Chapter 16 - The Hunt

Kiefer didn't remember breathing since she vanished.

He'd blinked once and she was gone.

Her phone—dead.

Her bag—dropped by the curb.

And a single silver bracelet he'd bought her last week was lying in the dirt, like the universe was laughing in his face.

He paced the length of his room for the fifth time, palms pressed to his head. His throat burned from yelling her name until his voice cracked. Every minute that passed felt like the walls were closing in.

"Think," he muttered, punching the desk. "Think, Kiefer. She didn't just disappear."

The police weren't answering fast enough. He'd called three times already, given them the description, the last place she was seen, everything. And still—nothing.

They wanted him to "stay calm."

He wanted to rip the world apart.

His phone buzzed.

A message from her brother: Nothing yet. Stay home, Kief. Please.

Stay home?

Not a chance.

He grabbed his hoodie, jammed the car keys into his pocket, and bolted out the door.

The city looked different tonight. Streets blurred under the harsh streetlights, puddles reflecting the cold, metallic glow of the moon. He drove like a man possessed, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clenching his phone so tight his knuckles went white.

He retraced every step she'd taken that day.

The coffee shop near campus.

The old road by the construction site.

The shortcut she always used even though he'd told her not to.

Everywhere, he called her name.

Everywhere, he found nothing.

By the third hour, his hands were shaking. His brain replayed every laugh, every argument, every stupid moment they'd shared. He could still hear her voice echoing in his head:

"Stop worrying, Kiefer. I can take care of myself."

And maybe she could.

But tonight, someone else had gotten to her first.

He slammed the steering wheel again, throat tight. "Where the hell are you, Jay Jay?"

His phone lit up again. A text from one of his contacts—a kid who worked security for the nearby warehouses.

You should check the docks. Couple of vans went through without plates tonight.

Kiefer froze.

Vans. No plates.

His mind went blank for a second before everything snapped into focus.

He spun the car around, tires screeching against wet asphalt. The docks were fifteen minutes away, and he made it there in nine.

The area was deserted. Salt and diesel hung heavy in the air. Shadows pooled between stacks of shipping containers.

He parked the car a few blocks down and went the rest of the way on foot, every nerve screaming at him to move faster. He kept low, checking for cameras, tracks, anything.

Then he saw it.

Tire marks. Fresh ones.

He crouched, running his fingers along the dirt. Still damp. Recent.

He followed the tracks between the containers until he reached a locked gate.

He didn't hesitate—grabbed a metal rod from the ground, jammed it through the chain, and snapped it open. The sound echoed across the docks.

If anyone was inside, they knew he was coming now.

Good. Let them know.

He moved through the rows, checking each van. Most were empty. Then, halfway down the lane, he saw a black one with a cracked taillight—something about it made his stomach drop.

He approached slowly, pressing his ear against the metal.

Silence.

Then—

A faint thud.

His blood ran cold.

He yanked the handle. Locked.

He circled to the back, trying every latch. Nothing.

"Jay?" His voice cracked. "Jay Jay, it's me—are you in there?"

No answer.

He kicked the door. Hard. Once, twice. The sound echoed through the night, hollow and desperate.

Then, faintly, he heard it.

A voice.

Small. Shaky.

"Kiefer?"

Everything inside him shattered.

He pressed his forehead against the van, breathing out a laugh that was half a sob. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Hold on, baby. I got you."

He searched for a weak point, grabbed a piece of rebar from the ground, and wedged it into the lock. It didn't budge. He cursed, gritted his teeth, and slammed it again. Metal screamed against metal.

Finally—click.

The door gave way.

The light from the docks spilled inside, and for a second he couldn't move.

She was there.

Curled up on the floor, wrists bound, blindfold half-slipped, hair tangled.

Her skin was pale, lips trembling.

He dropped to his knees beside her. "Jay Jay—hey, hey, it's me, you're safe, okay?"

She blinked against the light, eyes glossy with tears. "Kiefer... I thought—"

He cut her off by pulling her into his arms. The second he touched her, she broke, sobbing into his chest. He held her tighter, burying his face in her hair.

"You're okay. You're okay now," he whispered, even though his own hands were shaking. "I'm sorry I took so long."

She shook her head weakly. "You came."

He almost laughed through the lump in his throat. "Of course I did. You think I'd ever stop looking for you?"

He worked on the ropes around her wrists, cursing whoever tied them that tight. When they finally came loose, angry red marks circled her skin. He rubbed them gently, jaw clenching.

"I'm gonna kill whoever did this," he muttered.

Her voice was a whisper. "Don't. Just—let's go."

He nodded, scooping her up. She felt weightless, fragile in his arms. He carried her out of the van, glancing around for movement. The place was still quiet. Too quiet.

Halfway to the car, headlights flashed in the distance.

"Shit," he hissed, ducking behind a container. He set her down gently, his hand brushing her cheek. "Stay down. Don't move."

"What about you?" she whispered.

He gave her that familiar, reckless smirk, though his heart was still pounding out of control. "I'll handle it."

He crept forward, crouched low between the containers. Two figures stepped out of a nearby car, talking quietly. One of them was on the phone.

Kiefer waited, counting their steps, timing their movements. When they got close enough, he darted out and slammed the first guy into the wall. The phone clattered to the ground.

The second guy cursed, swinging at him. Kiefer dodged and hit back, all muscle and fury and adrenaline. It wasn't clean—it was desperate.

The first guy tried to grab him from behind, but Kiefer twisted, elbowed him hard, and sent him crashing into the ground. He didn't even stop to look—just sprinted back to Jay Jay, grabbed her hand, and ran.

They burst out of the docks and into the streetlight glow, both gasping for breath. Kiefer fumbled the keys, shoved her into the passenger seat, and peeled out before anyone else could follow.

For a while, the only sound was the rain starting again and their breathing filling the car.

Jay Jay leaned her head back, eyes closing. "You actually came."

Kiefer shot her a look that was equal parts relief and disbelief. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"I thought—" She swallowed hard. "I thought maybe I'd never see you again."

He reached over, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. "Not a chance. You're stuck with me now."

Her laugh came out broken but real. It was the best sound he'd ever heard.

They drove in silence for a few minutes before she said softly, "You fought for me."

He smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. "Damn right I did." Then, quieter: "I'd burn the whole city if I had to."

She turned to look at him, the corners of her mouth trembling. "You almost did."

He grinned a little. "Almost."

She smiled back faintly, but her voice cracked when she whispered, "Kiefer?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let go."

He didn't. He tightened his grip on her hand, kept his eyes on the road, and didn't let go. Not even when the sirens started in the distance.