CHAPTER 341

Lori

I’m halfway through my shift when the phone call comes, rattling my nerves like an electric jolt. The day’s been a blur—monitoring patients, juggling paperwork, and worrying about Nyla, who’s still holed up in Crestwood Private Hospital, desperately counting on Jacob to bring her the proof that can clear her name. My mind’s spinning with all the crisis updates: Derek is investigating something, Trixa’s wounded, Jacob is meeting them somewhere after dark. Now, the phone in my pocket vibrates with a text that’s simply: Meet me outside the old bus station lot—Alexander.

Alexander. My heart skips, relief warring with anxiety. He’s been gone too long, entangled in secrets I can only guess at. My break isn’t for another hour, but I ask one of my fellow nurses to cover me. The guilt pinches me—bailing on a shift is the last thing I want, but if Alexander’s finally reached out, it must be urgent. He rarely calls without cause. Perhaps he’s discovered some lifeline for Nyla, or he needs me safe from some new threat.

I hurriedly clock out, ignoring my coworker’s concerned look as I shrug on my coat. Outside, the late-evening sky hangs low and murky, the hospital’s fluorescent lights glaring behind me. The bus station lot isn’t far, maybe five blocks away. I walk quickly, trying to quell the flutter of nerves in my stomach. I haven’t seen Alexander in ages, it seems, not since that one fleeting encounter. He vanished into the darkness, chasing his own underworld business, while I wrestled with the heartbreak of Nyla’s imprisonment and everything else swirling around Stone Hospital.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from “Alexander”:

 I’m sending my man to pick you up. He’ll have further instructions.

Something about the tone is a bit off—Alexander usually calls me “Lori” or uses a more personal touch. This is downright formal. Then again, maybe he’s in the middle of something dangerous. My heart picks up speed. Either way, I keep going.

When I arrive at the deserted bus station lot, the streetlamps cast dim halos in the damp air. A black sedan idles near the curb, headlights off. It must be Alexander’s man. I glance around, hoping to spot Alexander himself, but no such luck. A figure in a dark coat steps out from the driver’s side. He’s broad-shouldered, wearing a serious expression.

“Are you… from Alexander?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly. I have to crane my neck a bit to meet his gaze—he’s at least six feet tall, possibly more.

“Yes, ma’am.” The man’s voice is stiff, as though rehearsed. “He’s asked me to collect you. Urgent matter. Please get in the car.”

I swallow hard, glancing at the nearly vacant street. Only a few flickers of light from a closed corner store and a passing taxi. My gut squirms, but I think about how Alexander might not be able to appear in person if he’s in trouble. If it’s urgent, I can’t waste time. “All right,” I manage. “Where is he?”

“He’ll give you details once we’re underway,” the man says, opening the rear door for me. I hesitate, but eventually slide onto the back seat. He closes the door behind me, then rounds the front to settle into the driver’s side.

The sedan pulls away from the curb and rushes into a highway. The interior smells of stale coffee and leather. My phone vibrates yet again—a text. I quickly fish it out of my pocket. Jacob: Just want you to know, I met with Alexander tonight and he’s fine—he saved us from a bigger disaster. But we lost Trixa… the evidence is gone. Marcus took her. My eyes widen, shock flooding my chest. Trixa kidnapped? The proof they had is gone? My mind spins. That means Nyla’s chances just got slimmer, unless Alexander can do something else.

I reread Jacob’s text. He specifically says I met with Alexander tonight. But… I’m supposedly on my way to see Alexander right now. The timeline doesn’t make sense if Alexander was with Jacob earlier. Did he just split up from Jacob and instantly send this driver for me? Maybe. But a tingle of doubt creeps up my spine.

I clear my throat, leaning forward in the seat. “Driver,” I say, voice tight. “Alexander saved them, you say? So… so where is he now?”

The man’s gaze flicks to me in the rearview mirror. “Busy,” he replies tersely. “He wants you secured. So just sit tight.”

The tone sets off alarm bells. “Secured?” I echo. “What do you mean? Where exactly are we going?”

He glances at me again, not answering directly. My heart thumps. My phone is still in my hand, so I quietly type a reply to Jacob: Wait, you just said you were with Alexander. One of his men is picking me up now. This is suspicious. The driver is acting off. But before I can hit send, the man shoots me a sharp look.

“You texting someone?” he demands, almost barking. “He said no calls. We keep this quiet.”

My pulse races. “He…didn’t say that,” I stammer. “Listen, maybe we can—”

Suddenly the man lurches for the phone. I yank back, pressing it to my chest. The car swerves slightly, tires squealing on the damp pavement. The seat belt digs into my shoulder. “Stop!” I cry.

He snarls, “Don’t you dare text anyone. Alexander’s orders.” That snarl cements my suspicion: This is not how Alexander’s real allies behave. If Alexander wanted me safe, he’d handle this with more caution, possibly sending Dmitri or someone I’d at least halfway recognize. This guy is a stranger. Also, was it Dmitri who called me?

My panic spikes. Trixa missing, Derek shot, and now I might be abducted by someone posing as Alexander’s man. My knuckles clench around the phone. I have to get out of this car. We’re already speeding through an unfamiliar road with trees lining up on the side. 

I unlock my phone, about to call Alexander directly. Before I can press “Call,” the man twists around, one hand still on the wheel, and lunges, trying to grab the device. I jerk away, fumbling. The phone falls onto the floorboard near my feet. We careen across the center line, nearly clipping a lamppost. Horns blare behind us.

My seat belt locks as I brace myself. “Stop the car!” I shout.

He grits his teeth, ignoring me. Instead, he accelerates, apparently hoping to get us away from city lights. The engine roars. If I don’t do something, we’ll be in the middle of nowhere with a man who’s likely working for someone that’s not Alexander. The thought of being delivered to a strange fate claws at my chest.

A surge of adrenaline floods me. I unclip my seat belt, ignoring how the car lurches on a sharp turn. My head slams into the window, but I cling to the seat. The phone is lodged near the front passenger seat. If I can just reach it…

“Sit back!” the driver snaps, swerving around a corner. Buildings blur outside. “Or else—”

I don’t let him finish. Planting a foot against the center console, I seize the back of his seat and yank with every ounce of strength I have. He curses, fighting to keep control of the wheel. The sedan fishtails, wheels squealing across wet asphalt. My heart pounds so hard I can hardly hear anything else.

The driver tries to elbow me. I duck, grabbing at the steering wheel, desperate to force him to slow down. The car jolts violently. The engine screams. I see a flash of a tall tree looming on the right side. Too late.

We slam into it with a horrific crunch of metal. My body whips forward. Airbags explode, the white cushion slamming into my face. Pain bursts in my forehead and nose, and I taste copper. The world spins. Glass shatters, a high-pitched ringing in my ears. For a second, I can’t breathe.

When I gasp and blink my eyes open, the entire front of the sedan is crumpled around the tree trunk. Smoke or steam billows from under the hood. The driver is slumped over the airbag, groaning softly. My ears still ring. I force myself to move, wincing at the sharp sting in my left temple where I must’ve split the skin. Blood drips down the side of my face.

A wave of dizziness hits me, but I grit my teeth. I have to get away. This man is probably out cold or badly stunned. I yank at the door handle—stuck. Summoning what’s left of my adrenaline, I throw my shoulder into it. It jars open with a screech of twisted metal. Panting, I half-fall out onto the damp ground, knees slamming onto gravel. My phone—my phone is still inside. I manage to grab it but its damaged. 

I crawl a few yards, head spinning, then manage to stand. Each breath rattles. My left ankle throbs, but I can walk. The road is dark, with no sign of passing cars. The smashed sedan has a faint glow from its hazard lights, flickering red in the gloom. My mind reels: He tried to abduct me. Possibly wanted to deliver me to some rival or extortionist who hates the Sokolov family—who knows? If only I could warn Alexander or Jacob. But my phone’s lost amid the wreckage, probably shattered.

I start limping down the deserted road. The drizzle intensifies, plastering my hair to my skull. My forehead trickles more blood, which I smear away with the back of my hand. Each step wrenches a gasp of pain, but I can’t stay near that wreck. If the driver wakes up, he’ll track me down again. My heart hammers. I recall Jacob’s text: They took Trixa, the evidence is gone. Something big is unraveling, and I’m stuck in the middle.

“Stay calm,” I mutter under my breath, though I feel anything but calm. The road is flanked by tall pines on both sides, no street lamps in sight. My only hope is that a random motorist might pass and help. But who drives along this route at midnight?

Time stretches as I limp onward, every second expecting headlights behind me. My mind whirls with questions: Where is Alexander truly? Did he even text me? Maybe that was all a setup. Jacob’s text mentioned Alexander was with him earlier, so that means the message I received from “Alexander” was likely a fraud. How did these people hack me? Are they part of the same underworld that threatened Alexander’s empire?

A wave of panic constricts my throat. I force myself to keep going, ignoring the throb in my ankle and the sticky blood in my hair. The chilly air bites at my face. My uniform is soaked through. If I don’t find help soon, I’ll collapse from blood loss or sheer exhaustion.

Finally, after trudging what feels like an eternity, I spot a faint glow in the distance—a pair of headlights. I lurch to the roadside, waving my arms, hoping they’ll stop. My legs threaten to buckle, but adrenaline pushes me on. The car slows, then pulls up a few feet away. The driver’s window cracks open, revealing a middle-aged man with worried eyes.

“What happened? Are you all right?” he asks, leaning across the passenger seat.

“Please,” I beg, stepping closer, out of the rain. “I was in an accident. Need a hospital. My phone is lost.” My voice trembles with urgency. “Can you take me to Crestwood Private?” That’s where Nyla is. And Derek. They can help me contact Jacob or Alexander.

The man’s expression softens with concern. “Get in. I’ll drive you.” He unlocks the door. Relief floods me. Finally, a Good Samaritan. I climb in, wincing at how my entire body aches. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I—someone tried to kidnap me. We crashed. My head’s bleeding. Can you call 911? Or the police?”

He glances at me, face troubled. “That’s awful. But don’t worry, we’ll get you help.”

The car pulls away from the shoulder, headlights cutting through the gloom. I exhale shakily, pressing a hand to the throbbing gash on my temple. My adrenaline is wearing off, replaced by waves of nausea and fatigue. But at least I’m safe now, or so I hope.

Minutes pass. The man turns onto a smaller road, the scenery outside plunging into deeper darkness. The thick canopy of trees overhead blocks any moonlight. We’re definitely not heading toward the city. Confusion stirs. “Sir, the hospital’s that way,” I say, voice unsteady.

He doesn’t answer immediately, eyes fixed on the winding road. “It’s a shortcut,” he murmurs after a moment. “Trust me. We’ll reach a better highway soon.”

My pulse spikes again, suspicion returning. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I’m pretty familiar with Crestwood’s location, and—”

He cuts me off. “Relax. Another mile or so. Then we connect to the main route.” His tone is too calm, almost hypnotic. My stomach churns. Is this another trap?

Shadows flicker past the windows. We’re going deeper into rural territory, not nearer to the city center. The roads are narrower, the trees pressing in from both sides. My breath quickens. I check the time on the car’s dashboard clock—past midnight. Maybe one AM? My sense of direction is scrambled.

Panic sets in as the car continues along a deserted lane. “Stop the car,” I say sharply. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.” My rational side screams that I might die out here if I jump out again, but the alternative seems worse. The man ignores me.

My mouth goes dry. I try the door handle—locked. “Hey!” I tug uselessly. “Open this door!”

He still says nothing, focusing on the road with eerie calm. Alarm bells ring in my mind, loud as sirens. Not again, I think, tears pricking my eyes. Another kidnapping attempt? Is the entire city riddled with criminals wanting to exploit the Sokolov name or manipulate Alexander?

My breath hitches. I rummage in my pocket for my phone—still not there. Right, it was left behind in the wreck. A wave of helplessness washes over me. The car bumps along a gravel path, and in the distance, I glimpse a sprawling silhouette—a mansion? Lights flicker behind tall iron gates. My heart leaps to my throat.

The driver slows, approaching the gates. They open with a rattling sound, like someone inside was expecting us. My mind reels: Where am I? Who are these people?

He parks near a circular driveway, overshadowed by the mansion’s looming façade. Before I can protest, he unlocks my door, then yanks me out by the arm. I cry out, staggering on my injured ankle, my head throbbing.

“What is this place?” I manage, voice quivering. “Let me go!”

He drags me up the steps, ignoring my pleas. Two other men appear from inside—both wearing dark suits, their faces shadowed by the porch light. My throat tightens.

One man steps forward, scrutinizing me with a cold smile. “So this is the nurse,” he says quietly. “The one tangled with the Sokolov entanglements, yes?”

My stomach flips. Sokolov… that’s Alexander’s last name. These men evidently know about him. Dread pulses in my veins.

The first man, older, stands stiffly. “The Sokolov family tries to claim legitimacy,” he mutters in a low snarl. “But the only way out of the underworld is death.” He glances at me with disdain. “You think Alexander’s your savior, little nurse?”

I flinch, chest heaving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, I’m just—” My words catch in my throat. They apparently resent Alexander’s attempts to go “legit,” or so I’ve gleaned from bits Alexander told me. Are these old rivals?

They ignore my trembling confusion. The older man nods to the one who brought me. “Take her inside. She’s leverage, or at least a message to the Sokolovs. Maybe we trade her life for something we want.”

Terror spikes. My entire body shakes. I jerk free of the driver’s grip, adrenaline spiking again. “No— I won’t let you use me!” I lash out, elbowing him in the ribs. He grunts. But I’m too battered, too dizzy; my blow barely registers. The older man seizes my wrist, twisting it until a bolt of pain shoots up my arm.

“Don’t fight,” he growls. “Or I’ll break your bones right here.”

Tears prick my eyes. My head throbs from the car crash. I recall how Derek bled in front of me, Trixa abducted by Marcus. Now I’m in the clutches of some unknown faction that hates Alexander. Am I cursed? The entire night is a horror show.

“S-stop,” I stammer. “Alexander… let him go. He doesn’t—he’s not—” My words tumble, not sure how to argue with them. If these men want to punish Alexander, taking me might be a stepping stone.

Just then, a new voice echoes from the foyer behind them—smooth, younger. “Gentlemen, that’s enough. Don’t damage her further.” The older man drops my wrist. I clutch it, stepping back, chest heaving.

A figure steps forward, half in shadow. I see a tailored suit, a confident stance, the glimmer of a ring on his right hand. He’s speaking softly, but there’s an undertone of authority. My ears ring from panic. I can’t make out the words as he confers with the older man, but I sense he’s more than a lackey. Possibly a leader or someone with ambition. I catch phrases like “Sokolov must answer” and “leverage for the final blow.”

I stumble, disoriented, the corners of my vision darkening. “No,” I mumble, trying to cling to consciousness. My knees buckle, body sagging in pain and exhaustion. The world spins. I glimpse the younger man’s face, partially lit by a chandelier glow—sharp features, a cold smile, perhaps. He steps closer, his presence radiating confidence. My mouth opens in protest, but a wave of dizziness floods me.

“Alexander…” I whisper, longing for him to burst through the doors. “He’ll… find me…” My voice is swallowed by the swirl of blackness creeping in. The edges of my awareness slip away. I hear the older man grunt, the younger man’s voice telling them to carry me inside. Footsteps thud on marble floors.

I try to fight it, but I’m beyond my limit. The chaos of the night—two kidnapping attempts, a car crash, a head wound—consumes me. My body sags, vision flickering. The last thing I register is the younger man’s voice, oddly calm: “Set her in the guest suite. We’ll decide her fate once we finalize our terms with the Sokolovs.”

A final wave of horror courses through me, but I can’t speak. Darkness envelops my mind. My last conscious thought is a silent plea that Alexander or Jacob or anyone might realize something’s wrong and save me from this nightmare. And then, the world fades into black, leaving me at the mercy of these mysterious enemies who loom in the mansion’s dim corridors like specters from a twisted fairy tale.

I slip into unconsciousness, feeling the cold marble under my knees and the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. My final spark of awareness is a faint echo: Nyla… Derek… Jacob… help me, Alexander… And then everything vanishes, leaving only darkness as I pass out in the middle of a silent war I never meant to join.