Vernon shouldered open the door to the narrow apartment in the colonial building — one of those overcrowded tenements where walls were thin and neighbors minded their own business.
He went straight to the fridge — some fresh fruits, he took them out — then rifled through the kitchen drawers and cabinets, grabbing canned soup, a few protein bars, bottled water.
He grabbed what he could — apples, some bread, a water bottle — shoved them into a plastic bag. Clothes from the bedroom closet: a few shirts, pants, nothing fancy. He was ready to leave, bags in hand, when the knock came.
He turned for the door — bags in hand — when it opened.
Ryder stepped in first — 26, tattoos snaking up both arms, moderate build under a black vest , that same slick smile he'd always had. Sabrina followed — 24, black top clinging tight, short black pants showing off her legs, waist-long black hair loose and wild, arms inked with skulls and roses, black lipstick, long chains dangling from her neck and wrists.
Ryder raised both hands, palms out. "Long time no see, man."
Vernon's voice came out low. "What are you doing here?"
Ryder stepped inside, Sabrina closing the door behind them. "Relax, Vernon. Just wanted to talk. Business stuff. You know how it is."
Vernon's jaw tightened. "I'm busy."
Ryder's smile didn't waver — sweet, disarming, the same one he'd used in college to talk people into bad deals. "Won't take long. Promise. Just one drink. For old times' sake. Me, you, Sabrina. Like back then."
Vernon stared at him. Ryder had been part of those old hustles — he had been a college friend — business major, smooth talker, always had an angle.
"Five minutes," Vernon said quietly.
Ryder nodded. "That's all I need. How about a drink? Me, you, Sabrina. For old times."
Vernon hesitated. But Ryder was a known. Turning him down cold might raise flags.
"Fine."
They sat around the small round table — on to the sofa . Ryder pulled a bottle of whiskey from his bag, poured three glasses anyway, handing one over. "One sip. For luck. Heard you've been through some shit lately. We all have."
Vernon took it. Sat on the edge of the sofa. They clinked glasses. He drank — smooth burn down his throat.
They talked — Ryder praising Vernon as usual, Sabrina chiming in with her sharp smirk. Business stuff, old deals.
Then the room tilted.
Vernon blinked — vision blurring at the edges. The whiskey hit hard, bitter aftertaste rising. Not booze. Something else.
He stood — too fast — table knocking over. "What did you—"
Ryder's looked a bit nervous
He backed up. "Easy, man. Just a little something to slow you down."
Vernon lunged — but his legs buckled. He hit the sofa hard, bags falling from his hand, fruits and vegetables scattering across the floor — apples rolling, a carrot bouncing under the table. Ira's face flashed in his mind — anxious, desperate. He had to get back to her. Had to.
Darkness swallowed him whole, and Vernon slipped into unconsciousness.
Sabrina stood frozen, her hands clamped over her mouth, anxiety written all over her face.
Ryder leaned towards Vernon's limp body and checked his pulse calmly.
"Relax," he said. "It's only a sedative. Thirty-six hours at most. He'll sleep right through it."
Sabrina's voice trembled as she spoke.
"When he wakes up, he's going to kill us. Ryder… what the hell did we just do?"
Ryder said calmly trying to hide his own panic, "There was no other way. we had to. "
Sabrina hugged herself, chains clinking. "But this was risky as fuck! We messed with Vernon Krossvale — the guy who guts people for fun!"
Ryder stood, wiping sweat from his brow. "We had to. I heard he was coming for our company. If Kai finds out we're behind on deliveries, we're dead anyway. This buys us time to fix it."
Sabrina shivered, eyes on Vernon's unconscious form. "Still… the devil himself."
Both went quiet, breaths shaky. Sabrina glanced down at the spilled bags. "Look at this — fruits, vegetables, bread. He didn't look like he was heading for a raid. What was he stocking up for?"
Ryder frowned. "Doesn't matter now. It's already done. Let's go."
They left — door clicking shut behind them.
Vernon lay still on the sofa — breathing slow, fruits scattered around him like forgotten offerings.
On the other hand, in the abandoned one-floor building.
Ira had been cuffed to the bed for hours now.
At first, it was just uncomfortable — wrists aching, dress twisted. Then the cramps started. Low at first, a dull twist in her abdomen. She shifted, trying to ease it. No good.
It built fast.
Her period.
She'd always had bad ones — gynecologist said it was dysmenorrhea or something, gave her pills. The pain hit like a knife — sharp, grinding, radiating to her back and thighs. She curled up, knees to chest, but the cuffs yanked her arms taut, making it worse.
She bit her lip — hard — to keep quiet. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Then she felt the warmth between her legs. Blood. Heavy. Soaking the sheet.
"God…" she whispered, voice breaking.
Six hours.
She shifted, trying to find a position that eased it. No use. The pain sharpened, digging deeper, spreading across her lower back and down her thighs until her legs shook.
The pain was hitting like a blade twisting in her gut, wave after wave, each one worse than the last.
She tried to curl in on herself once more, knees to chest, but the cuffs yanked her arms again , stretching her shoulders painfully, making every cramp feel like it was tearing her apart from the inside.
Tears in her eyes. Her breathing turned shallow, ragged.
She was feeling it— warm wetness spreading between her legs. Blood. Heavy. Too much. Soaking through the maid's dress, seeping into the mattress beneath her. The sheet under her hips turned dark red, sticky, cold against her skin .
A sob tore out of her, low and broken. She pulled against the cuffs again — metal biting deeper into her wrists — and screamed, raw and helpless, the sound bouncing off concrete walls.
No one came.
Hours dragged.
The pain became everything.
Each wave felt like her abdomen was being crushed, twisted, ripped open.
Her back throbbed in rhythm with it. Blood kept coming — steady, relentless — pooling under her, soaking the sheet until it clung wetly to her thighs.
Hunger gnawed next — sharp, hollow cramps layering on top of the period pain, stomach clenching painfully.
Thirst scraped her throat raw. Her sugar was dropping — head spinning, vision spotting black at the edges, body trembling like she was freezing while blood soaked her dress.
She screamed again — voice hoarse now, lungs burning — "Is there someone.... Help me..... Please… someone….anyone... "
Nothing.
Just pain.
Endless, grinding, tearing pain.
"Someone please help me..... Please..... Please help me..... "
She felt herself slipping — weak, dizzy, fading. Every breath hurt. Every heartbeat felt like it cost her something.
She whispered into the empty room, barely audible, cracked and small.
"I can't… I can't bear this pain …"
Tears slipped down her temples.
The cuffs rattled faintly with her shaking.
She was alone.
And the pain kept coming.
No end.
To be continued.....