Chapter

After the video call ended, the room fell into a deathly silence. The only sound to be heard was Candice trying to hold back her sobs.

750,000 dollars. For wealthy women who normally dropped tens of thousands of dollars on a handbag, pulling that kind of money together was completely doable.

But the real question was—who was going to deliver it?

That place was a lawless no-man's-land beyond the border, a hellhole that you could easily walk into, but walking out was a whole other matter. Whoever went was as good as dead.

Sandra was the first to react. She grabbed Patricia's hand.

"Patricia, your younger brother is trained in kickboxing, right? Have him go! I'll pay him 50,000 dollars for his trouble.

Patricia yanked her hand away like she'd been burned. "Have you lost your mind, Sandra? Those people have guns! My brother is only 20 years old, and you want to send him into a death trap?"

"Then send your youngest brother! Isn't he involved with street gangs?" Sandra continued.

"He's already in prison! Besides, who in their right mind would dare to get involved in something like this?"

The group of women who had just been standing shoulder-to-shoulder moments ago instantly turned on each other, pushing the responsibility from one person to another.

They called every friend and family member they could think of, but the second people heard they needed to go to such a place to ransom the hostages, they all hung up quickly. Some of them even blocked the ladies' numbers right then and there.

That was reality.

Though they had plenty of friends who were happy to wine and dine with them, when real disaster struck, not a single soul could be found.

Despair slowly filled the room as the clock ticked down minute by minute.

Suddenly, every single eye in the room locked back onto me, looking at me as if I were a sacrificial lamb ready for the slaughter.

With a loud thud, Sandra dropped to her knees again, though this time, it was directed at me.

She shuffled toward me. "Drew, you don't have a wife or kids. You don't have anyone to worry about… You've always been close with Vince and the others. You understand their street code, and you know how the game works… Please go. I'm begging you!"

I chuckled. I was so pissed off that a chuckle actually escaped me.

I crouched down and stared right into that meticulously maintained face—a face that was currently dripping with calculation.

"Sandra, that didn't sound very nice. Just because I'm broke, I deserve to die? Just because I don't have a family, my life doesn't matter? Just because I understand those scumbags, I'm supposed to take a bullet for them? This is a suicide mission. I'm not going."

I turned around to leave. Whoever wanted to deal with this dumpster fire could do it themselves.

"75,000 dollars!" Sandra shrieked, shoving the Hermes bag stuffed with cash right in front of me. "As long as you go, this 75,000 dollars is yours! And after you bring them back, I'll give you another 300,000 dollars!"

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the stack of hundred-dollar bills. That was the kind of money an honest man would never be able to make, even if he worked for ten lifetimes straight.

But I valued my life more.

"Sandra, money is worthless if I'm not alive to spend it."

Just as I was about to refuse her completely, the kidnappers sent another video. This time, they cut straight to the chase.

In the video, one of Vince's pinky fingers was sliced clean off. The scream that came out of him didn't even sound human.

The kidnapper's voice was cold enough to freeze blood.

"Looks like you folks lack sincerity. Since no one has the guts to come, I'll just have to pick someone myself.

"That broke loser who never says a word in the group chat—Drew Ferrer. Send him. I know he has no money, no connections, and no guts to pull any funny business.

"Have him come alone with the ransom money."

It felt as if every drop of blood in me turned cold. So, the kidnappers had already looked into me. In their eyes, a broke guy like me with no background or assets was the easiest person to control and the safest person to transact with.

Because if I died, nobody would give a damn.

Immediately after, a set of GPS coordinates was sent over, along with one non-negotiable order.

"Send that broke-ass Ferrer guy alone. If the cops come with him, or if someone else takes his place, we'll kill the hostages immediately.

"Remember—you only have three hours."