Page 7 of The Immortal’s One (Bound to the Immortals #1)

A heavy body lands on top of me, forcing the air from my lungs and cutting off my scream. Pain rips through me as gravel cuts into my skin.

I’m trapped.

"Help!" I shout, my voice muffled as the man forces my face into the ground. Breathing becomes a struggle. Panic sets in.

I jerk my body from side to side, but every movement only grinds me against the ground, worsening the pain. The weight crushing me doesn’t budge.

A voice I haven't heard before hisses in my ear. Its raspy tone makes my skin crawl. "You hurt my friend. I think he’s ready to return the favor."

The weight above me shifts as the man presses his knee into my back. My ribs protest the pressure, but I can’t do anything but groan. The hand clenching the back of my head continues to press my forehead, nose, and lips into the ground.

“That was a close one,” the man on top of me huffs. “She almost gave you the slip, Sid. ”

“Like hell she did,” bad breath, who I surmise is Sid, growls.

A kick connects with my left side. I cry out, but the hand presses me further into the ground, stifling the sound.

I can’t breathe!

“Don’t fucking hurt her, you idiot,” raspy voice barks. “We aren’t supposed to hurt her.”

They aren’t?

What the hell is happening?

The pressure on my head eases slightly. I lift my neck just a fraction, gasping for air with desperate, shallow breaths.

“Sorry, boss. I lost my temper.”

I'm yanked upright by the back of my neck, my head snapping painfully as my vision blurs, disoriented by the sudden motion.

My body sways. I blink hard, trying to clear the haze clouding my sight. Gradually, the three men come into focus, their figures taking shape like dark, menacing silhouettes.

Before I can think to scream, the man behind me shoves a filthy rag into my mouth. I gag as sweat and grime coat my tongue, the rough fabric choking off my shouts. Desperate for air, I breathe through my nose. The scent of sweat and something worse burns my nostrils.

The massive man in front of me whistles, his eyes scanning my face with cold curiosity. "You sure did a number on her face, Ace."

"But no lasting damage," comes Ace’s voice, a little too calm, though there’s a thread of concern in it. "Just marks from the street."

The bigger man grunts, stepping closer, his heavy boots crunching the gravel. "Let’s hope the big guy sees it that way. "

I fight back the tears threatening to spill, the pain searing across my skin, sharp and relentless. Terror clenches my chest, but I can’t afford to let the tears fall.

I need my vision clear.

My eyes dart to the man on the left. He has thick, bushy eyebrows that meet in the middle.

Another has a jagged scar cutting across his upper lip.

Both have tattoos snaking up their necks, thick black lines that twist and curl like thorny vines—or maybe barbed wire, wrapping around their throats with a viciousness that matches the look in their eyes.

I focus on every detail, every flaw, every mark. I need to remember. The police will need this information if I escape.

I will escape —I have to.

"We need to leave," Ace mutters, his voice clipped. "We're late."

The three men nod in unison, like some grotesque mirror image. Sid steps forward, his hands rough and unfeeling as he grabs my arm. Ace finally lets go of my neck, his grip shifting to my other arm.

I yank away, but the movement sends a fresh wave of agony tearing through my body. I bite down on the rag in my mouth, releasing a muffled cry. The pain in my side is unbearable. The kick earlier… it cracked my ribs . At least, I hope they’re cracked and not broken.

I close my eyes and focus on breathing, trying to block out the pain piercing me from every angle. But it’s a losing battle. The men drag me away from the street, my feet scraping uselessly against the ground as they jostle my various injuries, my body like a ragdoll in their hands.

Adrenaline starts to fade, and with it, my strength to fight. The bone-deep urge to give in, to let the darkness take over, grows stronger with each passing second .

Without warning, I’m unceremoniously thrown over someone’s shoulder. Not even the rag in my mouth can silence the shriek I release.

“Careful, Sid!” Ace hisses. “There’s going to be hell to pay if we damage her anymore.”

“Sorry, man.”

I wonder who the hell hired these men and why it sounds like I'm their intended target when the pain becomes too much. My body goes limp. My head and arms hang like dead weight.

Every bump and jostle sends fresh waves of agony through me. My chin bounces against the man’s sweaty back. Stale smoke wafts off his shirt, the stench of his habit acting like smelling salts from Regency novels.

But I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

Terror tightens my throat at what might happen to me if I pass out.

A sharp, pain-filled shout slices through the air, yanking me back from the edge of unconsciousness.

“What the—” A second shout follows, but it’s abruptly silenced, choked off by a gurgling, wet sound.

The man carrying me curses and breaks into a frantic run, each jarring step aggravating my injuries, shoving me closer to oblivion.

With every ounce of strength I have left, I lift my head, trying to make sense of what’s happening around me.

Darkness creeps along the edges of my vision, narrowing my world to only what’s directly in front of me—a dark sedan with a cracked headlight. It doesn’t give me any answers, only a sense of growing dread.

Out of nowhere, a figure drops from above, crashing violently onto the hood of the car in a bloody heap .

If it weren’t for the rag stuffed in my mouth, I’d scream. But instead, I can only stare in horror.

“Fuck!” the man carrying me cries. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He keeps running. The ache in my ribs intensifies. His breath is ragged, and his voice trembles with panic. “Ace? Joe? Where are you?”

There’s no answer.

My neck muscles give out, and my head falls forward. As my vision blurs, I see him reach into the back of his waistband and pull out a gun.

The jostling stops. The man grunts, then slings me roughly over his shoulder.

I hit the ground with a hard thud, my body flopping awkwardly, but there’s an immediate sense of relief.

The pain in my ribs is still there, but it’s muted now, a dull throb that pales in comparison to the brutal agony of being carried.

My eyelids flutter. It’s a battle to stay awake to see what happens next.

The man above me widens his stance and holds his gun out in a firm grip. This isn’t the first time he’s wielded the weapon. His head scans around us, searching for the mysterious threat.

Every muscle in my body screams in protest as I reach up, my fingers trembling, and pull the filthy rag from my mouth.

I gasp for air, my body weak, my lungs burning with each strained breath. The sharp, acrid scent of car exhaust and diesel stings my nostrils, but it’s a welcome relief compared to the suffocating cloth that had smothered me.

My chest heaves, and my ragged breaths catch my abductor's attention. His shifty eyes turn to me, his lips curling into a sneer when he spots the discarded rag. "What do you think you’re do?— "

Before he can finish, something shifts in the air.

One second, he’s looming over me, his face twisted with malice. The next, he's yanked off the ground, his body flying through the air—vanishing beyond my blurred vision as though some invisible hand had hurled him away.

My head spins. My body is too weak to let my eyes follow his path.

I try to focus on what’s in front of me, but the darkness creeping into my vision makes it impossible. The world starts to tilt, and the parking lot around me begins to fade—shapes and sounds distorting into a haze.

Just before I close my eyes, I glimpse a face. The edges are unclear, shifting like a mirage, and then a voice—distant, muffled—breaks through the fog.

“Darcie?”

I force my eyes open again, the effort making my skull throb. The face remains a blur, slipping further out of focus with every passing second.

"Darcie, can you hear me?" The voice cuts through the fog again, this time urgent, filled with concern.

That’s a good sign.

Whoever this is, he’s not like the others.

A bad guy wouldn’t sound worried.

"Damnit, Darcie. Talk to me."

The voice is male, tight with worry. Desperate. And in that desperation, I sense a lifeline; something to hold on to in the midst of the overwhelming chaos.

I want to respond, to reassure him that I’m still here. But my body betrays me, my limbs heavy, my thoughts blurring. Pain and exhaustion have taken over, and all I can do is drift, sinking deeper into the void pulling me down .

I lift a silent prayer that whoever hovers over me is truly a friend, that he’ll get me out of this nightmare.

I cling to that last thread of hope before I give in to the darkness and slip into unconsciousness.