Caught in a Trap

LAUREN

When I come to, my head is still groggy. It took me a moment to realize that I was tied up to a chair in the middle of a warehouse.

The only sound I could hear was the hum of the generator that was keeping the lights on above me. Scanning my surroundings, I tried to keep myself calm.

The air was thick with dust, the kind that clawed at the back of your throat, making each breath feel like swallowing sand. It was cold and the metal walls of the warehouse seemed to amplify every sound, every creak of the rafters and drip of water in the distance.

My wrists burned from the rough rope binding me to the chair, the coarse fibers digging deeper every time I shifted.

I ran my fingers along the back of the chair, hoping to find a sharp edge that I could use to slowly saw through the rope. Nothing.

In the shadows, industrial shelves towered like grave markers, their contents hidden beneath tarps and layers of grime. I tried to make sense of my surroundings, searching for a clue, a hint of who had brought me here.

The smell of oil and rust filled the air, but there was something else too—something faint, like blood or old sweat, that turned my stomach. My heart pounded in my chest, louder than the dripping water, louder than the hum, so loud I wondered if they could hear it, wherever they were.

Whoever ~they~ were.

I thought I heard footsteps a few times, but no one approached me. It was as though my existence was an afterthought, a pawn in some game I couldn’t begin to understand.

The waiting was the worst part—waiting for whatever came next, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps again, waiting for the moment when the shadows would come closer.

I strained my ears, desperate to catch a sound, a voice, something to break the monotony of fear. But all I could hear was the beat of my heart, thudding like a countdown I couldn't control.

I shifted again, wincing as the ropes bit deeper into my skin. The pain was a constant throb now, but I couldn’t afford to focus on that. I had to get out of here ~somehow~.

My eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for something sharp, something I could use to cut through the ropes. A shard of broken glass, a jagged piece of metal, ~anything~.

My pulse raced with every second I sat here, tied and helpless, and all I could think about was ~Mason~.

I wished I could hear his voice right now, telling me to breathe, telling me to focus. I pictured him walking through the door, arms outstretched, pulling me into one of those embraces that made the world disappear. But that was just a fantasy, a cruel trick my mind played to distract me from the reality that I might never see him again.

~No.~ I couldn’t think like that. Not now.

I wriggled my wrists, feeling the rope shift slightly, but not enough to loosen. There had to be something.

I scanned the floor, narrowing in on the small details—the rusted nails poking from the base of the shelves, the splinters in the wooden crates stacked haphazardly nearby. The sharp edges of a metal shelf caught my eye, and I shifted in my seat, trying to edge the chair closer.

It was agonizing, every movement sending waves of pain up my arms, but I had no choice. The chair creaked, scraping the concrete floor as I leaned my weight forward, bit by bit.

I pictured Mason again, this time not as my rescuer but as my reason to survive. I thought of the way his hand would brush against mine when he thought no one was looking, the way his eyes softened when he said my name.

I held onto that, letting it fuel me, letting it drown out the fear that gnawed at the edges of my mind. If I made it out of here, if I saw him again, I’d tell him everything. How much I loved him, how he was the only thing that kept me going through all the darkness.

The chair rocked dangerously, but I didn’t stop. I was so close now. The metal shelf loomed just inches away, its sharp corner gleaming under the dim light. If I could just angle my wrist, just ~there~—I twisted, biting back a hiss of pain as my arm scraped against the jagged edge.

The fibers frayed slightly, not much, but enough to give me hope. I kept at it, the rhythmic sawing of the rope against metal becoming my only focus.

~Mason, I’m coming back to you.~

The ropes were starting to give.

I could feel the fibers weakening, splitting under the steady pressure of the metal edge. One more minute—just one more, and I could be free. The idea of getting out, of running straight to Mason and falling into his arms, spurred me on.

My wrist ached, the skin raw from rubbing against the sharp corner, but I was so close now. So close.

Then I heard it—footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate, echoing off the concrete like gunshots. My heart stopped. The ropes weren't loose enough yet, not enough to slip out. Panic clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down. I had to think, had to stay calm. They were coming, and they had no idea what they’d just unleashed.

I straightened as much as I could, pulling myself together before I called out, my voice louder than I expected.

"You’ve made a huge mistake," I said, my words sharp, cutting through the eerie silence. The footsteps slowed, but didn’t stop. Good. Let them hear me.

"You have no idea what you’ve done. Who you’ve pissed off." My chest tightened with the rush of adrenaline, but I didn’t let it show. They needed to believe every word. "Mason’s going to find me. And when he does—" I let out a short, bitter laugh, "you’ll wish you’d never laid eyes on me. He’s the most dangerous man in England. And he’s coming for you."

The footsteps paused.

I almost smiled at that. They hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected me to be anything other than some helpless woman they could scare into submission. But they didn’t know Mason. They didn’t know what kind of storm they’d just set loose. Mason was relentless. Fearless. And once he had a target, there was no stopping him.

"He’s not going to play your little games," I continued, pushing harder now, my voice steady despite the wild beating of my heart. "He’s not going to negotiate or offer you money. He’s going to hunt you down, every last one of you. And when he finds you—" I let the silence hang, just long enough for them to picture it, “there will be hell to pay.”

The warehouse became hauntingly silent.

After a moment, a laugh—low and dark—rippled through the air. I froze.

That laugh. It sent a cold shiver down my spine, tightening like a vice around my chest.

I knew that laugh.

No, it couldn’t be. But then she stepped out from the shadows, and every muscle in my body seized with recognition.

Tall and poised, dressed in sleek black, she moved with the confidence of someone who knew she had already won. Her sharp, angular face was illuminated in the dim light, her red lips curled into a slow, predatory smile.

Those eyes — ice cold, calculating — locked onto mine, glittering with something that made me feel like prey. A shiver ran down my spine as I stared back, trying to make sense of the face in front of me.

I blinked, trying to process the impossible. My heart hammered in my chest as I whispered, barely able to believe the words leaving my mouth.

“Mom?”

My world tilted, everything I thought I knew unraveling in an instant.

“Surprised to see me?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk but carrying a razor's edge.

I kept my expression neutral, but inside, I was screaming.

She stopped in front of me, tilting her head as if amused by my silence.

“You thought Mason could protect you? That his reputation alone was enough to keep the wolves at bay?” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, you’ve been playing in the wrong league.”

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to react. Not to let her see the fear boiling underneath my skin. But she could read it—of course, she could. She was always ten steps ahead, always the one pulling the strings. And now, those strings were wrapped around my wrists, tight and unrelenting.

"Oh, darling," she cooed, crouching down to meet my gaze, her expression dripping with false sympathy. " You were always so naive, even as a little girl. You really thought you could just sit there and throw Mason’s name around like it was going to save you? How quaint."

Her fingers grazed my jaw, sending a shiver through me as she gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at her.

"You? You’re leverage. You’re the key to getting Mason exactly where I want him—on his knees. And when I’m done with him?"

She smiled, a slow, predatory grin.

"He won’t be the one you need to worry about anymore."

She let go and stepped back, her eyes never leaving mine.

“So scream his name all you want. Pray for him to come for you. But just know,” my mother’s voice dropped to a whisper, cold and cutting, “when he does, it’ll be because I allowed it. And by then, darling, it’ll already be too late."