The Hunt

Captured

Leon muttered to himself in his dimly lit hotel room. Anger was written all over his face. "He got me fucked up."

His hand hovered over the phone as he dialed Chief Raymond James. The first two calls went unanswered, intensifying the atmosphere. On the third attempt, Raymond reluctantly picked up.

"What do you want, Leon?" came Raymond's gruff voice.

Leaning against the worn dresser, Leon replied, "Do you want to see your daughter alive?"

Raymond's skepticism was evident. "Are you trying to threaten me, Brookes?"

Grimacing, Leon explained, "Greyson barged into my room with some buddies, took her, and held me up at gunpoint. So, again, do you want your daughter alive, or do you wanna be childish?"

Raymond, now more serious, asked, "What do you need?"

"I need a 5.56 mm rifle, Dead Air Ghost silencer, and plenty of rounds."

"Why didn't I hear backup with this order? My daughter is involved, Leon."

Restless, Leon retorted, "Old man, this mission has given me every reason not to trust you, but you need to trust that I can do my damn job."

Raymond, visibly conflicted, stated, "You're a bounty hunter, not an assassin."

Smirking, Leon replied, "Who said I'm not both?"

Raymond finally conceded, "Where am I sending this shit to?"

"My hotel. I'll send the address via text message." The dim room held an air of urgency as the reluctant partnership unfolded against a dire situation.

Thrown into the car with a forceful shove, Amelia collided with the unforgiving interior, her head taking the brunt of the impact. The world momentarily blurred as pain radiated from the point of impact. Disoriented and battered, she struggled to regain her bearings within the confined space of the vehicle. Amelia's consciousness flickered as she regained awareness in the dimly lit car. The relentless pain pulsed through her, a cruel reminder of Greyson's ruthlessness. The man beside her maintained a vice-like grip, ensuring her compliance.

Greyson, positioned in the passenger seat, spoke with a chilling calmness, "I don't appreciate you running off like that. You and my father are betrayers. I give you both everything while only asking for so little."

Defiant, Amelia shot back, "Go to hell."

"Oh, my love, if I'm going, so are you. Let's all go as a family. Where is our child?" Greyson's voice dripped with hostility.

Amelia, resolute, retorted, "You are delusional if you think I would tell you anything."

With a sinister gesture, Greyson signaled to the masked man, who swiftly produced a dagger and stabbed it into Amelia's thigh. Her scream pierced the air, a manifestation of her agony.

"You know, that was the one thing I liked about you, Amelia. You can fake everything else, but you couldn't fake emotions," Greyson remarked, a twisted admiration in his tone.

He turned around in his seat, forcibly grabbing her face and making her meet his cold gaze. "You were always so emotional. Your blood and tears are like paint, so vivid on my canvas."

Getting uncomfortably close, Greyson licked the tears off her face as they trailed down. In a desperate attempt to fight back, Amelia sank her teeth into his nose, refusing to succumb. The car reverberated with the struggle as he grunted in pain, mirroring the noises she had just made. The masked man retaliated, yanking her by the hair, forcing her to release her grip. Her head was banged against the car door, sending her into unconsciousness once again.

As she drifted away, Greyson's enraged voice echoed, "You fucking bitch," his words muffled by the blood seeping from the bite marks she had imprinted on his nose. The car continued its ominous journey.

In the fading twilight, Leon quickly loaded his truck with the gear required for the impending mission. The air held a tension that matched the situation's urgency, every passing second crucial in the race to find Amelia. As he secured the last piece of equipment, a phone call sliced through the tension. The message was clear – the shipment awaited him outside. Without hesitation, Leon rushed out, ready to embark on the perilous journey to retrieve Amelia from the clutches of Greyson. Amid the shadows of the approaching night, Raymond, wearing the weight of a desperate father, approached Leon. His voice betrayed a sense of urgency as he asked, "Where are we going?"

"I'm not doing this with you, Raymond," Leon replied, his tone revealing irritation and determination.

"It's my daughter, Leon."

Leon rolled his eyes at the emotional plea, understanding the gravity of the situation. However, a strategic thought surfaced. Bryce, Raymond's grandson, had yet to be picked up. If Greyson discovers where he is, Amelia and Bryce's safety will be compromised.

Deciding to divert Raymond's attention, Leon said, "You know what, you want to do something else that is important. There's a boy at this address; his name is Bryce James. Go pick him up and tell the lady Sasha that his mother is in the hospital. And if she still doesn't give him, guard that daycare with your life. You'll regret it if you don't."

Raymond, now caught between his daughter's peril and a mysterious mission involving a boy named Bryce, sought answers. "What does this kid have to do with Amelia?"

"Just do it," Leon insisted, the urgency in his words echoing the critical nature of the tasks. The backdrop of the dimly lit surroundings painted a scene fraught with tension as the fate of loved ones hung in the balance.

As Leon sped toward the yacht club, the dim glow of streetlights flickering through the windshield, a solemn atmosphere enveloped the interior of his truck. The engine's hum provided an eerie backdrop to his internal conflict. With furrowed brows and a tense jaw, Leon found himself talking to the empty confines of his vehicle, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his shoulders. "Sorry, Amelia," he muttered, his voice a low murmur amidst the hum of the road. "Had to tell your old man about Bryce. Hope you understand."

His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he navigated the darkened streets. The solitude of the truck cabin became a confessional of sorts, a space where Leon grappled with the decisions he'd made, knowing they might not align with Amelia's wishes. He arrived at this destination with a different intent. This time, instead of displaying any credentials, he pointed his gun at the security guard, swiftly gaining access to the club. As he entered, chaos ensued.

Without hesitation, Leon fired his gun, the shots echoing through the posh surroundings, causing panic among the clubgoers. People dropped to the ground, screams filling the air as he bellowed his question:

"Who knows where Greyson Matthews' house is?" The urgency in his voice cut through the chaos, demanding an answer that could lead him to his death.