Some hours later, I came to with a groan, my head pounding like a drum in my skull. My eyes struggled to focus at first, but when they did, I wished they hadn't.
I was in some kind of metal box. A container, maybe? Definitely not the bar.
The air smelled like rust and old sweat, and the cold from the floor pressed into my spine. My mouth was dry. My stomach churned. I felt like I'd been hit by a train — and not just because of the hangover.
'What...?'
The low, constant hum of movement filled the space. I felt it too — the faint, rhythmic rocking beneath me. We were moving. A van. A motorway. My stomach dropped.
Then I remembered.
Tyler.
'Shit.'
I tried to scream, but there was tape across my mouth. My chest seized, and I started to panic. My breaths came too fast through my nose, sharp and shallow. My wrists were tied. Ankles too. I wriggled, thrashed, anything to get free, but it only made the ropes bite tighter into my skin.
Then a voice cut through my panic.
"Well, look who's awake."
I flinched. My head snapped in his direction. I hadn't heard this voice before. This was someone else.
Another blonde-haired man with an unnerving grin perched on a stool in the corner of the van. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, calm as anything, like this was some kind of sick game. I pressed myself back against the metal wall, heart hammering in my chest.
He was young, about my age. He had a large burn scar on the left side of his face, more burns on his pale arms and legs, and cigarette burns on his wrists. The van stunk of tobacco, and a packet of cigarettes peeked out of his shorts pocket. Tattoos covered his arms, including a large flame on his right arm. He wore a loose black tank top, black denim shorts, and battered blue trainers.
"Relax, baby," His voice was weird, soft and almost feminine, but with an underlying menace. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
The way he grinned, far too wide, made my skin crawl. He looked like the Joker.
I wriggled, trying to loosen the ropes. No use. I was trapped. I tried to scream, but it was muffled by the tape.
He let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes.
"I had a feeling you'd be a screamer. That's why I taped you," he said casually with a smirk. "Can't have you screaming your head off in here."
Then he laughed. Not like a grown man — like a kid. Sharp, like it didn't quite fit.
Tears welled up in my eyes without me even noticing. I felt them streak down my cheeks. I blinked hard, trying to keep it together. Then he reached behind him.
I flinched, expecting something — anything — but he pulled out a crumpled tissue. And wiped my tears. Gently.
"There, there. No need to cry," he said, his voice dipping into something almost sympathetic. "You don't look so pretty when you cry."
I stared at him, stunned. He tucked the tissue into his pocket and tilted his head.
"It's gonna be a long ride. We're already late for the flight."
I stared at him, eyes wide, breathing erratically.
"I suggest you relax and make yourself comfortable. We aren't even out of England yet."
Relax? I couldn't relax! I'd been kidnapped, taken who knows where, far from my family, friends, and everything I'd ever known. I began to cry harder.
He just tutted.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of his words, but nothing clicked. I was still trying to process that I'd been kidnapped. That I was tied up in the back of a van. That this freak was wiping my tears like we were friends.
I mumbled against the tape, trying to speak. He raised his eyebrows. "What's that, baby? Wanna say something?"
I nodded.
He watched me for a moment, then crouched in front of me. He looked almost excited. Like this was fun for him.
"I'll take it off if you promise not to scream," he said, pointing a finger right at my face.
I nodded again.
He leaned in and ripped the tape off in one harsh pull. I gasped and winced, the skin around my mouth stinging.
I didn't scream.
"W-Where are you taking me?" I asked, shaking uncontrollably.
He wagged a bony finger in my face like I'd asked something silly. "Now, I can't tell you that, it's a secret. You'll find out soon enough."
I stared at him, then looked away with a huff.
'What the fuck is going on?'
My chest hurt. My tears stung my eyes. My head was pounding. I felt sick. So sick.
"Hey," he said, suddenly. "I haven't told you my name yet, have I?"
I didn't respond.
He crouched again, grinning.
"I'm Dylan. D-Y-L-A-N. Dylan Payne."
He extended his hand for me to shake, despite the fact I was tied up. Then giggled. Again, like a child.
When I didn't shake his hand, he awkwardly grabbed mine — tied — and gave it a little shake himself.
I couldn't even speak.
I just sat there, blinking at him.
That's all I remember from the van. At some point, I must have passed out again.
I vaguely remember being on a plane. The seats were cream leather. I was still tied up. Still trapped. The lighting was low and everything smelled expensive.
Tyler came out from the cockpit, dressed in a formal black suit now, not the club clothes he wore at the bar. He looked different. Clean. Calm. Like none of this was unusual.
Our eyes met. He gave me a short, unfriendly smile. He seemed to be in a mood.
"Hey, Boss!" Dylan practically jumped up from his seat opposite me and saluted him.
Tyler didn't even crack a smile. He just glared, forcing Dylan to cower back into his seat.
Tyler walked over to me but didn't get close. He stopped a few feet away.
"We're landing in a couple of hours," he said flatly. "I realised you're probably hungry."
Then he looked over at Dylan. "Feed her."
I watched him march back to the cockpit with his hands clasped behind his back. The door closed quietly behind him, and Dylan drew my attention.
He got up and started whistling as he opened a cupboard near the back of the cabin, rummaging through it. I watched him, unease twisting in my gut.
There was something off about him, something... unhinged.
"Why does he treat you like that?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Dylan didn't turn around. "Like what?"
"Like a kid," I said, carefully. "Or a dog."
He froze. The whistling stopped. His back straightened just slightly.
Then he turned.
There was a long pause, a sharp inhale through his nose, before he responded. "Excuse me?"
I swallowed hard but kept my voice low. "Are you... insane?"
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted it.
Dylan's happy expression faltered. He stopped dead in his tracks, glaring at me.
I gulped. "Sorry. Forget I asked."
His face twisted — not hurt, not confused, just offended. Violently offended.
He took two slow steps toward me, the food still clutched in his hand.
"What did you just say?" His voice was low and threatening. Venomous.
I looked away.
He walked straight up to me and crouched down to my level, his face inches from mine. I could smell the smoke on his breath.
"Say it again," he growled.
I didn't.
His hand twitched. Just slightly. He raised it — like he was going to strike me. I flinched hard, bracing for the impact, but it never came.
He hovered there for a second. Then slowly lowered it.
His breathing was sharp now, uneven. Lips pressed together in a thin line. Eyes burning into me.
"I'm not insane," he finally muttered.
He threw the packaged food on the table in front of me and stormed back to his seat without another word. My eyes wandered over the food, but with my hands tied, I couldn't feed myself.
He sat with his arms crossed, his face turned toward the window like I didn't exist anymore.
"I said sorry... I didn't know you'd react like that," I murmured.
He ignored me.
"Tyler told you to feed me."
Dylan laughed bitterly.
"He told me to 'remove myself from the situation when I feel upset.'" He mocked the words like he was repeating therapy advice.
Then: "He also said not to hurt you. Which is funny, because I really fucking want to."
He muttered something else under his breath. I caught the word punished .
"He punishes you?" I asked, voice soft.
His head snapped toward me.
"That's none of your fucking business! And if you don't shut up, I'll tape your mouth again!" He shouted, teeth almost gnashing like a rabid animal. "Find a way to feed yourself, bitch!"
I shrank back.
I didn't say anything else.
I didn't eat, either.