CHAPTER 3

As I finally get to my feet, dust fills my nose and I sneeze. “Achoo!!!”

Then two men grab my biceps and start dragging me forward. And, me being me, I say it anyway.

“Boys, I only prefer one. And honestly, I’d rather have you two fight each other with knives for me.”

From my left, I hear a weird choking sound, like one of them almost laughs before cutting himself off.

Whatever.

When neither of them answers, irritation starts crawling under my skin. So I stop cooperating and plant my feet. They jolt slightly before dragging me along anyway.

Rude.

Then I go completely limp, dropping my full weight onto them. They still don’t react. They just keep hauling me forward like I’m an inconvenient sack of potatoes.

Oh,Fuck them!

“Speak up, or I am not cooperating!” I start the sentence normally, then raise my voice dramatically at the end.

Then the guy’s voice comes again—the same one who talked to me earlier.

“Sweetheart, you better cooperate. You know I don’t like bad girls.”

His voice is weirdly sweet.

I like that.

“You single?” I ask casually.

Because I’m over a thousand years old, immortal, slightly unhinged, and running dangerously low on common sense. At this point, my survival instincts are mostly decorative.

A quiet laugh slips from him this time.

“You know you’re seriously messed up,asking your kidnapper to fuck you?” he says, his voice smooth—way too smooth. The kind of voice that stands out immediately because nobody just casually sounds like that on a daily basis.

Honestly, it’s unfair.

And messed up? Man, I am messed up…

Then I hear the shuffling of keys, followed by a click as the lock opens.

Before I can react, I’m shoved hard to the side. My back slams into a wall, so at least now I know where one side of the room is.

Then his voice comes again.

“Sleep up, sweetheart. Tomorrow is a big day.”

“At least give me a pillow,” I say. Because, seriously—be realistic. If I’m being kidnapped, I’d still like basic comfort.

“NO!”

A gruff, unpleasant voice echoes through the room, sharp enough to make me flinch.

Oh.

That’s definitely someone else.

And definitely old.

You can just hear it—that rough, aged grumble only old men seem to perfect over decades of being miserable. The voice bounces off the walls, too, which means the room is probably bigger than I thought.

Fantastic.

Then I hear footsteps retreating, followed by the heavy click of the door locking behind them.

I huff.

Fine. I’m alone.

…Probably.

There’s always a chance someone’s still in here, quietly lurking in a corner like some creepy little gargoyle, but honestly? I don’t care enough to check.

I lean back against the wall and think.

Should I do something?

I mean, I have options.

There’s a knife hidden inside the sole of my shoe.

My bracelet has a tracker—live location shared with one of my bestie, because unlike some people, I plan ahead.

And my necklace? Not fake.

It looks decorative, sure.Cute.

It’s also sharp enough to cut through bone.

So, technically, I could escape.

Cause chaos.

Stab someone.

Dramatically disappear into the night.