Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO-Chapter 68: Snatched

OLIVER KING

"What? Ollie! Why are you calling me? You should call the police."

"Oh, right. That makes more sense."

A meaty hand clamped over my mouth, the other wrenching my arm behind my back at a brutal angle. My phone was yanked from my hand and slammed into the sidewalk. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Hey! That’s new!"

I was tossed into the back of the cargo van.

I drove my elbow back hard, and connected with a person. A pained grunt. I twisted and saw Leo--still hooded, his tailored suit rumpled--being shoved further into the van’s dark interior.

"Leo!"

A fist connected with my mouth. Stars exploded across my vision. My chin hit the metal floor, teeth slicing into my tongue. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

The door slammed shut. Tires squealed as we accelerated.

The van smelled like rotting fish and motor oil. I rolled onto my side, wincing as the motion sent fresh pain through my skull. Next to me, Leo’s breathing was steady despite the hood over his head, his bound hands flexing methodically against the zip ties.

"You just had to be standing there," his muffled voice came from under the hood.

"Oh sure, this is my fault. Maybe if you weren’t such a walking ransom check—"

A boot from the kidnapper sitting in the front passenger seat connected with my ribs. "Shut up!"

The van hit a pothole, sending us sliding across the metal floor. Leo’s shoulder collided with mine. Through the fabric of his dress shirt, I could feel the rapid-fire rhythm of his pulse. Not as calm as he wanted to appear.

For twenty agonizing minutes, we jostled in silence. Then Leo shifted subtly, his fingers brushing against mine. A silent question: You okay?

Before I could respond, the van took a sharp turn, throwing me against the side wall. My forehead slammed into the metal wall. Wow. Whoever these thugs were they had no imagination. This mode of transportation had "serial killer van" vibes.

"Christ, could you drive any worse?" I snarled.

The response was another kick, this one catching me in the thigh. Leo tensed beside me.

"Next one goes to your teeth, princess," the goon warned.

The van finally slowed, then stopped.

They dragged us out like sacks of potatoes. My knees hit concrete hard enough to bruise. They ripped the hood off Leo and I found myself staring into his grey-blue eyes.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating a cavernous warehouse space. Crates stacked haphazardly. The distant drip of water. And standing before us, arms crossed over his barrel chest, was ... the bad guy?

Up close, the scar running from his eyebrow to chin looked nasty, the puckered tissue pulling his smirk into a permanent sneer.

"Annison Tech’s golden boy," he mused, backhanding Leo hard enough to snap his head sideways. Blood sprayed across the concrete. "And... collateral." His beady eyes landed on me. "Guess we got a two-for-one special today."

Leo spat a glob of blood onto the floor. "He’s nobody. Let him go."

Scarface barked a laugh. He crouched in front of me, the knife from his belt glinting under the harsh lights. "That’s funny. Because he looks a lot like Oliver King. The only son of Rebecca King. She’s so rich, she could buy the damned planet." He pressed the cold steel under my chin, tilting my face up. "You’re worth a bundle."

I forced a grin, ignoring the blade biting into my skin. "I’m worth more than that."

The knife bit deeper. A hot trickle of blood ran down my neck.

Leo lunged forward, chair and all. "Touch him again and I’ll—"

Scarface kicked the chair legs out from under him. Leo crashed to the concrete, his head bouncing off the floor with a sickening crack.

"Here’s how this works," Scarface said, pulling out a burner phone. He waved it lazily. "We call your families, get our money, and maybe—maybe—you both walk out." He nodded to his goons. "Search them. Thoroughly."

Rough hands groped my jacket pockets. My wallet and house keys clattered to the floor. One thug held up Leo’s slim silver cardholder.

Scarface snatched it, flipping it open. His eyes widened.

"Well, well." He held up a keycard with the Annison Tech logo. "Looks like we hit the fucking jackpot."

The warehouse door burst open. A sweaty lackey stumbled in, panting. "Boss! Black SUVs—three blocks out!"

Scarface’s smile vanished. He hauled Leo upright by his hair. "Who did you call?"

"Doesn’t matter." Leo’s bloody grin was all teeth. "You’re fucked."

A gunshot echoed outside.

Then the lights went out.

***|***|***|***|***

LEONARDO ANNISON

The hood smelled like gasoline and stale sweat, the rough fabric scraping against the fresh cut on my cheekbone. The zip ties bit into my wrists—tight enough to hurt, loose enough that I could still flex my fingers.

The van hit a pothole, jolting me sideways into Ollie. Even through the adrenaline, I registered the way his muscles tensed—not in fear, but in barely contained fury.

Damn it, Ollie. You weren’t supposed to be here.

This was supposed to be simple. Let myself get grabbed, see who these idiots reported to, end the problem before it escalated. A calculated risk.

Then Ollie had to go and get himself kidnapped too.

The van screeched to a halt. Rough hands hauled us out, shoving us onto cold concrete before yanking off the hoods. Fluorescent lights illuminated the warehouse’s rotting interior—peeling paint, rusted chains, the distant drip of a leaking pipe.

A guy with a scarred face loomed over us. "Look who’s here."

I kept my face blank, even as he backhanded me hard enough to split my lip. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and warm.

Ollie lunged against his restraints. "You son of a—"

Idiot. I shot him a warning glare. Stop drawing attention to yourself.

Scarface turned the knife on Ollie, pressing the blade to his throat, and something cold slithered down my spine.

Ollie wasn’t part of the plan.

I forced my voice steady. "He’s nobody. Let him go."

"That’s funny. Because he looks a lot like Oliver King. The only son of Rebecca King. She’s so rich, she could buy the damned planet." He pressed the cold steel under Ollie’s chin, tilting his face up. "You’re worth a bundle."

Ollie grinned."I’m worth more than that."

The knife bit deeper. A thin line of blood welled up.

I stopped breathing.

The first time I saw Ollie at some godawful charity gala, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world. I caught myself watching him across a room, tracking the way his hands moved when he talked, the way his kissable mouth curled when he smirked.

Now ... a blade scraped his throat and my chest felt too tight as I watched helplessly.

Scarface rifled through my pockets, pulling out the keycard I wanted him to find.

His eyes lit up. "Well, well. Looks like we hit the jackpot."

I exhaled. Excellent.

The lights went out.

Gunfire erupted—three precise shots. Muzzle flashes illuminated the warehouse in strobes.

I was already moving, snapping the weakened zip ties as bodies crashed around us. A grunt. A thud. The wet sound of a fist connecting with flesh.

Ollie cursed as he wrestled free of his chair. "What the—"

I yanked him down as another shot rang out. "Stay down."

Silence.

Then footsteps—familiar, measured. My team.

I didn’t look at them. I was too busy staring at Ollie, at the blood streaking his temple, at the way his chest heaved with adrenaline.

He met my gaze, eyes blazing. "You set this up?"

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because the fear still hadn’t left me.

Ollie shoved to his feet, swaying slightly. "You used yourself as bait?"

I stood slowly, wiping blood from my mouth. "I had it under control."

"Like hell you did!" He grabbed my collar, shaking me. "They had a knife to my throat!"

I let him.

Because he was right.

Because I’d miscalculated.

Because for the first time in years, I’d been afraid.

Not for me.

For him.

I pried his fingers off, one by one. "Go home, King."

His jaw clenched. "Screw you, Annison."

He stormed off, limping slightly.

I watched him go, my hands curling into fists.

His silhouette cutting through the warehouse’s dim light like a blade. Even now—bloodied, furious, limping—he moved with a reckless grace that made my chest ache.

I’d memorized that walk years ago.

The way he shoved his hands in his pockets when he was pretending not to care. The way his laugh—rare and real, not the polished one he used at society events—crinkled the corners of his eyes. freēwēbnovel.com

The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching.

I’d known better than to want him. Known it the first time I caught myself staring at the curve of his throat as he tilted his head back to drink, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. Known it every time I’d deliberately provoked him just to see his eyes flash with fire.

He turned at the door, glaring back like he could hear my thoughts. A fresh cut marred his cheekbone, stark against his pale skin. My fingers twitched with the urge to trace it, to apologize, to drag him close and never let go.

My world was boardroom coups and midnight ambushes, bloodstains hidden by tailored suits. Ollie deserved better than that. Better than me.

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