Page 107 of Knot So Lucky

"Either you come with us quietly," the one in front says, his voice carrying the particular cadence of someone who's delivered threats so often they've become routine, "or we can just do the usual drug-and-go method. Your choice."

I roll my eyes—an automatic response to absurdity that probably isn't the smartest move given the circumstances.

"Do we really have to do this?" I ask, letting exasperation bleed into my voice. "Like, can we take a rain check? I'm exhausted, my ribs hurt, I just want to go home and sleep for approximately eighteen hours."

The three men frown in unison, clearly not expecting that response.

"Luca's gotta learn not to piss us off," the speaker declares, like this explains everything. "You follow us and we'll make sure you don't die in the crossfire."

Oh.

This isn't about me specifically. This is about Luca. About using me—his new team partner—as leverage or collateral or whatever criminal enterprises use to settle scores with wealthy racing champions.

Great. Fantastic. Exactly how I wanted this day to end.

I sigh with the resignation of someone whose day has gone so catastrophically wrong that kidnapping barely registers as surprising.

"Fine. Go ahead and cuff me or whatever. Let's get this shit over with." I hold my wrists out in front of me. "But if you knock me out, you're done."

They reach for zip ties or handcuffs or whatever method of restraint they've prepared, and I add quickly:

"My tracker…the one embedded in my body…can tell if I'm unconscious. It monitors my heart rate, blood pressure, and neural activity. So, unless you want the whole-ass SWAT-FBI-CIA squad descending on your location within minutes, I'd be cautious about the whole 'drug and go' thing."

The men pause, exchanging uncertain glances.

"Fuck," one of them mutters. "Sheisa Lane."

Like my family name is simultaneously a curse and a complication they hadn't adequately planned for.

"Hey." I keep my voice reasonable, like we're negotiating business terms instead of my kidnapping. "I'm just forced to be partnered with Luca because of commission rules. He's not my Alpha in any way. If you want to use me as collateral, just make sure I stay alive and my family won't mobilize the entire Lane Industries security apparatus."

It's not entirely true—my family will absolutely lose their minds regardless—but these idiots don't need to know that.

The men confer in whispered conversation, I can't quite make out, weighing options and risks.

Finally, the leader huffs and gestures toward the door.

"Follow. Don't try anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I lie cheerfully.

Because I'm absolutely going to try something stupid the moment an opportunity presents itself.

But for now, cooperation seems like the path of least immediate violence.

I follow them out of the bathroom, moving with false calm while my brain frantically calculates options.

Cale's obsession with me is going to notice I'm gone. He times bathroom breaks, tracks my movements even when he's pretending not to, has the kind of hypervigilant awareness that comes from years of keeping my secrets.

If I'm not back in five minutes—hell, probably three—he's going to come looking.

He’ll find the empty bathroom and immediately know something's wrong. Will raise alarms and mobilize resources and probably commit several felonies in the process of finding me.

So I just need to survive long enough for Cale's stalker tendencies to save my life.

Please let Cale's obsession with me be enough to get me out of this,I think desperately as I'm led down a service corridor toward an exit I don't recognize.

Or else I'm absolutely fucked.