Max was senseless the whole night. No, not because of his nerves. Someone chloroformed him from behind.
The next morning, Max woke with his jaw still clenched, his mind replaying the events of the night before. Yara—his Yara—was gone. And that note, those words—Tick tock—haunted him.
He spent hours scanning his contacts, calling old connections, pulling favors from people who owed him. But the deeper he dug, the clearer it became—this wasn't just a random abduction. Whoever had taken Yara knew him. They knew exactly what they were doing.
By midday, he had tracked down a lead—an old associate named Zeller. A man with a dark reputation, someone who had once worked in the shadows alongside Max before disappearing from the underworld. Zeller had vanished off the radar years ago, but Max had a hunch that if anyone had information on this abduction, it was him. Yes, it's Marcus Zeller...Nathan Zeller's son.
Max found Zeller holed up in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city, surrounded by a gang of lowlifes who were probably unaware of who they were dealing with.
Max wasn't here to play games. He was here for answers.
As he entered the warehouse, the air was thick with tension. Zeller was sitting on a makeshift throne, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a smug look plastered across his face, which irritated Max.
"Max," Zeller drawled, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "I heard you were looking for me."
"I'm not here for pleasantries," Max growled. His hand rested on the grip of his gun, fingers twitching. "Where's Yara?"
Zeller raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Yara? What makes you think I know anything about that?"
Max's patience snapped. In an instant, he drew his gun and fired, a bullet whizzing past Zeller's head, shattering the wall behind him.
"I don't have time for this, Zeller. Tell me where she is, or the next shot won't miss."
The room tensed, the men surrounding Zeller shifting uneasily, hands hovering over their weapons. But Zeller just smiled, leaning forward in his chair.
"You always were impulsive, Max. That's why this is going to be fun."
Max's eyes narrowed, his gun trained on Zeller's head. But before he could pull the trigger, Zeller's men drew their weapons, and the room exploded into chaos.
Gunfire filled the air as Max ducked behind a stack of crates, bullets ricocheting off metal and concrete. He fired back with precision, each shot taking out one of Zeller's thugs. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins as he moved with deadly efficiency, cutting through Zeller's men one by one.
Within minutes, the room was silent, bodies strewn across the floor. Max stood over Zeller, his gun pressed against the man's forehead.
"Last chance," Max growled, his voice cold. "Where is she?"
Zeller, his face twisted in a cruel smile, chuckled softly. "You think this is about Yara? You've got it all wrong, Max. This is about you."
Max's finger twitched on the trigger. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Zeller's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You're playing their game now. And you don't even know it."
Before Max could react, Zeller lunged forward, a knife flashing in his hand. But Max was faster. He fired a single shot, the bullet tearing through Zeller's chest. The man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Max stood over the body, his heart still racing, the words echoing in his mind.
You're playing their game now.
What game? Who was behind this?
And then, from the corner of the room, a sound—a faint buzz. Max turned, spotting a phone on one of the dead men. He picked it up, his pulse quickening as he saw a new message on the screen.
"Too late, Max. Time's running out."
His blood ran cold. Whoever had taken Yara was still ahead of him, still pulling the strings. And now, they were taunting him again.
Max pocketed the phone, his jaw clenched in determination. He didn't care how deep he had to go or how many bodies would pile up along the way.
He would find Yara.
And when he did, whoever was behind this would wish they had never started playing their twisted game.
