Page 22 of Anton

The man holding me twisted his grip, pulling me closer. “You’re not in a position to ask questions, sweetheart. But you’ll find out what’s in store soon enough.” He smirked, his breath hot against my ear.

I stumbled, trying to break free, but the grip on my arm only tightened, his fingers digging even more painfully into my skin and making me wince.

“You’ll regret this,” I spat, my heart thundering with a mix of fear and defiance. Anton would make him pay for hurting me.

The guy’s grip tightened further, and I cried out.

“Oh, I doubt that. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy what’s ahead for you, very much,” he chuckled, the sound low and menacing, filled with a dark promise of things to come.

His words slid like ice through my veins, and for a moment, I froze, caught in a vision of what might be waiting for me. The dark corners of my mind whispered things I wasn’t ready to face as he dragged me, stumbling, along a dimly lit corridor.

My body tensed, every instinct screaming for escape, but the hands on me were relentless as they pulled me through a large entrance. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it was no use. As we stepped outside, the harsh brightness of sunlight hit me like a slap to the face, a blinding contrast to the shadows I’d been trapped in. Everything outside seemed so ordinary—clear skies, the soft hum of distant activity—but something about it felt wrong.

My heart skipped a beat as I breathed in the warm, dry air, with the scent of something unfamiliar in the breeze. I had never seen the kind of landscape outside this building before—no towering grey buildings or damp, bustling streets. Instead, the faint outlines of hills in the distance and the warm yellow of the stone around me made it clear: this wasn’t the UK. I was somewhere else. Somewhere far from home.

My chest tightened. Terror crept in, cold and patient. Where was Anton? Whatever was about to happen, I didn’t want to face it alone. I would never wish this terror on anyone, but he had been taken with me, so I knew they had him, too. God, I wanted him. I just hoped they hadn’t hurt him badly, or worse, killed him. No, they wouldn’t have finished him off after bringing him along.

The last thing I remembered before succumbing to the drug they injected me with was him being part-carried, part-dragged toward the van they put me in. They wouldn’t have bothered bringing him just to kill him immediately. No, they wanted us both alive. But why? What did they intend to do to us?

“Where’s Anton?” I asked again, hoping they’d answer this time. I needed to know if I was ever going to see him again.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see Loverboy again soon. The boss has plans for you two,” one of the guys responded.

Thank God. Relief filled me at the thought of seeing Anton again when I’d feared I might never get the chance.

But what had this boss of theirs got planned? All kinds of scenarios invaded my thoughts. Yet, as I sat between two men leering openly at me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was waiting for us—whatever this was—was far worse than I could imagine.

Even with Anton by my side, I feared I might not survive whatever was coming next.

CHAPTER 10

ANTON

EARLY MORNING – SOMEWHERE NOT IN THE UK – FINDING OUT OUR FATE

“Wake the fuck up, sleeping beauty,” a voice said, only just penetrating the layers of blackness in my mind.

Pain exploded through my side, the kick was hard and brutal, dragging me from the depths of unconsciousness. I grunted, instinctively curling in on myself. Another kick landed, this time cracking against my shoulder.

What the hell?

I tried to move away but my limbs felt like lead. The gritty, damp ground dug into my side, and it took me a second to realise my hands were bound tightly behind my back.

“Wake up.” Someone slapped my face, hard.

“You gave him too much,” another voice said.

“Nah, he’ll be fine once he’s on his feet and gets some air,” the first voice replied.

Rough hands latched onto my arm, hauling me upright with brutal force.

I groaned, my eyelids flickering as I forced them open. Everything was hazy, a mix of dark shapes and harsh lights that made my head throb.

“Get the hell up, arsehole,” someone growled, their voice cold as they yanked me to my feet.

The sudden movement sent everything tilting, and I thought I was going to throw up. My vision still blurry, I tried to make sense of my surroundings. Where was I? What was going on?

My legs wobbled and buckled, and I felt myself start to drop. Those rough hands tightened their grip, keeping me upright as they pulled me forward. I was half-lifted, half-dragged down a dim corridor, my boots scuffing along the floor as I fought to stay on my feet and remain conscious. I barely registered the sharp, stale smell—like blood, rot and sweat—clinging to the air, all I could think of was that I had to stay awake.

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