ELENA POV
At Midnight
The van rattled along dark roads, heading away from the city.
I sat in the back, blindfolded, hands zip-tied behind me. My body ached from eleven months of torture. Every bump in the road sent fresh waves of pain through my broken ribs.
Brighton was in the front passenger seat. I could hear him breathing, heavy and agitated.
Two of his men were in the front - the driver and another guard.
Stephen sat beside me in the back. I could feel the tension radiating off him.
He'd promised to help. Said he'd contact someone.
But we were moving anyway. Which meant either he'd failed, or Brighton had figured it out.
We'd been driving for over an hour now. The city sounds had faded. Now there was just the hum of the engine and the occasional rush of wind.
"Where are we going?" I asked, voice hoarse.
"I said quiet," Brighton snapped from the front.
I fell silent.
Stephen's hand brushed mine briefly. A warning? Comfort? I couldn't tell.
