Page 76 of Rescuing Aria
No response.
“I’m speaking to you, son.” He taps harder.
The privacy partition slides up fully instead of down, sealing us in the back compartment. The locks engage with an audible click.
“What the hell is this?” Marcus reaches for the door handle, yanking it uselessly. “Do you know who I am? I’ll have your job for this.”
His face reddens, more offended than frightened, like a customer receiving poor service rather than a man in danger.
“We’re being taken.” I drop all pretense, drawing my weapon. “Stay down and away from the windows.”
Aria’s eyes widen, but she immediately slides lower in her seat. Marcus stares at my gun with naked disapproval.
“Is this really necessary? It’s likely just a misunderstanding with the service?—”
“It’s not.” I cut him off, checking the magazine of my Glock even though I know exactly how many rounds it contains. “Your driver’s been replaced. This was planned.”
The car swerves hard right, throwing Marcus against the door. He curses, more indignant than frightened, as if this is an inconvenience rather than a life-threatening situation. We screech down an access road, emerging into an empty lot surrounded by abandoned warehouses.
Three black SUVs appear from side streets, blocking every escape route. The town car halts, trapped by the larger vehicles. The SUVs move, each vehicle positioned to prevent escape, engines still running, headlights illuminating our car from multiple angles.
“Call Guardian HRS,” I tell Aria, passing her my phone. “Tell them our location.”
She takes it, fingers trembling but resolute as she swipes at the screen. Her jaw tightens. “No signal.”
Of course. Jammers.
“I pay half a million dollars annually for security.” Marcus straightens his jacket, fury replacing shock. “Whoever’s responsible will regret?—”
“Get down!” I grab his shoulder, forcing him lower as the first SUV’s doors open. “These aren’t ordinary kidnappers.”
Instead of complying, Marcus shoves my hand away.
“Don’t manhandle me. I’ve dealt with extortion attempts before.” He turns to Aria, his expression showing more annoyance than concern for his daughter’s safety. “This is precisely why I didn’t want you involved in that ridiculous candle shop in that neighborhood. You’ve attracted attention we don’t need.”
The callousness of his response—blaming Aria while ignoring the immediate threat to her safety—sends a spike of disgust through my chest. Not the reaction of a protective father.
“Dad, this isn’t about the shop—” Aria begins, but Marcus cuts her off.
“Of course it is. You’ve been parading around town with those—former street people. Did you really think that wouldn’t make you a target? Your association with them has compromised our security.”
Even now, with armed men surrounding us, Marcus’s priority is assigning blame rather than protecting his daughter. I catch Aria’s expression, the hurt quickly masked behind resignation. This isn’t new behavior for him.
Four men emerge from each vehicle. Black tactical gear, faces obscured by balaclavas, weapons drawn but held low. Their movement is coordinated and disciplined. This has to be Night Pack, but with a level of military precision that wasn’t present in our previous encounters.
“Jon?” Aria’s voice is steady despite the fear in her eyes. “What do we do?”
The bulletproof glass buys us minutes, but not salvation. I assess our position: outnumbered, outgunned, with no communication and no backup arriving in time.
“We—”
A hissing sound cuts me off. Cold mist seeps through the car’s ventilation system, filling the cabin with chemical sweetness.
Gas. Fuck.
I rip off my jacket and press it against Aria’s face. “Shallow breaths through this.”
Her eyes meet mine, wide with understanding. She nods, pressing the fabric tighter.
