It All Started With The Kidnapping

Chapter 3- Trapped in the shawdows

***** Warning there is abuse in this chapter*****

Luna pov

The drive back from the café felt like a ticking time bomb. I could sense the storm brewing in James, his silence more threatening than his usual tirades. Each second that passed, the tension in the air thickened, pressing down on me like an invisible weight. I tried to keep my breathing steady, but the fear gnawed at me, relentless and unforgiving. James wasn't just in a bad mood—he was seething. And that meant I was going to pay for it.

I replayed the day in my head, searching for any possible mistake I could have made. But nothing stood out. No forgotten task, no misplaced item. The café had been as uneventful as ever, a monotonous blur of serving customers and wiping down tables. Still, the fact that James hadn't lashed out at me yet meant one thing: someone else had pissed him off, and I was the one who would bear the brunt of his anger. Thanks a lot, whoever you are.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the place I was forced to call home—a dilapidated structure that might have once been a house but had long since surrendered to decay. The windows were shattered, the glass shards scattered like jagged teeth, and the walls were stained with years of neglect. The air reeked of mold, damp and pervasive, mingling with the ever-present stench of smoke. Trash littered the ground, blown into corners by the wind, forgotten like the souls trapped within these walls.

This was my prison, and it had been for the past five years.

Before I could even brace myself, James' hand shot out, his fingers digging into my arm with a painful grip. He yanked me out of the car so violently that I stumbled, my knees hitting the ground hard. Pain shot up my side, but I bit back the cry that threatened to escape. Weakness was dangerous; weakness invited more pain. I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to my feet, and followed him into the house.

The inside was no better than the outside. The living room was filled with James' men—vile, leering creatures who spent their days smoking, gambling, and indulging in whatever depravity suited them at the moment. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and cheap alcohol, a suffocating haze that clung to everything. The sound of their crude laughter and the clatter of dice stopped abruptly as James entered the room. All eyes turned to him, then to me.

James didn't waste any time. His hand flew out, slapping me hard across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth where his rings had cut into my skin. The force of the blow nearly knocked me off my feet, but I somehow managed to stay upright, my head spinning. My hand instinctively went to my face, feeling the warmth of the blood seeping from the cut.

His voice cut through the silence like a whip. "What the fuck are you wearing, huh?! Are you finally turning into the slut that you are?!"

I blinked, trying to process his words through the haze of pain. Then it hit me—the shirt. I had completely forgotten about the shirt. It was an old, oversized t-shirt I had grabbed from my locker at school after an incident that left my original top unusable. In the chaos, I hadn't even thought about it, hadn't realized how it would look to him. But now, staring into his furious eyes, I knew I was in for it.

Terror seized me, freezing my thoughts. I felt the tears welling up, hot and unwelcome, blurring my vision. "I-I'm s-s-sorry," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "Something happened a-at school, and I had to change clothes."

James' eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he just stared at me. Then he laughed—a harsh, grating sound that made my blood run cold. "Aww, something happened at school that you couldn't handle, sweetie? Poor baby," he mocked, his voice dripping with venom. "That is complete bullshit! Are you fucking lying to me, bitch?!"

I took an involuntary step back, but he was on me in an instant, his hand lashing out again. This time, the slap sent me sprawling to the floor. Stars danced in my vision as pain radiated through my skull. I could barely focus, the room spinning wildly as I struggled to push myself up.

"I'm n-not lying to you. I p-promise, please l-let me explain," I begged, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. But it was no use. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. There was no mercy here, no reasoning with him tonight.

"Do you know what happens to disrespectful girls?" he asked, his tone low and menacing. He loomed over me, his shadow swallowing me whole.

Panic surged through me, pure and overwhelming. I knew what was coming, and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. "Please, no. I-I've been good. I've done everything you told me to do. Please, I-I beg you," I sobbed, my voice breaking as the tears flowed freely.

"Shut the hell up, you slut. You're getting punished whether you like it or not!" he snarled, his patience snapping like a brittle thread. The dread that had been gnawing at my insides now exploded into full-blown terror. I couldn't survive another beating, not after the last one. I was still healing, still tender and sore. But there was no escape. There never was.

James turned, his gaze sliding over his men. The silence in the room was deafening, thick with the anticipation of violence. "Since you want to dress like a slut," he drawled, his voice cold and cruel, "then you can have some fun with the boys. Just don't kill her."

His words hit me like a physical blow. No. No, this couldn't be happening. I looked at him, pleading silently, but he just sneered and walked away, leaving me alone with them. The men grinned, their eyes alight with sickening anticipation.

Two of them stood up, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators circling prey. I backed away, but it was futile. There was nowhere to go. My heart pounded in my chest, so hard it hurt, the panic clawing at my throat.

When they reached me, their hands were on me instantly, grabbing, yanking, dragging me across the floor. I screamed, kicked, fought with everything I had, but it wasn't enough. They were stronger, bigger, and they reveled in my fear. Fists rained down on me, the blows landing with brutal precision, each one sending fresh waves of pain crashing through me. My screams filled the room, but they were swallowed by the darkness, by the laughter and the jeers of the men who took pleasure in my suffering.

When the beating finally stopped, I was left gasping for breath, every inch of my body throbbing with pain. But they weren't done. Rough hands grabbed me, hauling me to my feet, then dragging me up the stairs. I struggled, twisted, tried to break free, but it was useless. My strength was gone, drained by the pain, the fear, the hopelessness.

"Nooo! Get away from me!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate. But they only laughed, their grip tightening as they pulled me along, up into the darkness where no one could hear my cries.

And in that moment, as I was dragged further into that hell, something inside me shattered. Whatever hope I had left, whatever dreams I had clung to, they all crumbled away, leaving nothing but a hollow, empty void. I was alone. Alone in this nightmare that had no end. And I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.