Chapter 1
Tessa Voss had spent her whole life being told who to be.
Tonight was no different.
The dining hall was silent, except for the soft sound of silverware tapping against fine china. Everything in the room spoke of wealth and power — the antique chandeliers glowing above, the fresh roses perfectly arranged in crystal vases, the polished floors that reflected the lights like a mirror. Yet despite the beauty, the air felt like a cage. The scent of roasted lamb and rosemary was thick and heavy, doing little to mask the tension.
Tessa sat at the long mahogany table, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her wine glass. She hadn’t taken a sip. Not that she ever did. Her appetite was gone the moment she entered the room.
At the head of the table sat her mother, Claudia — cold and elegant, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp eyes missed nothing. Across from her was the man everyone feared: General Elias Voss. The world called him The Marshall. He said little, but his silence was louder than most men’s words. Every move he made — from lifting his bourbon glass to glancing around the room — felt controlled, like everything was part of a plan.
To outsiders, the Voss family stood for power, respect, even fear. People lowered their voices when they spoke the name. But to Tessa, it felt like she was born into a prison built with golden walls
Her older brother, Caspian, sat slouched beside her, poking at his food like it might bite him. He used to be full of life, always sneaking into her room when they were kids to make her laugh. But the military changed him. Every Voss man for generations had joined the military. It wasn’t a choice—it was blood law. The Voss name meant power, discipline, legacy. And Caspian had been shoved into that world at eighteen, just like the Marshall.
Tessa felt sorry for him. And for herself.
Because while the boys were sent off to the military, the girls were married off like property. And Tessa’s time had come.
The reason for tonight’s dinner wasn’t the roast lamb or the forced smiles. It was a meeting to discuss her upcoming engagement to the son of a high-ranking government official. Another strategic alliance. Another cold, loveless deal masked in celebration. She hadn’t even met the man yet, but the decision was made. Her opinions didn’t matter.
“Tessa,” her mother’s voice broke the silence. “You’ve hardly touched your meal.”
She looked up slowly. “I’m not hungry.”
Her father’s brow twitched, just once. A warning.
Claudia gave her usual soft practiced smile. “You’ll need to start looking healthier. The Montclairs are flying in next week. You’ll be expected to—”
“I’m not marrying him,” Tessa said quietly, her voice flat but firm.
A knife fell against a plate as Caspian glanced at her in surprise.
The Marshall gently placed his bourbon glass on the table.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he said, his voice calm but cold.
“I’m not a bargaining chip,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“You’re a Voss,” her mother replied, still smiling. “And being a Voss comes with responsibility.”
Tessa felt her throat tighten. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to scream, run, break the perfect table in half — anything. But she just sat there, still, her hand gripping the edge of her chair.
“May I be excused?” she asked.
Her father stared at her. “Go.”
She stood up quickly, not waiting another second, and walked out of the hall. Her heels clicked sharply down the marble hallway, echoing like gunshots.
She reached her room, slammed the door shut. Her breaths were sharp, her eyes stinging with tears. She leaned against the door and slid to the floor. Her hands reached up and ran through her hair, trying to calm the storm inside.
Then her phone buzzed.
A quiet notification lit up the screen — a reminder of the short trip she had secretly arranged a week ago. The yacht would be ready in four hours.
Perfect.
Not a vacation. Just a quick escape. A few hours away from the pressure of this house, the noise, the walls, and the expectations that felt like chains.
The place she was going was a little far, but it always gave her peace. It was a quiet, hidden town — nothing fancy, just calm. A place where no one knew her name or cared who her father was, and that was the best part.
She had only been there twice, both times alone, and both times it felt like her mind had finally gone silent. She could only get there safely by water.
Her father’s men weren’t assigned to watch her, not directly — but if they saw her, they’d report to The Marshall, and he’d make sure she paid for stepping out of line. That’s why she couldn’t go through the main city roads. Too risky. Her only way out was quiet.
She stood up, brushed off her jeans, and pulled her overnight bag. Just a change of clothes, her phone, and her sketchbook — the one thing that made her feel like herself.
She opened the door slowly, praying for a clean escape.
But there he was.
Caspian.
Leaning against the frame like he’d been standing there for a while, arms crossed and unreadable.
“Running away again?” he said, half-teasing.
Tessa stopped. “You knew?”
He smirked faintly. “You always disappear right before dawn. I figured it out.”
She looked down at the bag in her hand. “It’s not running. It’s just... I need a day.”
Caspian walked closer, hands behind his back “What if I say no?”
“You won’t”
He raised an eyebrow. “What if he finds out?”
“He doesn’t care enough.”
Caspian studied her for a second, his expression softening slightly. Then he sighed, leaning against the doorframe with a small, knowing smile. “I didn’t see anything.”
Tessa moved past him, but then stopped and turned back. Without thinking, she gave him a light punch on the chest.
“You’re not as terrible as you act,” she said with a smirk.
He gave a faint smile back. “Don’t get used to it.”
She ran quietly down the stairs and out the back door, her heart pounding with both excitement and relief.
Freedom. Even if just for a little while.
She had no idea, though, that she was about to cross paths with someone who lived in a world even darker than hers.
—----––
The scorching sun welcomed Tessa as she stepped off the cab and walked toward the private dock. The heat pressed against her skin, but she didn’t mind. Anything was better than the cold silence of the Voss mansion. Her sneakers crunched lightly against the wooden planks as she approached the waiting yacht, anchored gently against the pier.
It was bigger than she remembered. Sleek, white, with railings that caught the sun like diamonds. Tessa had booked it through a discreet service, one that didn’t ask too many questions. The captain, Milo, was known for being friendly but professional, and the yacht’s route to the quiet coastal town was exactly what she needed—a few hours of peace, far from the Voss name and its chains.
As she approached, Milo stood at the gangway, greeting passengers with a warm, weathered smile. He was in his late forties, with sun-bleached hair tucked under a faded captain’s hat and laugh lines etched deep into his tanned face. His easy demeanor put her at ease.
“Welcome aboard, miss,” Milo said, tipping his hat slightly as Tessa handed him her ticket. “First time with us?”
“Third,” she replied softly, offering a small smile. “I like the quiet.”
Milo chuckled. “You’ll get plenty of that where we’re headed. Grab a seat, we’re casting off soon.”
Tessa stepped onto the yacht, her sneakers soft against the polished deck. The interior was simple but comfortable, with cushioned benches lining the open-air seating area and a small bar tucked in one corner.
There were already a few passengers onboard. A young couple sat at the front deck, fingers intertwined, whispering and laughing with the careless ease of people in love. The woman wore oversized sunglasses and the man had a camera slung around his neck. Honeymooners, probably
Further back, lounging on deck chairs, sat two men — clearly related. One was older, probably in his sixties, with graying hair and a stern expression softened by the ocean air. His son, or so she guessed, was younger — mid-twenties, lean, athletic build, with dark tousled hair and a sharp jawline. He had that quiet watchfulness some people wore like a second skin. He noticed her too. Just for a second. Then looked away.
The fifth passenger was a young woman sitting near the bar, legs elegantly crossed, her red dress riding high above her hips and revealing smooth, toned thighs that caught the sun. The fabric clung to her curves like it was made for her, bold and unapologetic. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and her full lips were glossed to perfection. She
Tessa settled into her seat, pulling her sketchbook from her bag. She flipped it open to a blank page, her pencil hovering over the paper. The engine hummed steadily, and the world felt like it was finally slowing down.
Milo’s voice crackled over the intercom as the yacht glided into open water. “Folks, we’ve got about a three-hour trip ahead. Weather’s perfect, water’s calm. Sit back, enjoy the ride, and let me know if you need anything.”
The couple laughed at something private, and the father and son duo remained quiet, though the younger man stood to stretch his legs, leaning against the railing not far from Tessa. She kept her focus on her sketch, but she could feel his presence nearby, his shadow shifting as he moved.
Hours passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky. Tessa’s sketch had taken shape—a jagged cliff overlooking the sea, with gulls circling above.
The woman in the red dress didn’t have to try hard to get attention. She sat at the far end of the yacht, legs crossed, her red dress hugging her figure perfectly. The dress was short, showing off her toned legs, and the way she sipped her drink slowly made people glance her way—especially the man sitting with his wife just a few feet away.
At first, he only took a quick glance. Then another. Every time his wife turned her head or looked at her phone, His eyes trailed from the woman's bare shoulder down to the curve of her thigh, visible beneath the red fabric.. He told himself it was wrong. “I'm married” he reminded himself, eyes darting away.
But temptation had a voice of its own. “Just one more”, he thought, breathing slowly, trying to play it off like he was simply scanning the horizon. He turned his head again—just a little—and took in one final look..
Unfortunately, his wife caught him.
“Seriously?” she snapped, voice low but sharp. Her eyes followed his gaze, and then she saw the woman.
“Harlot!” she shouted, standing up so fast her chair nearly tipped over. Heads turned as the passengers paused their conversations.
The man stood too, trying to grab his wife’s arm, murmuring frantic words—pleas to calm down, that it wasn’t what it looked like—but she shoved him off without a second thought
“He’s married,” the woman spat, storming toward the bar where the red-dressed woman sat like royalty. “Don’t you ever try to seduce him again.”
The woman in red looked up at her, unbothered. Then came a soft, lilting laugh—rich and unhurried, like velvet laced with mischief.
“Seduce?” she said, tilting her head, voice like warm honey. “Sweetheart, I have no interest in your husband.”
Her gaze slid over to the man, who now stood frozen, face flushed with shame. The woman’s lips curled into a smile—one part playful, one part wicked.
“But…” she continued, slowly lifting the hem of her dress just a little, revealing more of her thigh, “if he really wants a taste of something good…” Her eyes locked with his, teasing, dangerous. “…he can come for it.”
The wife’s eyes widened in anger. Her hands clenched into fists.
But just then, the yacht slowed down. The engine grew quiet. Everyone looked around.
They hadn’t reached their destination. The boat had stopped in the middle of nowhere.
Just then Milo came in announcing there’d be stopping there briefly for refreshments. Tessa gazed, It was her third time going out with this yatch and same captain and this never happened, but It wasn't a problem anyways.
Milo and his crew boy, a lanky teenager named Jamie with a mop of curly hair, set up a small table with drinks and snacks—fresh fruit, sandwiches, and chilled bottles of water. The passengers gathered near the table, the wife making sure he husband sat nowhere close to the woman, The father stayed seated, his newspaper now folded on his lap, while his son grabbed a bottle of water and wandered outside, gazing out at bare ocean, there was no sign of land but he predicted they'd get to the town in an hour.
Tessa stayed by the railing, nibbling on a slice of mango. The scenery was beautiful, almost otherworldly, and she felt a pang of gratitude for this stolen moment. No Voss family. No Marshall. No engagement looming over her.
But then she overheard something that made her pause.
Milo was speaking to Jamie near the back of the yacht, their voices low but carried by the breeze. “Something’s wrong with the engine,” Milo said, his tone no longer cheerful. “I’ll check it out. Keep them entertained.”
Jamie nodded, looking nervous, and headed toward the passengers. Tessa’s stomach tightened. Engine trouble? Out here, in the middle of nowhere? She glanced at Milo, who disappeared below deck, his hat pulled low over his eyes.
Jamie, trying to distract the group, launched into a story about the ocean. “This ocean’s got a legend,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “They say a pirate ship sank here centuries ago, loaded with gold. Fishermen swear they’ve seen ghosts on moonless nights, guarding the treasure.”
The woman laughed softly knowing it wasn't true, and the older man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. The couples were still arguing silently as the husband pleaded for forgiveness
Tessa’s unease grew. She set her mango down and edged closer to the group, pretending to listen to Jamie’s tale while keeping an eye on the hatch where Milo had gone. Minutes passed, and the captain didn’t reappear.
Then the younger man—the son—stepped away from the yacht rail, heading toward the bar for another water. As he passed the hatch, he froze, his eyes widening. “The captain’s getting away!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the air.
Everyone turned. Tessa’s heart lurched as she followed his gaze. There, in the distance, was a small boat which had been tied to the yacht earlier, Milo at the oars, paddling furiously away from them. He didn’t look back, his movements frantic.
The passengers rushed to the railing, their voices overlapping in confusion and panic. “What the hell is he doing?” the father barked, standing now, his newspaper forgotten. The couple clung to each other in fear. Tessa’s heart hammered in her chest as she gripped the yacht’s railing, her eyes locked on the small boat disappearing into the horizon. Milo, was gone, rowing away like his life depended on it. The yacht sat dead in the water, the engine silent, the open sea stretching endlessly around them. The other passengers crowded near the railing, their voices a chaotic mix of panic and confusion.
“Why would he just leave us out here?” the wife from the couple cried, clutching her husband’s arm so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her oversized sunglasses had slipped down her nose, and her voice cracked with fear.
Her husband, still red-faced from the earlier argument, looked like he wanted to shrink into the deck. “Maybe… maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” he mumbled, but no one was listening.
Jamie stood frozen, his face pale. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “He said it was the engine…”
The woman in the red dress, who’d been lounging by the bar like she owned the place, stood up slowly, her heels clicking against the deck. Her glossy lips curved into a skeptical smile, but her eyes were hard, scanning the group. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with suspicion. “Our captain ditches us in the middle of nowhere, and you’re telling me it’s just engine trouble? Honey, that doesn’t add up.”
Tessa stayed quiet, her mind was racing. She’d been on this yacht twice before, same captain, same route. Milo had always been friendly, professional. This wasn’t like him. Her stomach twisted as she glanced at the hatch where Milo had disappeared before taking off. Something was very wrong.
The older man turned to Jamie, his face red with frustration. “You’re the crew! Don’t you know how to drive this thing? Get us moving!”
“I—I can’t!” Jamie said, his voice cracking. “I’m just the deckhand! I help with snacks and ropes and stuff. Milo’s the only one who knows the controls!”
“Great,” the younger man muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. He paced a few steps, his sneakers scuffing the deck. “So we’re stranded out here with no captain, no engine, and no idea what’s going on.”
The wife let out a small sob, burying her face in her husband’s shoulder. “We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?” she whispered.
“Don’t say that,” her husband said quickly, but his voice trembled. He glanced nervously at the woman in red, like he was scared she’d start another fight. “We’ll figure this out. Right?”
No one answered.
Tessa’s eyes darted back to the horizon. Milo’s boat was barely a speck now, swallowed by the endless blue. She felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her—this wasn’t just a glitch or a mistake. Milo had planned this. But why? She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, and stepped closer to the group.
“Does anyone have a signal?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. She pulled out her phone, checking the screen. No bars. Not even a flicker of service.
The younger man checked his phone too, shaking his head. “Nothing. We’re too far out.”
The wife fumbled with her phone, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she muttered, tears streaming down her face. “We can’t even call for help!”
“Everyone, just… just calm down,” the woman in red said, raising her hands like she was trying to tame a wild crowd. Her red dress shimmered in the sunlight, and despite the chaos, she looked annoyingly composed. “Panicking isn’t going to help. We need to think.”
“Think?” the older man barked, turning on her. “What’s there to think about? Our captain abandoned us! We’re stuck in the middle of the damn ocean!”
“Maybe he’s going for help,” the husband offered weakly, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
Tessa’s grip tightened on her sketchbook. Milo’s escape felt deliberate, like he was running from something—or someone. She wondered if she should had stayed back at home, slowly she glanced at the other passengers, wondering if any of them knew more than they were letting on. The younger man was still pacing, his jaw tight. The older man was muttering curses under his breath. Jamie looked like he was about to pass out.
Then Jamie spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s… there’s a story,” he said, his eyes darting nervously between the passengers. “I didn’t want to say it before, ‘cause I thought it’d scare you, but…”
“Spit it out, kid,” the older man snapped, his patience gone.
Jamie swallowed hard, his hands twisting together. “There’s this tale… about bandits. They say they pay captains to stop ships in the middle of the sea. Then they show up, raid the boats, take everything—money, jewelry, whatever you’ve got. Sometimes…” He hesitated, his voice dropping. “Sometimes they don’t leave anyone alive.”
The deck went silent. Even the sound of the waves seemed to fade. Tessa’s heart stopped for a second, her breath catching in her throat. Bandits? Out here? It sounded like something from one of Jamie’s ghost stories, but the fear in his eyes made it feel all too real.
“Is this really the time for fairy tales?” the older man growled, his face twisting with anger. “You’re scaring everyone with this nonsense?”
“It’s not nonsense!” Jamie shot back, his voice cracking. “I once heard the captains talking about it”
The wife let out a choked sob, clinging tighter to her husband. “You’re saying we’re going to die?” she wailed. “You’re saying they’re coming for us?”
“We don’t know that,” the younger man said quickly, but his voice was tense.
Jamie’s face crumpled, like he was regretting opening his mouth.
“We shouldn’t be panicking” the woman in red cut in, her voice sharp now. She stepped forward, her heels clicking with authority. “If there’s even a chance this kid’s right, we need to do something. Now. Because if bandits are coming, we’re sitting ducks out here.”
The husband’s face went pale. “Bandits? Like… pirates? That’s not real, right? That’s just movies!”
“Real or not, we’re stranded,” the younger man said, his voice low and steady. “And we need to get out.”
Tessa’s mind was spinning. Bandits? Pirates? It sounded insane, but Milo’s sudden escape was proof something was wrong. She glanced at the horizon again, her stomach sinking. And then she saw it—a sleek, black boat cutting through the water, heading towards them. It was twice as big as the yatch, its engine roaring as it closed the distance. Her breath caught in her throat.
Every head turned. As the hum of the boats engine became loauder. Two figures were visible onboard, their faces too far to make out.
“Oh my God,” the wife whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s them. It’s the bandits.”
“Everybody, stay calm,” the younger man said, but his own voice was tight with urgency.
Tessa’s heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. The boat was close now, maybe a hundred yards away, its engine roaring like an angry beast. The two figures onboard were clearer now—rough-looking men, their faces hard and weathered, wearing dark tactical vests that bulged with gear. She could see the glint of metal slung across their chests—guns, no question. These weren’t amateurs. Tessa’s eyes darted to the vests, searching for any sign of a badge or insignia, something to tell her they were military, maybe coast guard. But there was nothing. No emblems, no flags. Just black gear and cold purpose.
Her mind raced, narrowing it down to two possibilities: bandits here to rob them, or something worse—terrorists. The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, a panicked whisper: “Terrorists.”
The word hit the other passengers like a shockwave. The wife let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as her sunglasses fell to the deck with a clatter. “Terrorists?” she squeaked, her voice high and trembling. Her husband pulled her close, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. Jamie stumbled back a step, his curly hair bouncing as he shook his head like he could deny the word away. The woman in the red dress froze, her confident smirk gone, replaced by a tense, calculating look. The younger man—the son—clenched his fists, his jaw tight, while his father, the older man, gripped the yacht’s railing so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Don’t do anything stupid if you value your life!” a voice boomed from the speedboat, amplified by a megaphone. It was deep and carried a chilling authority. The boat was close enough now that Tessa could see the man holding the megaphone—a broad-shouldered figure with beards, a shaved head and a scar cutting across his left cheek. The way he stood, legs planted wide, screamed control. The second man, leaner but just as menacing, was loading an assault rifle, his movements quick and practiced.
Tessa’s stomach dropped. Bandits might rob them and leave. Terrorists… they had bigger plans. She glanced at the other passengers, their faces a mix of terror and disbelief. The wife was sobbing quietly now, her husband whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” even though his own hands were shaking. The woman in red had backed up a step, her heels clicking softly, her eyes darting between the approaching boat and the hatch leading below deck, like she was weighing her options.
The older man suddenly moved, his face set with grim determination. He grabbed the railing with both hands and shouted, “Elliot!” His voice was hoarse, desperate, calling for his son. The younger man—Elliot—snapped his head around, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Dad, what are you doing?” he hissed, rushing to his father’s side.
The boat was almost on them now, its engine slowing to a low growl as it pulled alongside the yacht. The scarred man with the megaphone lowered it, his lips curling into a smirk that made Tessa’s skin crawl. “Last warning,” he called, his voice cutting through the air. “Stay where you are.”
“We’re not staying here to die!” the older man spat, his voice shaking with defiance. He turned to Elliot, grabbing his arm. “We’ll swim. We’ll take our chances in the water. Better than letting these bastards take us.”
“Dad, no!” Elliot said, his voice low but urgent. He glanced at the open sea, the waves lapping against the yacht, then back at his father. “We’re miles from shore. You can’t swim that far, not with your heart condition. We need to stay calm, figure this out—”
“There’s no figuring this out!” his father snapped, his eyes wild. “You heard the girl—terrorists! They’ll kill us, or worse!” He yanked Elliot closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “I’m not letting them take my son. Not like this.”
Tessa’s breath hitched. She wanted to say something, to tell them to stop, but her voice was stuck in her throat. The other passengers were frozen, watching the argument unfold. Jamie was clutching the snack table like it was a lifeline, his face ghostly pale. The wife was crying harder now, her husband murmuring useless comforts. The woman in red had edged closer to the hatch, her hand resting on the handle, like she was ready to bolt below deck at any second.
The boat bumped against the yacht, the sound of wood and metal scraping together jolting everyone. A plank was thrown across the gap, connecting the yatch and boat. The scarred man stepped onto the plank first, moving with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times. His boots thudded against the yacht’s deck as he landed, followed by the leaner man, whose rifle was now raised, sweeping over the passengers. Then around ten more appeared from the boat, each of them armed to the teeth. They all wore black bandanas over the lower half of their faces, but their eyes were cold, focused, and utterly without mercy.
“Dad, please,” Elliot said, his voice breaking. He grabbed his father’s shoulders, trying to pull him back from the railing. “We can’t outswim them. We need to—”
“I’d rather die free!” the older man roared, shoving Elliot off. He turned, one leg already swinging over the railing, his hands gripping the metal as he prepared to jump.
A gunshot cracked through the air, sharp and deafening. As a bullet ran through the older man
He froze, his body jerking as a red stain bloomed across his chest. For a split second, his eyes met Elliot’s, wide with shock and pain. Then he fell, his body tumbling over the railing and hitting the water with a sickening splash. The sea turned red around him, the waves carrying the blood in lazy swirls.
“Father!” Elliot screamed, his voice raw with agony. He lunged for the railing, his hands scrabbling at the metal as he stared down at the water, where his father’s body bobbed once before sinking out of sight. “No, no, no!” He started to climb over, like he was going to jump in after him, but one of them grabbed his arm and yanked him back onto the deck.
“We warned you,” the scarred man said, his voice cold as ice. He shoved Elliot to his knees, pressing the barrel of a pistol against the back of his head. “Anyone else want to play hero?”
The wife screamed, a high, piercing sound that cut through the chaos. Her husband pulled her against his chest, his own face twisted with terror. Jamie was shaking so hard he could barely stand, his eyes locked on the blood-streaked water. Tessa’s legs felt like jelly, but she forced herself to stay upright, her sketchbook clutched against her chest like a shield. The woman in red had was speechless in shock, her hand still on the hatch handle, but her face was pale, her lips pressed into a tight line. For most of them, it was their first witness of someone dying before them. They were surrounded, hands and mouth tied.
The scarred man pulled something from his vest—a handful of black cloths, each one small and folded. He tossed them to the stocky man, who caught them with a grin. Tessa’s stomach twisted as she realized what they were: hoods, or maybe gags. The air around them suddenly felt heavier, the smell of the sea mixing with something sharp and chemical.
“Put these on them,” he ordered “Boss’s orders. Can’t have them seeing where we’re going.”
The men received the cloths and unfolded them forcing it over their heads, and because of the chemical placed in it, one by one, they lost consciousness.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The icy splash of water hit Tessa like a slap, yanking her out of the unconsciousness. She gasped, her eyes flying open, her chest heaving as the cold seeped into her skin. The cloth that had gagged her mouth was gone, but a rough blindfold now covered her eyes, scratching against her eyelids. Her hands were still bound behind her back, the rope cutting into her wrists, and her body felt heavy,the chemical they’d used was still crawling through her veins and made her weak. She blinked against the blindfold, trying to make sense of where she was. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, not the salty tang of the sea. They were on land, somewhere solid, but the boat that had brought them was gone.
Around her, she heard more splashes and choked gasps as the other passengers were jolted awake. The wife’s soft sobs mixed with Jamie’s panicked breathing, and Elliot’s low, angry mutters cut through the air. The terrorits were moving fast, their boots crunching on what sounded like gravel. “Move it!” one of them barked, his voice sharp and impatient. She recognized the scarred man’s gravelly tone from the yacht, and her stomach twisted at the memory of his smirk, his cold eyes behind those sunglasses.
“Get up,” the scarred man ordered, his voice closer now. Rough hands grabbed Tessa’s arm, hauling her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, still weak, and she stumbled, her sneakers slipping on the ground. Someone shoved her forward, and she heard the others being herded along too, their breaths ragged, their footsteps unsteady. The terrorists pushed them into a line, forcing them to march. Tessa’s muscles screamed with every step, but she gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the sounds around her—the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs, the distant call of a bird. They were in a forest, she realized, the air was thick with the scent of moss and wood.
“Faster!” the scarred terrorist snapped, his voice sharp. Tessa felt another shove, and she nearly tripped, her shoulder brushing against someone—Jamie, she thought, from his shaky whimper. “I can’t,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “My legs…”
“Shut up and walk,” one of them growled, and Tessa heard a thud, like he’d shoved Jamie hard. The wife was crying again, her sobs louder now, and her husband was whispering, “It’s okay, just keep moving,” but his voice trembled, like he was trying to convince himself.
Tessa’s mind raced. How long had they been out? Where were they? The yacht felt like a lifetime ago, her sketchbook abandoned on the deck, her brief taste of freedom shattered. She thought of Milo, the captain, rowing away in that tiny boat. Had he known this was coming? Was he part of it? The questions burned, but she had no answers, only the blindfold and the rope and the terrorists’ voices driving them deeper into the unknown.
After what felt like forever, she heard new sounds—low voices, the clink of metal, the crackle of a fire. They were nearing a camp, she realized, her heart sinking. It was the terrorists’ territory.
The chatter grew louder as they entered the camp, Tessa could feel eyes on them, heavy and hostile. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the silence of the forest was replaced by the murmurs of men—dozens, maybe, their voices a mix of gruff and gleeful. She pictured them, rough types in their 30s to 50s, like the ones on the boat, watching their new prisoners stumble in. The wife’s sobs were the only sound from the passengers now, punctuated by Jamie’s shaky breaths and the soft scuff of their shoes on dirt.
“On your knees!” the scarred man barked, and Tessa felt a hand shove her down. Her knees hit the ground hard, pain shooting through her legs, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She heard the others being forced down too, their grunts and whimpers filling the air. The blindfold kept her in darkness, but she could sense the terrorists circling, their boots crunching closer.
“Boss, it’s ready” the scarred man called, his voice loud and gleeful facing a tent right in front of them.
For a moment, there was silence—except for the crackle of the fire and the wife’s soft crying.
After few seconds of waiting,
A soft high was heard,
Then an order
“Kill.”
The camp erupted. The terrorists cheered, their voices rising in a chaotic roar, like a pack of wolves scenting blood. Tessa’s heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Kill? Just like that? She heard metal scrape—blades being unsheathed, maybe—and the sound of footsteps rushing closer. Someone shouted, “Get the camera!” and Tessa’s blood ran cold. They were going to film this?
She heard the sounds of equipment being set up. The terrorists were laughing now, their voices overlapping in a sickening chorus. Tessa’s blindfold was still on, but she could picture it—a tripod, a lens pointed right at them, ready to capture their deaths for who knew what purpose. Her stomach churned, and she fought the urge to scream.
The scarred man’s boots crunched as he moved, stopping behind someone. Tessa heard a shaky sob—Elliot, she realized, his voice hoarse with fear. “Please,” he whispered, barely audible. “Don’t do this.”
“It won’t hurt,” the scarred man said, his voice dripping with mock kindness. He giggled, a sound that made Tessa’s skin crawl. “I’ll make it quick, boy. This is for the country. Any last wish?”
“Let me go,” Elliot pleaded, his voice breaking. Tears were in his words, and Tessa’s chest tightened, imagining his face, bruised and terrified, the same guy who’d tried to save his father on the yacht. “Please, just let me go.” he pleaded
The terrorists burst into laughter again, their voices loud and cruel, like they were at a comedy show. “Fine,” the scarred man said, still chuckling. “I’ll let you go meet your father.” Tessa heard the faint whistle of a blade being raised, and her heart lurched.
“Stop!” she screamed, the word ripping out of her before she could think. Her voice echoed in the clearing, cutting through the laughter. The air went still, and she felt every eye in the camp turn to her, even through the blindfold.
The scarred man’s boots crunched as he stepped toward her. “Wait till your turn, girl,” he said, his voice low and annoyed, like she’d interrupted his fun. “Don’t be in such a hurry to die.”
Tessa’s mouth was dry, but she forced the words out, her voice shaking but loud. “I’m a Voss! If you harm any of us, you’ll bring disaster on yourselves.”
The camp went quiet again, the only sound the crackle of the fire. Then the scarred man laughed, a harsh, barking sound that made her flinch. He stepped behind her, his presence heavy, like a storm cloud. The terrorists started cheering again, their voices rising, egging him on. Tessa’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst. She heard the faint clink of his blade, felt the air shift as he moved closer. “Fine,” he said, his voice low and gleeful. “You talk too much. I’ll start with you.”
The cheers grew louder, a deafening roar. Tessa’s knees ached against the dirt, her hands trembling behind her back. She heard the scarred man kiss his blade—a soft, wet sound that turned her stomach—and then the faint whistle of it being raised, ready to end her in one slash.
“Halt!”
The order came from the tent, causing pure silence
The scarred man knew what it meant and grudgingly grabbed her arm, yanking her up to her feet so fast she stumbled. He dragged her forward into the tent. Her knees hit the ground again as he brought her to the ground, the dirt rough against her skin.
The tent flap rustled, and she heard footsteps—slow and gentle. The air shifted, and she sensed someone crouching in front of her, close enough that she could smell a faint trace of leather and something sweeter, like cedar. Shivers ran down her spine as a hand brushed her face, gentle but firm, and the blindfold was pulled away.
Tessa blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the tent. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, casting soft shadows on canvas walls. And there he was, the leader, crouched in front of her, his face inches from hers. She’d expected an older man, grey haired and fierce like the ones in her father’s military reports. But this guy was young, maybe a year or two older than her, with a face that didn’t belong in a terrorist camp. His curly dark hair fell forward, half-covering his left eye,he has the kind of eyes that seemed to see right through you. His jaw was sharp, his skin lightly tanned, with a scattering of freckles across his nose. But there was something dangerous in the way he moved, like a panther stalking prey.
“A Voss?” he said, his voice soft, almost amused. His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, revealing a dimple that made her heart skip, even as fear clawed at her chest.
Tessa swallowed, her throat dry. “Let us go,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “I’ll pretend this never happened. The Marshall will never know of it.”
He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle. Then he let out a soft giggle and waved a finger to the scarred man who gave a slight bow before slipping out, the tent flap rustling behind him.
Almost immediately, screams tore through the air outside, sharp and desperate, followed by the sickening sound of blades meeting flesh. Tessa’s breath caught, her head turning back towards the net, she couldn't see from inside but she knew they had killed the passengers. The screams were cut off one by one, replaced by a heavy, awful silence. The wife’s sobs were gone. Jamie’s whimpers, Elliot’s angry mutters—all gone. Tessa’s heart raced, tears stinging her eyes as she realized what had happened. They were dead. All of them.
She turned back to the leader, her hands shaking behind her back. He was laying on a low couch now, one leg dangling over the armrest, munching on a handful of dark berries. Juice stained his lips, and he was smiling at her, a lazy, almost playful smile that made her blood boil.
“He was ruthless,” he said, his voice casual, like he was talking about the weather.
Tessa’s tears spilled over, hot against her cheeks. “You’re a monster,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You killed them. For what?”
His smile didn’t fade, but his eyes sharpened, like he was seeing her for the first time. He popped a berry into his mouth, chewing slowly, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “It’s all for the country’s good. Even the Marshall will thank me for this” he said popping another berry, his voice still soft,
Tessa’s heart pounded, her mind racing. She was the only one left and was right there face to face with the leader. Her freedom, her escape, felt like a cruel joke. She should have never left the Voss Mansion. Whatever he wanted with her, it wasn’t mercy. And as his eyes locked onto hers, she knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.
~To Be Continued~
📒It takes hours to write each episode—but just a second to react. Your engagement really keeps us going.Thanks 💖
