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"Game?" I spit the word out like venom. "This is no game."
"Everything's a game, love. And I'm rather good at playing." His chuckle is a sound you'd hear in nightmares.
My hands shoot up instinctively, a useless shield against the gun Declan wields with disturbing ease. I move back from him slowly before running across the room, every nerve ending screaming, to Evan who looks up at me with wide, terror-filled eyes. I stand between him and Declan, my body a frail barrier.
"Where's Constantino?" Declan demands, as if he doesn't already know, as if he isn't reveling in this sick game of cat and mouse.
"Constantino's not here," I say through gritted teeth. My mind races, but it feels like running through molasses—every thought slow, sticky, leading nowhere.
"Of course he's not," Declan sneers, his laughter echoing off the walls. "He's an idiot for leaving you two alone, unarmed. Defenseless." He steps closer, and I can smell the musk of his cologne mixed with the scent of danger. "That's why he's not fit to lead."
I want to scream, to throw something, anything. But there's nothing—no plan forms, no brilliant escape. I'm frozen, cornered.
"Come with me willingly, or we do this the hard way," Declan says, a note of finality in his voice. "Either way, I'm taking both of you."
"NO!" Evan's shrill cry cuts through the tension. "You're the man that killed my dad!"
Declan's laugh is cruel, devoid of humanity. "The boy's got spirit."
I drop to one knee, my gaze locked on Evan. His small frame is shaking, but there's defiance in his eyes—a Blackwood through and through. "Evan, listen to me, it's very important you do exactly as I say, okay? We need to stay safe."
His nod is slight, almost imperceptible, but it's there.
"Okay," I whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat. I rise, facing Declan with a facade of calm I'm far from feeling. "We'll come with you willingly."
It's a lie, a desperate ploy. In my head, I'm clawing for options, for any sliver of hope. The truth knaws at me—if we resist, this floor may become our grave. But compliance might buy us time. Time for Constantino to find us, time for me to figure out how to get Evan out of this alive.
"Smart girl," Declan nods, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as if he's just won a prize at the fair.
But I'm no prize. And this is no fair. This is a nightmare, a twisted carnival where fear is the main attraction, and Declan O'Leary is the sinister ringmaster.
"Let's go then," he commands, gesturing with the gun.
I scoop Evan into my arms, his small body trembling against mine. I hold him tight, whispering empty promises of safety as we step into the unknown, led by the devil himself.
The chill of the night seeps through the sedan's windows, an ominous companion to the silence that hangs like a shroud between Evan and me. Declan doesn't bother with blindfolds or handcuffs; he just ushers us into the backseat with a smirk that suggests we're already caught in his web. The glass partition rises with a soft whirr, sealing us in this moving tomb.
"Count the turns," I murmur to myself, trying to cling to some semblance of control. Left, then right, another left—it's a pathetic attempt at navigation when the world outside is nothing but shadows behind tinted glass. After a few minutes, my mind spins, and the counting feels as useless as screaming into the void.
Declan's eyes never leave me, not even for a second. It's like he's trying to peel back my skin and see what's underneath, what magic I might possess to warrant Constantino's attention. I squirm under his gaze, each look a brand upon my flesh. "What do you want?" I snap, finally meeting his stare head-on.
"Ahh," he begins, leaning closer, his voice a low rumble, "I've met the dames the Maldonado brothers picked. But you..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Constantino, he's always been the wild card."
"Is there a point to this creepy little monologue, or are you practicing for your next villain audition?" My voice drips with disdain, but beneath it, my heart hammers against my ribs, a caged bird desperate for escape.
"Patience, Evelyn." His smirk widens. "I just never thought he'd fall victim to... love, like his brothers did. You see, I'm curious—what's so special about you? What could make a man like him give up everything?"
“He hasn’t given up anything for me,” I scoff, my voice echoing in the claustrophobic space of the car. "You think Constantino would actually show up just for little old me? Then you've miscalculated, Declan."
His smile is a crooked blade slicing through the tension. "We shall see," he replies, and his confidence seeps into the car like smoke.
The vehicle grinds to a halt, its tires crunching against gravel—sound loud in the silence. Declan's door swings open first, then mine, a rush of cool night air flooding in, carrying with it the metallic tang of the city and the distant hum of traffic. I inhale deeply, a feeble attempt at steadiness before grasping Evan's hand, pulling him close as we step out onto the concrete.
"Come on, darlin'," Declan's voice is a low growl as he gestures toward the gaping mouth of the warehouse. My insides twist, but my feet move. One step, then another, my arm wraps protectively around Evan, who clings to my side like a second skin.
Inside, the air is stale, thick with the scent of rust and neglect. The bay closes behind us with a definitive thud, sealing off any hope of an easy escape. I fight the urge to look back, instinctively knowing there's nothing for us but shadows and the echo of our own footsteps.
"Keep walking," Declan orders, and we're herded down a corridor lined with cold metal doors. Each one is identical, a series of silent sentinels keeping their secrets. The only sound is the soft scuff of our shoes against the concrete, a rhythm that feels like a countdown.
