Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Darius sat behind the wheel, his phone pressed against his ear as he listened to the voice on the other end. His expression was unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. But then—his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. A dark-colored sedan followed them, too closely, too persistently. His body tensed, every instinct sharpening into a razor's edge.

He ended the call without a word. His focus shifted entirely to the road.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he pressed down on the gas pedal. The car responded instantly, surging forward with a burst of speed.

Beside him, Sasha sensed the change. The sudden shift in his demeanor, the way his fingers curled rigidly around the wheel—it set off alarm bells in her head.

She turned to him, brows furrowing. "What's wrong?"

Darius didn't look at her. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes locked on the mirror. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a predator ready to strike.

"Close the window and put on your seatbelt." His voice was flat, but the underlying steel made her stomach drop.

Sasha hesitated, her pulse quickening. "Darius—"

"Now."

She swallowed, nodding quickly. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the seatbelt and clicked it into place. The window slid up with a quiet hum, sealing them inside.

"What's happening?" she asked again, a slight tremor in her voice.

Darius finally glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Some men are tailing us," he said curtly. His tone left no room for doubt. "If I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. Understood?"

A chill crawled up her spine. She had seen Darius in many situations—calm, amused, even possessive—but this? This was something else.

She nodded, her grip tightening on the sides of her seat.

The car behind them was a shadow, mirroring every turn they made. It didn't matter how fast Darius went, they kept up—relentless, determined. The streets blurred past in streaks of neon and headlights, the tension suffocating.

And then—the worst happened.

The fuel gauge flashed empty.

Darius's eyes flickered downward. His expression darkened.

"Fuck." He slammed his palm against the wheel, the sharp crack making Sasha flinch.

Her breath hitched. "What now?"

Darius didn't answer immediately. His fingers curled into a fist before he exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm. He reached for his phone with his free hand, dialing a number with practiced speed.

Behind them, the pursuing car screeched to a halt. The sound of tires burning against asphalt echoed through the night.

Then—doors swung open.

Men poured out—five, no, six of them.

Sasha's heart pounded in her chest, the rhythmic thud almost deafening in her ears.

Darius let out a slow breath, his movements eerily controlled. He reached for the glove compartment, flipping it open. A gun gleamed under the dim interior lights.

He grabbed it, checking the magazine with a swift, practiced motion before snapping it back into place.

Then, he turned to her. His eyes met hers, sharp and unwavering. "Stay inside."

The command was absolute.

Sasha barely had time to process before he was out of the car, the door slamming shut behind him.

The night swallowed him whole.

She pressed her palms against the window, her breath fogging up the glass. She could see him—his stance was relaxed, almost lazy, but she knew better.

This was a man built for war.

A heavily tattooed man stepped forward from the group. His presence was menacing, his knuckles cracked like he was already imagining them buried in Darius's face.

"Because of you, my brother is in a coma, you bastard!" the man growled, his voice thick with rage.

Darius smirked, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. He looked utterly unfazed. "Good for you."

That was all it took.

The man lunged.

The fight erupted like a storm.

Blows were exchanged in quick, brutal succession. Fists collided with flesh, bones met bone, grunts and curses filled the air. Every movement was precise—calculated. Darius fought like a man who had done this a thousand times, but his opponent was just as relentless.

Inside the car, Sasha's breath came in short gasps as she watched the chaos unfold.

Darius was strong, but the other man was fighting like a rabid animal. He wasn't holding back, wasn't letting Darius recover—landing brutal punches to his ribs, his face.

Her fingers dug into the seat.

Then—movement from the shadows.

More men.

She barely had time to process before Darius's men arrived, weapons drawn.

Gunfire exploded.

The night turned into chaos.

Sasha's chest heaved. She could hear her own pulse roaring in her ears. She was supposed to stay inside.

Stay safe.

But she couldn't just sit there.

She had to do something.

Her eyes darted around, frantic.

Then she saw it.

Darius's gun—lying near the back wheel of the car.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

Keeping low, she slipped out of the car, her breath tight in her throat. The cool night air stung against her skin as she crept forward. The gun was within reach.

Her fingers wrapped around its cold metal.

Steady.

She lifted it, her grip firm despite the tremor in her hands.

Aimed.

Fired.

A sharp *bang* ripped through the night.

The man attacking Darius jerked forward, a strangled gasp escaping his lips. Blood bloomed through his shirt as he stumbled, his grip on Darius faltering.

His body swayed.

Then—he collapsed.

Sasha's hands trembled around the gun, her breath coming in harsh pants.

Darius turned sharply, his dark eyes locking onto her.

For the first time, he looked… shocked.

But it lasted only a second.

Then, his expression hardened.

And Sasha knew—she had just crossed a line she could never step back from.

Darius saw the opening and didn't waste a second.

With the lethal precision of a man who had fought his way to the top, he grabbed the enemy by the collar and delivered a brutal punch. The impact was solid—bone against bone, a sickening crunch—before the man crumpled onto the pavement with a groan of pain.

Darius barely spared him another glance before turning—

And his breath caught.

Sasha stood a few feet away, his gun steady in her grasp.

The way she held it—her fingers curled around the trigger, her feet planted firmly, her stance perfectly balanced—wasn't the reaction of a civilian panicking in fear.

She hadn't hesitated. Not even for a second.

Her aim had been precise. Her control unwavering.

This wasn't luck.

This was experience.

A slow burn of realization spread through Darius, settling deep in his gut like a warning.

Sasha had done this before.

But there was no time to process it. Not now.

Sasha, unaffected by his scrutiny, had her focus locked onto the wounded man on the ground. With the gun still aimed at his chest, she spoke, her voice calm and commanding.

"If you want your Pakhan to live, drop your weapons. Now."

The surrounding men hesitated, their gazes darting between their fallen leader and the woman holding them at gunpoint.

Darius could see the uncertainty in their eyes, the battle between loyalty and survival playing out in real time.

Sasha's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Don't be stupid. Put them down."

Her tone left no room for negotiation.

One by one, the weapons hit the ground with dull thuds.

Darius's eyes flicked to her, studying every movement, every breath. His mind worked rapidly, piecing things together, but he kept his expression unreadable.

His men moved in immediately, securing the enemies' weapons, forcing them to their knees, and taking full control of the situation.

A bitter laugh echoed from the pavement.

The tattooed man, still on the ground, smirked despite the pain contorting his features. Blood seeped through his clothes, but arrogance still burned in his eyes.

"A woman calling the shots?" he sneered, spitting onto the pavement. "Pathetic."

Then, in a flash, he went for his gun.

But Sasha was faster.

The gunshot rang out, sharp and decisive.

The man screamed as the bullet tore through his leg, his body jerking from the force of impact.

Darius's jaw clenched.

There had been no hesitation in her shot. No second-guessing. Just action.

This wasn't normal.

This wasn't the Sasha he had believed her to be.

Before he could react further, the man on the ground moved again—

This time, his gun was aimed at Sasha.

Darius moved before he could think.

The second gunshot cracked through the air.

Sasha gasped as searing pain ripped through her arm. The bullet had grazed her, slicing a deep line into her skin.

Then—silence.

Both men stood, guns raised, breathing hard.

Darius's voice, when he spoke, was deathly calm.

"You crossed the line the moment you involved my woman."

The man scoffed, shifting slightly despite his pain. "She's the one who shot first."

His gaze flicked to Sasha, a slow, cruel smirk forming. "She's got skill. No wonder my brother wanted her."

Darius didn't hesitate.

He pulled the trigger.

The man's body jerked as the bullet struck, his eyes going wide before he collapsed, lifeless, into the growing pool of blood beneath him.

Silence followed.

The remaining men knew it was over.

Darius's men moved swiftly, rounding up the survivors, loading them into their vans, securing their dominance over the situation.

But Darius wasn't paying attention to that anymore.

His gaze snapped to Sasha.

And fury burned through him.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His voice was a sharp, unforgiving snarl.

Sasha, still clutching her bleeding arm, shot him a glare. "I saved us, you ungrateful asshole!"

"I told you to stay in the damn car!"

"And let you get beaten to death?" She took a step closer, her eyes blazing. "Not a chance."

Darius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His temper was a volatile force barely contained.

She had disobeyed him.

She had revealed something about herself he hadn't known.

And she had gotten hurt in the process.

But then—

She winced, a small, involuntary sound escaping her lips as pain rippled through her arm. Blood stained her sleeve, the wound still fresh, still bleeding.

Darius's fury shifted.

He moved instantly.

"Can you take me home and call a doctor instead of yelling like an idiot?" she snapped, her voice laced with irritation.

Darius's jaw tightened—but he didn't argue.

He moved without hesitation.

In one swift motion, he scooped her into his arms.

Sasha let out an exasperated breath. "I'm not injured in my legs, you know."

He ignored her.

Holding her securely against him, he carried her to the car, his grip firm but careful. Once he placed her inside, he shut the door and slid into the driver's seat beside her.

One hand on the wheel, the other already dialing his doctor.

The car sped through the quiet streets, headlights cutting through the darkness.

The city lights flashed past in a blur, casting fleeting shadows over them.

Darius didn't speak.

Sasha didn't either.

But the silence between them wasn't empty.

It was filled with tension. With unspoken truths. With questions that neither of them were ready to answer.

Yet.

Sasha slumped against the car seat, her body betraying her. Exhaustion crashed over her like a relentless tide—the fight, the searing pain, and the dull ache of her period draining the last of her strength. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with fatigue, her breath shallow. Every pulse of her heartbeat sent a dull throb through her wounded side, but she was too tired to care.

Darius sat beside her, silent. His gaze flicked to her face, taking in the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her lashes trembled before closing. She was barely holding on.

By the time they reached the mansion, Sasha had drifted in and out of consciousness, her body swaying as the car stopped. Darius didn't hesitate. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms, ignoring the small, startled sound she made. She was light—too light, he thought grimly—but she didn't fight him.

The grand doors of the mansion swung open, revealing a man in a crisp white coat already waiting in the foyer. The doctor.

"Upstairs," Darius ordered, his voice clipped.

He carried her effortlessly up the marble staircase, his grip firm yet careful, as if he were holding something fragile. Sasha's head rested against his shoulder, her breath warm against his collarbone. For a moment, something tightened in his chest.

But he pushed it aside.

Once in the bedroom, he set her down on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering for a fraction of a second before pulling away. She swayed slightly but remained upright, her fingers curling into the sheets.

The doctor moved swiftly, setting out his instruments. "I need to remove the bullet first."

Sasha barely reacted.

Darius, arms crossed, leaned against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving her.

The moment the doctor probed the wound, Sasha flinched. A sharp hiss escaped her lips, her fingers gripping the sheets tighter. Pain flashed across her face, but she didn't cry out.

Darius's jaw ticked.

The metallic scent of blood mixed with antiseptic as the doctor worked, extracting the bullet with practiced precision. Sasha's breath hitched when it came free, but she remained silent. He cleaned the wound quickly, pressing gauze against it before wrapping fresh bandages around her torso.

"She needs rest," the doctor said, stripping off his gloves. "And these." He placed a set of pills on the nightstand. "Painkillers. Antibiotics. She'll need to take them once she wakes up."

Darius gave a curt nod and walked him to the door. He exchanged a few brief words—something about monitoring her, signs of infection—but his mind was elsewhere.

When he returned, Sasha was exactly where he left her, but now she had slumped back against the pillows, her body giving in to exhaustion. The medicine sat untouched, but he didn't wake her.

Her breathing evened out. Sleep had claimed her.

Darius stood there, unmoving. He should have left. Should have walked away and poured himself a drink, shaken off the weight of the night.

But he didn't.

Instead, he watched her, eyes tracing the peaceful lines of her face. There was something about her—something he still couldn't figure out. She had come into his life like a storm, fierce and unrelenting, only to collapse right in front of him.

His fingers curled into fists.

Who the hell *was* Sasha?

And what had she been hiding from him all along?