Page 66 of Never Distract a Biker

"Quiet now," a voice hisses in my ear, cold as the tile pressed against my cheek. A gun's muzzle presses into my temple, metal kissing skin in a deadly caress. "One more peep, and it's lights out, sweetheart."

Tears burn behind my eyes, hot and desperate. Do they think a gun scares me? No. I've stared down worse in the name of love and survival. But this ... this is different. This time, it's not just my life hanging in the balance.

"Please," I whisper, not because I'm afraid to die, but because dying means failing those I love. Failing my children. The thought is unbearable. "Don't do this."

The grip on me tightens, a cruel reminder that pleas mean nothing to men like these. Fear tastes like bile in my mouth, yet beneath it, a steady resolve pulses. I will survive this. For mybaby. For Viktor. Because Scarlett Wood never breaks—well, not entirely.

"Change," the gruff voice demands, shoving fabric into my hands. My fingers tremble as they clutch the maxi dress, its floral pattern identical to what one of them has on. I don't recognize the woman in the mirror as I pull the wig over my blond hair, the synthetic brunette locks framing my face in an unfamiliar curtain.

"Quickly," another voice snaps.

I comply, heart hammering. The dress falls over my body, loose and concealing—the perfect disguise. I hardly look like Scarlett Wood now. But it's not me I'm worried about; it's the little lives blossoming inside me. The ones who don't know chaos yet.

Viktor's name burns through the terror, igniting a spark of cunning. I need to leave a trail, something Viktor can follow. Eyes darting, I spot a trash can near the stall. A receipt from today's shopping—a code he'll understand, a breadcrumb back to me.

"Move!" They're on me again, pushing, pulling. I let my earring slip from my pocket, fluttering down as I stumble forward, hoping, praying Viktor will see it, will know.

"Let's go," one growls, and I'm herded toward the door, away from safety, away from Yelena, away from Viktor. Away from everything.

The cold metal of my bracelet chills my skin as I unclasp it. My fingers work swiftly, the charm catching light one last time before I let it drop silently to the floor. A symbol, a plea—find me, Viktor. The second earring follows, a tiny glint of gold winking out as it tumbles away from my earlobe, its mate left alone to grieve its absence.

"Keep moving," one of the figures hisses, thrusting me forward with a force that nearly sends me sprawling. I stumble, regain my footing, and focus on each step that takes me closer to the exit, each step further from my old life.

The bathroom door swings open, and the noise of the mall crashes over me like a wave. Shoppers bustle by, oblivious to the drama unfolding within their midst. The transition is jarring—the bright lights, the cacophony of voices, the scent of fast-food mingling with perfume samples. It's all a blur, a kaleidoscope of normalcy that I'm no longer a part of.

"Watch it," someone mutters as we brush past a young couple. I want to scream, to reach out, but I'm a ghost in this crowd, invisible beneath my disguise with a gun pressed to my side.

Then, silence descends as we slip through a service door, the din of the mall muffled as if by a thick curtain. The air here smells of oil and concrete—a stark, foreboding welcome to the world that waits outside.

"Remember, Scarlett," I whisper to myself, committing every detail to memory—the number of steps to the doors, the soundof the men's voices, the pattern of the driver's breathing. Clues. Evidence. Hope.

A part of me, a fierce and unyielding fragment, clings to the belief that Viktor will come. That he'll see the breadcrumbs I've left behind and follow them straight into the lion's den.

A van waits ahead, its dark windows reflecting nothing, revealing nothing. It sits like a predator, patient, and expectant. I'm pushed inside, the interior swallowing me whole. The doors slam with a finality that echoes through my bones.

I sit, breath shallow, mind racing. But amidst the fear, there's a thread of steel. For my child, for Viktor, I will survive this. Somehow.

The van's interior closes around me, a metallic beast with darkened windows and the stench of oil and fear. My heart pounds against my ribs, each beat a drum of war within the confines of my chest. The engine roars to life, tearing through the silence like a declaration of intent.

"Drive," commands a voice, cold and detached.

We lurch forward, the world outside morphing into a blur of colors as we speed away from the mall, from Yelena, from everything familiar. I press my hands against the cold floor, trying to ground myself amid chaos.

I narrow my eyes, scanning the van. It's bare, stripped of any feature that could give away a hint of identity or purpose. Steelpanels and a cage separate us from the driver. A single, dim lightbulb swings overhead, casting sickly shadows that dance along the walls.

"Stay strong," I tell myself, even as another part of me shivers, curling into a tight ball of dread and uncertainty. But that steel thread? It remains, woven into the fabric of my being, unbreakable. For the sake of what—no, who—I carry within me, I have to be.

The van sways, tires screeching against the pavement as it weaves through traffic. I grip the metal beneath me, knuckles white, while my body sways with each sharp turn. My thoughts spiral but then suddenly snap to focus on the tiny life inside me—my unborn child.

"Stay safe," I murmur, hand instinctively resting over my belly. It's a silent pledge, a vow that surges through every fiber of my being: I will protect this baby at all costs.

I think of Viktor, his stern face that softens only for a moment when he looks at me. The thought of him finding us, of his resolve mirroring my own, injects a shard of hope through the fear. He's out there and he won't rest until we're safe. I cling to that hope like a lifeline.

"Viktor will come for us," I whisper the words a mantra. Each syllable is a step closer to him, to home.

A bump in the road jolts me from my reverie, and my heart clenches. I close my eyes, letting my mind paint a picture of afuture where we are free, where our child knows love—not this cold, terrifying uncertainty.

"Survive," I tell myself. For the babies. For Viktor. For the love that, despite everything, remains unshaken. I take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart.

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