Filed to story: Maya Thompson and Damien Blackwood Book PDF Free
“I’m glad you agreed,” he said after a moment. His voice was smooth. Practiced. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Maya forced a polite smile. “You caught me on a tired morning, I guess.”
He chuckled lightly, but something about it grated against her. “Well, I’ll make it worth your while. Promise.”
She gave a faint nod, staring out the window, trying to focus on anything but the tension coiling in her stomach.
“So,” Beckett said casually, like they were two friends on a morning drive, “where is it you’re interning again?”
“Blackwood Enterprises,” she said, carefully.
That got a reaction.
It was subtle – the way his grip tightened slightly on the wheel. The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. But it was there.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s… impressive.” His tone was unreadable. “Didn’t realize you were one of those interns. Isn’t that, like, top-tier?”
Maya gave a soft shrug, not liking the edge in his voice.
“It’s just an internship.”
“Right.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just curious. Wouldn’t want to drop you off at the wrong building.”
She nodded again, unease crawling higher up her spine.
Something in the way he said “drop you off” scratched at the edge of her nerves.
She turned to glance out the window. The city passed in soft morning colors – gray buildings, sleepy sidewalks, a few early joggers weaving past storefronts.
This road doesn’t lead to my office.
The thought crept into her mind quietly, like a whisper she didn’t want to hear.
She glanced at the dashboard. No GPS.
Then the mirror.
Then him.
“Um… Dr. Beckett?” she asked, gently. “You said the café near my work, right?”
“Oh, I know a better one,” he said smoothly, his eyes still on the road. “Less crowded. You’ll love it.”
She hesitated.
“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice warm. “We’ll still make it in time. I wouldn’t let you be late, Maya.”
Her name in his mouth felt wrong.
Like something sacred was being handled with bloodied hands.
Something’s wrong.
The morning sun bled gold over the skyline, but inside the car, the air felt strangely thick.
She didn’t know where he was taking her.
But it wasn’t to coffee.
Maya’s throat tightened. Her fingers itched to reach for her phone, but it was buried deep in her bag and her limbs felt too slow, too heavy. Her heartbeat thudded louder with every second, but her body… her body was slipping. Numb. Disconnected.
Outside the window, the buildings smeared into colorless shapes. Her stomach twisted.
Two hours of sleep. That had to be it. Or the stress. The fourteen-hour shift. The relentless pressure.
Her hands rested in her lap like stone.
Beckett’s voice floated from the driver’s seat – casual, low – but the words scattered before they reached her.
She turned her head toward him slowly.
He was sipping from a large water bottle, nearly empty now. She hadn’t noticed it before- the way he drank from it repeatedly. The way he kept glancing at her like he was… waiting.
Something coiled in her gut.
“Maya?” he asked gently. “You alright?”
She tried to nod. She thought she did. But her head barely moved. Her mouth was dry. Her pulse – slow, almost sluggish.
The soft hum of the engine, the low vibration beneath the tires – it all blurred together, lulling her like a rocking cradle.
Then nausea surged up her throat. Not from nerves. Not from hunger.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Her head lolled slightly to the side.
“Sleepy?” Beckett asked, not even glancing at her. His tone was too light. Too calm.
She forced a breath. “Y-yeah. Didn’t… sleep…”
He took another long pull from the water bottle. It was nearly empty now. Whatever was in it… he had consumed most of it himself.
Or so it seemed.
“Just rest,” he murmured. “You’ll feel better soon.”
Her pulse skipped.
She hadn’t drunk anything. So why did her body feel like it was fading?
The air in the car was wrong. Sweet. Chemical. Too warm. Too still.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
But her vision blurred.
Her limbs wouldn’t move.
Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, and her thoughts – once sharp-faded into static.
She tried to lift a hand. Failed.
And then – just before darkness swallowed her whole – she saw it.
The twisted smile on Beckett’s lips.
Not kind. Not casual. Not human.
Just satisfied.
“Jamie…” she thought faintly, the name floating in the fog before everything went dark.
8:30 a.m.
At Blackwood Enterprises, the day was already in full swing.
The glass doors of the lobby rotated steadily as the morning rush poured into the building. Elevators dinged. Heels clicked. Suits brushed past one another like pieces in a well-oiled machine.
But one person was missing.
