Manacled Synopsis Novels & Stories

"Get your hands off her!" His roar startled everyone in the room. I looked over and froze. The man standing there was Connor. "What the hell are you doing?" Henry snapped darkly. "Didn't I already call you and tell you this had nothing to do with you anymore?" "I cut ties with you a long time ago. I just want to save her!" Connor pulled a kitchen knife from behind his back, his eyes bloodshot as he pointed it at Bert. "I'll kill you!" The moment everyone saw the knife, they immediately backed away in panic.

I drew it tighter around my shoulders, my heart knocking against my ribs. “Then what do I do?” My voice trembled. “If she’s not loyal—” “You watch,” Manang cut in gently. “You listen. You survive.” Before I could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Luca. The door opened without a knock, and his tall frame filled the threshold. His eyes swept the room instantly, pausing on me, then flicking to Manang Silva. There was something in that glance—quick, assessing—that made my pulse trip.

“What?” She lifted one of the bags and shook it in front of me like a prize. “My guy spoiled me! Clothes, jewelry, even a pair of heels. He said I deserved it.” I swallowed, my throat dry. “Wow. That’s… generous. You must really mean a lot to him.” Clara grinned like a cat. “Oh, I do. He’s dead for me, Isa. Absolutely dead.” I forced a smile, though unease coiled in my chest. “So, who is this mystery man? You’ve never even told me his name. Can I at least see a picture?”

He stood rigid, angry as hell, but he didn’t get to pick whom I traveled with and whom I wouldn’t. I explained the scenario and shocking revelations to Nico as we headed back toward the beach. He’d been stunned and had hoped we could work things out. I promised to call him the next day before driving back to our home. Bracing myself, I pushed open the door, but my back had been slammed against it while cold metal clicked against my wrist. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I spat fiercely, realizing both of my hands had been cuffed to my back. "You really want to know that, baby? Don’t you?" Mancini asked in a spiteful tone. He was jealous? Really?

"Chloe is infected. So is Mrs. Carson. I don't know how many others are. We can't let them know we know, not until we figure out what we're dealing with." She stood and walked to the window, pretending to adjust the curtains. "From now on, we're allies. But remember, in front of anyone else, we act normal. If they find out, we're dead." I nodded, feeling a sliver of hope for the first time. I wasn't alone in this. But a new, terrifying thought crept in. We knew about Mrs. Carson and Chloe. But who else? A wave of despair washed over me. In this manor, anyone could be the enemy. How could we possibly figure out who was still human and who was now a puppet for those horrifying parasites?

"Strip Kate and throw her out onto the street." Immediately, my men stepped forward and tore at her clothes. Total panic set in. Kate fought back desperately, using her hands to shield herself as she shrieked to Cohen for help. He rushed forward, but my men restrained him instantly. All he could do was watch helplessly as Kate was stripped bare in front of everyone. A crowd of onlookers whipped out their phones to start snapping photos. "Damn! Ms. Barnes actually has a great body. Though her breasts look way too artificial."

The crowd listened with sweat breaking out on their backs. No one expected Gwendolyn to do something so insane. No wonder the police showed up. Someone asked again, "What about Nicholas?" "Nicholas? He was hacked to death by Gwendolyn. Stabbed over and over. They say he died with his eyes still open. The whole room was covered in blood. Even the forensic team couldn't piece his body back together." The speaker clicked their tongue, as if arriving at some great truth.

Tabby could feel her heart beating forcefully in her chest and the sound of it echoed in her ears. What the hell was going on here? She looked over at the man with the deep, dark eyes and he was kneeling down behind her chair. She started to object, but then noticed that he was starting to untie her bound arms and feet from the chair. She waited until he was done and then she jumped to her feet and started to run for the door. She didn’t make it very far before she fell flat on her face.

Mancini barked suddenly. One of his men straightened instantly, as he went outside with the other guards. Andressa leaned back against the couch quietly. This was bad, and she was just here for the show. Minutes later, the doors burst open again. Several men were dragged into the room roughly. They were all bound and some were even bruised. They were all forced onto their knees before Mancini, with terrified looks on their faces. Her father slowly walked toward them now, as the room had gone so quiet that Andressa could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock near the stairs.

I twist, aiming low, but another hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off the sound before it can leave my throat. “Easy,” a voice murmurs near my ear. “We just want to talk.” I bite down hard. The man swears and tightens his grip. I fight anyway — knees, elbows, weight thrown back — but there are too many of them, moving like they’ve done this before. They drag me toward the van. This is it, a part of my mind notes distantly. This is the mistake. The door yawns open, dark and waiting. A gunshot cracks the air.