Chapter 5: Stolen Dignity

Then, I got kidnapped.

It happened fast. I was walking home from my shift at the Grindhouse Diner, sun setting behind the grain silos, when a van screeched up. The faces inside were familiar—kids I’d once shared birthday cake with. I actually laughed, thinking it was a prank.

But when duct tape covered my mouth and my phone was ripped away, the truth hit. I looked into their eyes—cold, calculating—and my blood froze.

I tried to joke, offering to lend them money, but they demanded more than I could ever pay. That’s when I realized this was no joke.

Their voices shook, hands clumsy, but the gun one waved looked real enough. I tried to bargain, but they weren’t listening. Panic set in as they stripped me of everything valuable and locked me in a filthy storage unit for two days without water.

The van reeked of gasoline and old fries. My heart hammered against the duct tape, every bump in the road a countdown to something worse.

I overheard them talking—too scared to blackmail my parents, planning to sell me off. Disbelief turned to raw terror.

I huddled in a corner, shivering under a dirty blanket, hours crawling by. The betrayal was bone-deep—these were kids who’d sung “Happy Birthday” to me, now arguing over how to get rid of me.

It was like watching kids with kitchen knives, swearing they’d kill someone. It almost seemed like a joke—until the knives flashed and the fear became real.

They tore at my clothes and snapped photos, their faces twisted with fear and greed. I screamed until my throat bled, desperate to hang onto any scrap of dignity.

All I had left was bravado. I cursed and threatened them, but it was all for show—my hands shaking uncontrollably.

One of them, Tyler, knelt down and sighed. "Natalie, forgive me. I really like you—I never wanted to do this..."

His words twisted my insides, but all I felt was rage. I glared, shaking with anger.

Before he could finish, I bit his finger—hard enough to draw blood. He screamed, blood spurting. For a second, I thought I could break free.

The others freaked, pulling me off him, shouting, shoving each other, duct tape flying.

Suddenly, the warehouse door slammed open. Blinding light cut through the dark. A tall figure stood in the doorway, backlit and unmoving.

Sirens wailed in the distance. My vision blurred with relief and confusion.

Just like that, he was there.

Marcus—glasses askew, face carved from stone—stepped into the chaos. His hands shook as he pulled me free, but his voice was steady. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes—fear for me.