All Chapters of THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

AARONI grip the steering wheel, knuckles white as I slam the pedal to the metal. The Texas highway blurs into a grey streak outside the window. Drew's location is burned into my memory. He'd sent them a few minutes ago with a short text: "They brought her here."Rage, cold and sharp, coils in my gut. They think they can touch what's mine? They think they can just snatch Mia and her sister like they're some fucking prize? They have another thing coming.I know Drew is just waiting for the orders. I’m even surprised he didn’t act on impulse and barge into the place already. My car slowly comes to a stop.I spot Drew’s black SUV parked on the road ahead. He's leaning against the hood, arms crossed, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. The sun glints off his perfectly styled hair, a stark contrast to the grim determination churning inside me. As I pull up, Drew pushes himself off the car and saunters over, the grin widening as he climbs into the passenger seat. "Took you long enough, bo

TRINAThe words echo in my head: You handle Mabel. Aaron's voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. I hate Mia, her relationship or whatever with Aaron makes my blood boil but Mabel... Mabel is innocent. A child caught in a web of adult sins.I peel away from Aaron and Drew in the black SUV and head towards the storehouse. The address for Mabel screams trap, but I don't care. Aaron needs me to do this, and he knows I will do anything to get blood on my hands. Two goons stand guard outside the only visible entrance, leaning against the wall, looking bored. One yawns, the other scratches his belly. "This is bullshit," one of them complains. "Stuck babysitting a brat. What's the big deal? And she talks a lot, man."My blood boils. They have no idea who they are dealing with. I pull my silver Glock 19 from its holster, checking the silencer. The metal is cold against my skin, and it makes me shiver in pleasure. I creep closer, using the shadows as my ally. A steady breath, a focused

MIAI walk out of the interrogation room, the bright lights of the police station still buzzing in my ears. The air outside feels heavy, thick with the unspoken questions that linger even after I’ve given my statement. My voice still feels raw from repeating the revised version of events, the one where Aaron doesn't exist in Mabel’s entire kidnapping. Every word I choose is calculated. I try to keep the rescue story straight to avoid implicating Aaron. They ask about the kidnappers, their motive, and the precise details of how Mabel was recovered. I invented a story about a random phone call that threatened me and made me travel back immediately. I explained that I arrived at the scene and saw them already on the ground. I describe the call, the men, anything to deflect from the real, dangerous complexity of it all. My heart pounds with each fabrication, but my face remains impassive. The police look at me with a mixture of sympathy and suspicion, but they have no real evidence to co

MIAThe shower’s steam still clings to my skin, a warm shroud I am reluctant to shed. I stand before the grand mirror in Aaron’s suite bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around my hair. I reach for the clothes I pulled from my bag. A pair of well-worn jeans, familiar and soft. A simple, plain grey t-shirt. I pull them on, running a brush through my still-damp hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders. I don't bother with makeup. When I step out into the main living area of the suite, the rich aroma of coffee and something savory immediately greets me. Aaron stands by the kitchen island, his back to me. He wears dark trousers and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his drool-worthy forearms. He turns, sensing my presence. A small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips as his eyes sweep over me. "Morning," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Slept well?""Very well," I admit, walking closer. The table is already set for two, simple and elegant. Fresh fr

DREWThe aroma of roasted coffee beans hangs heavy in the air, a comforting blanket that does little to soothe the tension radiating from across the small, round table. I bring the ceramic mug to my lips, the dark liquid warming my throat as I sip slowly.I notice Trina’s unease but I try not to pay attention to it and focus on my coffee. Her fingers tap an annoying rhythm on the polished wood, a restless drumbeat that echoes the frustration etched on her face. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are clouded with a mix of anger and something similar to sadness. She stares out the window, back at me, then down at her fingers, her jaw clenched. Finally, a low, frustrated groan escapes her, a sound that vibrates through the quiet hum of the cafe.I lower my mug, meeting her gaze steadily. “What’s wrong?” My voice is calm, perhaps too calm for the storm brewing in her.She snaps her head up, her eyes blazing. “What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong, Drew?” Her voice is a sharp w