But the house felt wrong. The air was thick, and I couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach. I had just finished packing a bag when I heard the first crash. The sound of glass breaking echoed from downstairs. My heart leaped into my throat.
I rushed to the window and saw men—thugs, their faces obscured by masks—sneaking through the yard. The alarm system was blaring, but it was too late. They were already inside, and bodyguards were knocked out.
I ran to the door to warn Bianca, but I wasn’t fast enough.
They stormed into the room, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me away from the door. Bianca screamed as she tried to fight them off, but they overpowered her, too. We were trapped.
“Get them both,” one of the men growled, his voice rough.
My head throbbed. My limbs ached. The air stank of gasoline and mildew, and the floor beneath me was rough concrete. When they finally pulled the hood off my head, the sudden brightness stung my eyes.
Beside me, Bianca screamed.
Her voice pierced the air like a siren, high-pitched and panicked. “Where are we?! What do you want from us?!”