Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 85

Kira’s POV

Darkness hit me first, a crushing weight that swallowed all sensation, followed swiftly by a searing pain. It felt as if an axe had split my skull in two, each heartbeat sending a sharp explosion behind my eyes. I tried to breathe, to move, but my body refused to obey. Panic, cold and unrelenting, surged through my veins.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, fading even before it reached my own ears.

My wrists burned fiercely where the ropes cut into my skin, and my legs cramped painfully from being forced into stillness. Something thick and coarse pressed against my eyelids—a blindfold. I was utterly blind. Helpless. Trapped.

“Breathe,” I told myself, fighting down the scream clawing its way up my throat. “Just breathe.”

The confined space pressed in around me. The steady vibration beneath my body hinted at movement. The sharp tang of metal mixed with the acrid scent of gas and oil filled the air. My stomach twisted as the horrifying truth settled in.

I was in the trunk of a car.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs, threatening to shatter them. Sweat broke out in icy beads across my skin despite the stifling heat. This was no random kidnapping. It was too deliberate. Too chillingly familiar.

Lyra.

Her story flashed through my mind in gruesome clarity: the silver blade cutting across her throat, her body dumped into the ocean, the cruel fact that silver stopped her from healing, and the unbearable detail that she was pregnant when she died.

“No, no, no,” I whimpered, bile rising sharply in my throat. My whole body trembled uncontrollably. “They’re going to kill me just like her.”

I tasted blood—bitten cheek, I realized with a shock. The coppery flavor sparked fresh waves of panic, and behind my closed eyes, I saw Lyra’s slit throat again.

“I’m going to die,” the thought hammered through my mind, matching the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. “I’m going to die like Lyra. I’m going to—”

“STOP!” I screamed silently inside my head, halting the spiral of terror. “Think. THINK!”

A sound escaped me—half sob, half growl. I couldn’t afford to break down now. Survival was the only option. My father lay in a coma, the truth still buried beneath layers of lies. I had to live. I had to fight.

“Oh god, this is it,” I thought, a cold wave of terror crashing over me. “They’re going to slit my throat and throw me into the ocean.”

Fiona’s lifeless face in the morgue flashed before me—pale, waxy, violated by the cold examination. Would I end up like that? Another body on a slab? Another victim silenced forever?

The car came to a stop. Doors opened and shut. Footsteps approached.

“Is she still out?” a voice asked.

“Who cares? It’s not like she’s going anywhere,” another replied.

I forced my body to go limp, my head lolling to one side as if unconscious, even though every instinct screamed at me to fight. Cold air rushed in, carrying the unmistakable scent of the ocean. Rough hands grabbed me, dragging me out and dropping me onto what felt like sand. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, but I swallowed down any gasp of pain.

I had to survive. I would survive. No matter what.