chapter 3

Chapter 3: Taken

Noah's pov…

I woke up to the pounding in my head, like someone was banging a hammer inside my skull. My eyes barely opened, but the light from the cracked window was enough to sting. Every inch of me hurt—my back, my shoulders, even my ribs. I reached up slowly and touched my forehead. When I pulled my hand back, there was blood. Dried. Crusted.

I blinked, trying to sit up, and that’s when I noticed where I was. Still on the living room floor. Still in the same clothes from yesterday. My school bag lay a few feet away, half unzipped, books spilled across the floor like they didn’t matter. And the shattered glass from the broken bottle was still there too. Pieces sparkled in the dirty carpet like little reminders of everything I wanted to forget.

For a second, I hoped maybe I had dreamed it all—that the fight with my dad, the way he screamed at me, hit me, wasn’t real. But the aching in my bones said otherwise. He really did it. He actually smashed a bottle over my head. My own father.

I pushed myself up, slowly. Everything hurt. My head throbbed with every heartbeat. I was dizzy, nauseous, but I made it to my knees. And that’s when I heard them—voices. Deep ones. Men talking in low tones. Not just my dad.

I turned toward the sound and froze.

There were two tall men in dark suits standing across from him. They didn’t belong in this apartment—everything about them was too sharp, too clean. One had a scar running down his cheek. The other stood with his hands in his pockets like he owned the place. And my father—he wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t even standing straight. He looked like he was... begging.

I’d never seen that before. My father didn’t beg. Not to me. Not to anyone.

I staggered forward, confusion and a fresh wave of fear flooding my chest. “What’s going on?” My voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper.

They turned to me. The man with the scar smiled—just slightly. My dad didn’t even turn around.

The clean-cut guy stepped closer, inspecting me like I was some kind of item on a shelf. “We offered your father a deal,” he said casually. “A way to clear a debt. All he has to do is give us something valuable.”

I felt my blood run cold.

“What do you mean?” I demanded, taking a step forward. “What kind of deal? I don’t understand.”

The man didn’t answer. He just kept smiling, like this was all some big joke. I turned to my father, desperate. “What’s he talking about? Dad?”

Still nothing. His shoulders slumped even lower. He looked... ashamed.

I didn’t even see it coming.

He spun around and grabbed me by the shirt, yanking me back. “Stay out of this!” he growled, and then—without hesitation—he slapped me. Hard.

My head whipped to the side, and I stumbled. I tasted blood.

“I’m trying to fix this!” he shouted, but his voice broke. “You always ruin everything. You think you know what life is, huh? You don’t know struggle. You don’t know what it’s like to owe men like this!”

I stared at him, stunned. "You're trying to pay back right?” My voice was hoarse. “Is that what’s happening right now?”

He didn’t answer.

The man with the scar leaned down and whispered something into his ear. I saw my dad flinch. He looked at me again—this time with something behind his eyes. Regret. Or fear. Maybe both.

Then he nodded.

I didn’t have time to react. The two men lunged forward, grabbing me by both arms. I kicked and shouted, trying to twist free, but they were too strong.

“LET ME GO!” I screamed, thrashing. “SOMEONE HELP!”

No one came.

No one ever came.

My dad didn’t even flinch. He just looked away.

I fought them all the way to the black car parked outside our building. My chest was burning, my voice cracking from yelling. One of them shoved me inside, slamming the door behind me so hard the whole car shook.

I lunged for the handle—

Snap.

Something cold and tight looped around my neck.

And everything went dark.

…

When I came to, my head was pounding again. Worse this time. My arms were numb, my wrists bound tightly behind me. I could barely move. There was something over my head—a bag or cloth—I couldn’t see anything. But I could hear the low hum of the engine. We were still driving.

I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper. I cleared it and forced out, “Where... where are you taking me?”

No answer.

Just the hum of the engine and a shifting sound, like someone in the front seat moving.

I leaned back against whatever I was pressed against. My breathing was shallow. I didn’t know how long we’d been driving, or how far we were from home. My heart raced so hard I could feel it in my ears.

Eventually, the car stopped.

The door opened, and hands grabbed me again—pulling, dragging. I tried to fight, but I was weak. My body wasn’t listening anymore. They forced me to kneel, and I heard footsteps on hard flooring. A second later, the bag was yanked off.

My eyes burned from the sudden light, even though it wasn’t that bright.

The place I was in looked nothing like the streets I knew. There were shadows in the corners I couldn’t make out. I blinked hard, trying to focus.

Then I saw him.

He was standing just a few feet away, shirtless. His arms were folded, and a drink dangled loosely in one hand. His chest rose and fell steadily, and his face was unreadable.

He was tall. Not just tall—intimidating. But not bulky or overdone. Everything about him was sharp. Calculated. Cold.

And he was staring straight at me.

I couldn’t look away.

His eyes were the kind that seemed to see everything—like he already knew what I was thinking before I even said it. I opened my mouth to speak, to ask what was going on, but the words caught in my throat.

What was I supposed to say? “Hi, I’m the kid whose dad sold him like a piece of trash”? Yeah, no.

I sat there, kneeling on the floor, wrists tied, mouth dry, heart racing.

And he just stared.

He took a sip of whatever was in the glass, slow and deliberate. Then he tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to figure out what to do with me.

I didn’t know if I should feel terrified or… something else.

But I couldn’t look away.