you get from neighbors or delivery guys. No, this was different. It was sharp, deliberate, like someone knew exactly what they were doing.

My heart pounded as I lay frozen in my bed. The knock came again, louder this time. Whoever it was, they weren’t leaving.

I got up slowly, my hands shaking. I didn’t know who could be at the door. But the feeling in my gut told me it wasn’t good. I crept to the door, my breath barely escaping my chest, and I peered through the peephole.

Two men stood there, their silhouettes dark and imposing. One of them knocked again, the sound heavy with purpose. I could feel my pulse quicken, a sense of dread flooding over me.

I took a step back, but my feet felt glued to the floor. There was no way to ignore it now. I knew they weren’t here for a simple visit.

Before I could make a decision, I heard the door creak open, and I knew then, with a sickening certainty, that they weren’t leaving without me.

I stood frozen in the hallway, barely breathing as the door creaked open further. The two men outside weren’t just strangers; they radiated something darker, a sense of control that made every instinct in my body scream to run.

The first man was tall—taller than anyone I’d ever seen up close. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and his presence seemed to stretch beyond the space he occupied. He had a harsh face, sharp and angular, like it had been carved out of stone. His dark hair was neatly combed, and there was a scar running from his eyebrow down to his jaw, jagged and white against his tan skin. It wasn’t the kind of scar that made him look tough—it was the kind that said he’d survived something terrible and had no problem surviving more. His eyes, a cold gray, held no warmth, no hint of emotion. They were like ice, calculating and distant, scanning me like I was a problem to be solved.

The second man stood a little behind him, but not far enough for me to miss the unsettling calm he exuded. He was shorter than the first, but still built like someone who knew how to handle themselves. His dark hair was messier, untamed, and his face was younger—maybe in his late twenties—but there was something dangerous about him too, something about the way his eyes flicked to me, quickly assessing, as if he knew exactly how to make someone feel small. His mouth twitched, the corner lifting just enough to show a sliver of amusement, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes were a deep brown, almost black, but there was something softer in them compared to his companion’s. He wasn’t as imposing, but I knew he could move just as quickly, just as mercilessly.

They weren’t here for a friendly chat, that much was clear. The taller one, the scarred one, stepped forward, his boots making a dull thud against the worn floorboards of our hallway. “We’re here for you,” he said, his voice low, steady. It was a warning, not a statement. His eyes never left mine.

The younger one looked me up and down, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “Hope you don’t mind the company,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. It wasn’t a friendly grin—it was the kind of smile someone gives you before they do something you’ll regret.

I stepped back, my mind racing. The fear had settled deep in my chest, a cold weight that didn’t let up. I knew who these men were, at least in a way. They were trouble. The kind of trouble you couldn’t talk your way out of. And they weren’t leaving without me.

The air around me felt suffocating, the walls of the apartment closing in. I couldn’t stay here, not with them standing in my doorway like that. They had to be here for a reason—there was no way they were just lost. My mind was a storm of panic and desperation, but I forced myself to think.

I glanced behind me. The window was open, the cold night air slipping through the cracked frame, but it was too high up to climb out of. There was no escape that way. I turned back to the two men. My heart hammered in my chest, but I couldn’t just stand here and wait for them to take me.

I did the only thing I could think of. I bolted.

I turned on my heel, sprinting down the hall toward the kitchen. My feet hit the worn wooden floor, but before I could make it to the corner, I felt a hand grab my wrist.

The younger man—his grip was tight, unrelenting. He spun me around, his face inches from mine, his eyes flashing with that cold amusement. “Running?” he said, his voice a quiet mockery. “Thought you’d be smarter than that.”

I jerked my arm free, but he didn’t let go. He yanked me toward him, his other hand grabbing my shoulder in a painful hold. I fought, scratching at his fingers, my nails scraping against his skin, but it did nothing. It didn’t even seem to faze him.

“Let go of me!” I shouted, my voice hoarse, desperate.

But my words only made him chuckle darkly. “You’re feisty, I’ll give you that.”

I twisted, throwing my knee up as hard as I could, hoping to catch him off guard. I hit him—hard—in the stomach, but it barely made him flinch.

“Nice try,” he said, his voice still calm, like he wasn’t even fazed by the pain. He tightened his grip on my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin like claws.

That’s when I saw the other one—the taller man, the one with the scar—stepping closer, his eyes cold, watching me. He didn’t say anything at first, just observed, as if waiting for the younger one to finish. I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to give up or if he was just letting his partner enjoy the chase. Either way, I knew I was outmatched.

I glanced toward the door again, but the hallway was too narrow, too blocked by them. There was no way out that way, either. I was trapped.

The younger man pushed me back, slamming me into the wall with enough force that I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs. My back hit the cold surface, the shock making me gasp. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my cheek.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his hand sliding down my arm to pin it against the wall.

I tried to knee him again, but he caught my leg before it could connect, twisting it slightly, making me lose my balance. “Stop fighting,” he hissed. “It’ll be easier for you.”

I gritted my teeth, my mind racing. I couldn’t just give in. I couldn’t let them take me.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I threw my head back, hoping to catch him off guard with a sudden strike to his face. But he was quick, pulling his head back just in time.

His grin widened, a flash of teeth. “You’re stubborn. I like that,” he said, his voice rougher now, a hint of annoyance in it.

I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. I wasn’t going to let them take me without a fight, no matter how hopeless it seemed. But the more I struggled, the more I realized: I was fighting against something bigger than me. Something I didn’t have the strength to defeat.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight as the pressure on my wrist tightened. But I refused to give up, refused to let them win.

“Let me go!” I screamed again, though I knew it wouldn’t change anything.

The taller man finally spoke, his voice low, carrying an edge of finality. “Enough,” he said, and the command in his voice made my heart skip a beat. “You’re coming with us. Whether you like it or not.”

I didn’t have a choice anymore

They didn’t waste any time. I fought every step of the way, kicking and struggling, but it was like trying to push through quicksand. Their hands were ironclad, their grip stronger than any panic or resistance I could muster. I barely even registered the way the world seemed to blur around me as they dragged me through the streets, shoving me into an old van, its interior cold and reeking of something stale.

The drive felt endless, the road bumpy and uneven, but I couldn’t focus on that. My thoughts were a mess, panic clawing at me with every breath. My father—was he okay? Was this because of the debts he owed? The questions tumbled around in my mind, but there were no answers, just the cold metal of the van pressing against me and the sharp, icy air cutting through the cracks in the vehicle.

When we finally stopped, I was too disoriented to even think. I was thrown out of the van, my feet barely touching the ground before they yanked me forward, shoving me into a dark, musty building. The air inside was thick and damp, the scent of rust and decay hanging heavy.

I barely had time to look around before the older man grabbed me by the arm, dragging me further inside. The younger one followed, his eyes never leaving me, but it was the older one who made the decisions. He was the one who spoke, the one whose cold presence made the place feel even colder.

We passed through narrow hallways, the floor uneven beneath my feet, until we reached a door at the end of a corridor. With a swift movement, the older man flung the door open, shoving me inside. I stumbled forward, catching myself just before hitting the floor. My breath caught in my throat as I looked around.

The room was empty—barely a space to move, its walls bare, the floor cold and concrete. No windows. No furniture. Nothing but the hollow echoes of my footsteps. The cold hit me immediately, sharp and unforgiving, biting through my thin clothes like ice against my skin.

Before I could even process it, the door slammed shut behind me. The sound reverberated through the empty space, and I was left alone in the darkness, the only light coming from the thin cracks around the door.

I tried to move, tried to get comfortable, but the cold was too much. My body trembled violently as I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold onto some semblance of warmth. I was freezing, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made everything feel distant and numb. My thin sweater did nothing to protect me, and the chill sank deeper with every passing minute.

My teeth chattered, my fingers numb as I pressed them against my skin, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. The cold was everywhere, inside me, around me, like it was all I could feel. I was alone. Completely alone. And the more I tried to fight it, the more helpless I felt.

I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to find some way to hold onto myself, but it was hard to think, hard to remember why this was happening or what I was supposed to do. I had no control over any of it.

I closed my eyes for a moment, the darkness and the silence swallowing me whole.

How long had it been since they took me? How long would I be here? And what would they do to me next?