Chapter 3

3

Beck

I didn't struggle one bit as I was led out of that godforsaken building and into the back of a van, my hands bound behind me. And as soon as I was sitting on the floor in the back of the van, my ankles were zip-tied too by the same man who'd done my wrists. He was covered in tattoos, and the cold look in his eyes made me shrink back from him.

He was clearly dangerous.

So, I didn't ask questions. I didn't plead. And really, what did I have to plead for? Clarke was safe now, and that was all I gave a fuck about. I'd managed to get in as a guard, knowing I could be killed at any moment. All I'd been able to focus on for months was rescuing Clarke and getting her the fuck out of there.

I'd known my dad was shady. I'd known her mom was somehow involved. But their lack of concern over Clarke being kidnapped, taken right out of her bed in their home, made my blood chill in my veins every time I thought about it. They weren't even concerned about the lack of security in their home—a home that had things in it worth millions of dollars.

It was worrying. Weird. Suspicious.

Something in my gut told me I shouldn't have left home and gone to college. I should have stayed with her—protected her. Kept an eye on her. Or at least taken her with me. But Clarke, always so damn selfless, had pushed me to go to college so I could pursue my dreams of one day playing hockey professionally.

I'd left it all behind the moment I heard she was missing. I'd quit school. Quit hockey. Given up on my dreams.

My step-sister was all I gave a fuck about. Without her, my life didn't have meaning. And I knew I shouldn't feel like this about a girl who was technically my sister by marriage, but I couldn't damn help it. I'd loved her for years now—ever since Dad brought her mom home and announced they were engaged and would be getting married. For me, it was love at first sight. And I swore I would always protect her. Always take care of her.

And I'd failed. I hadn't even been enough to fucking rescue her.

I sighed and leaned my head back, staring up at the darkened ceiling. These men didn't seem like the types to ask me any questions, but I had hope that I might survive this and could get Clarke somewhere safe—somewhere far away from our parents. Putting me in this cold basement had to mean they weren't looking to kill me, right? Or at least not right away.

I just needed to get Clarke somewhere safe. That was it. That was my only goal—had been my only goal for months now. I had money saved—enough to get us out of the country. And I'd been working with Tom, the cool nerd from high school, for just as long, getting me and Clarke fake IDs and passports.

I didn't know how my dad and stepmother were involved in this, but they had to be. It was the only thing that made sense to me. I'd seen them cry in front of numerous cameras and reporters, begging for whoever took Clarke to just bring her back home, but I'd also seen how quickly those tears dried up after the cameras were off of them. Dad hadn't missed a day of work. Amber hadn't missed a moment of shopping and socializing. Even the day Clarke went missing, they'd kept to their routines.

Their lives were still too normal . How did your daughter get kidnapped and you just lived as if everything was okay? Because I hadn't been okay since I got that fucking phone call.

A part of me had been missing until I laid eyes on her again. And every day I watched her fight, heard her screaming, sobbing, begging for help, had torn me to fucking shreds. She knew I was there, and the one time I'd thought to intervene, she'd silently begged me with her eyes not to. Even though she would suffer, she and I both knew we wouldn't make it out alive if I was uncovered.

I'd had to play it safe. And I'd thought I would've had a chance to get her loose and hide her until those bikers left, but I hadn't moved fast enough—not for those men. They were trained and moved even quicker. The number of bodies I'd seen lying on those white floors, blood covering the walls and ceilings and pooling beneath my shoes had turned my stomach.

They were trained killers, and I knew they were just as dangerous as the traffickers that had stolen Clarke. And now, we were both in their hands. And while I didn't think they'd harm Clarke, my hopes weren't high. They'd rescued her, sure. But what were their plans with her now?

I hung my head, my throat working as I swallowed.

I just needed her to be safe. As long as she was safe and protected… well, I didn't give a fuck about what happened to me.