It Should Have Been Like This (The Revised Version)

Chapter 93: Bound in Transit

The muffled hum of idle chatter seeped into Zayne's consciousness, tugging him from the depths of unconsciousness like a persistent mosquito's whine. His eyelids felt glued shut, and his temples throbbed with an ache that pulsed in time with the low rumble of an engine.

At first, the voices grated against his senses. The inane conversation was a jumble of vulgarities and half-formed thoughts, an assault on his already-frayed nerves. He wanted to groan, to shout at them to shut up—but then clarity struck like a lightning bolt.

That kind of idle banter wasn't supposed to be anywhere near him.

His eyes snapped open, the transition from darkness to dim light making him wince. For a disorienting moment, the world swam in blurred shapes and muted colors. He blinked rapidly, his focus sharpening. He was seated awkwardly on the floor of a car, his legs bound tightly together with coarse rope. His wrists were similarly tied, though the knot was haphazard at best, the frayed strands scratching his skin.

Confusion flared into panic. He sat up slowly, his movements restricted by the ropes digging into his skin. The car's interior smelled of old sweat, stale fast food, and faintly of gasoline. His gaze darted to the front seat. Two men sat there, their attention firmly on their conversation and the road ahead.

Zayne flexed his wrists experimentally, testing the strength of the knots. A glimmer of hope flickered—whoever had tied him up hadn't done a particularly good job. But escape wasn't a viable option just yet. He was in a moving car, and bailing out was a death sentence.

For now, he observed.

The men's conversation drifted back to him.

"I'm telling you, man, with this payday, I'm buying myself a boat," the driver said, his voice a rough growl.

"What the hell do you need a boat for?" the other man snorted.

"Chicks love boats."

Zayne rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. These guys were idiots. Idiots with ropes and a kidnapping scheme, but idiots nonetheless. He doubted they had any valuable information. Either they didn't know who had hired them, or they were too stupid to realize the gravity of what they'd gotten themselves into.

Clearing his throat, Zayne decided to interrupt. The sound was loud in the confined space, cutting through their chatter like a knife.

Both men stiffened. The driver shot a glance over his shoulder, his scarred face twisting into an expression of surprise.

"Well, shit," the passenger muttered, leaning forward to get a better look at Zayne. "How the hell is he awake already?"

Zayne stared back, his expression calm but his pulse hammering in his throat. The driver was a burly man with a wild, unkempt beard streaked with gray and a scar carving a jagged line down the left side of his face. His companion had a muscular build, his head shaved close to the scalp, and a neatly trimmed beard that made his chin look like a wedge of granite. His dark blue eyes gleamed with a mix of boredom and malice.

"Didn't we drug him?" the passenger continued, glancing at the driver with an accusatory glare.

The driver growled, "Of course we did. Jacob gave me the stuff. It's not my fault if he bought the cheap crap!"

"Well, it's a miracle the kid's not dead," the passenger grumbled. "The boss said to bring him in alive, remember?"

Alive. For now.

Zayne's heart raced, his fear rising like a tide threatening to drown him. But he forced himself to focus, keeping his expression neutral. Panicking wouldn't help.

"What did you do to my driver?" he asked, his voice low and steady, though his stomach churned at the thought of the man who’d been with him earlier.

The passenger smirked, the expression cruel. "What do you think? We killed him, obviously."

Zayne swallowed hard, the words landing like a punch to the gut.

"And who the hell are you two?" he demanded, sweeping his gaze between them.

The driver barked a laugh, a guttural sound that grated against Zayne’s nerves.

"My, my. What a brave little bastard we’ve got here," the driver said, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "You’re not scared because you haven’t fully registered what’s happening. Let me spell it out for you—you’ve been kidnapped, kid."

"Duh," Zayne said dryly, raising an eyebrow as if the obvious revelation wasn’t worth his time.

The passenger burst out laughing, a sharp bark of amusement that filled the car. The driver, however, didn’t take it as well. His face twisted with anger, and he slammed his fists against the steering wheel, the force of it making the car swerve slightly.

"You disrespectful little brat!" the driver snarled, his voice rising. "Show some respect for my profession! I’m kidnapping you, dammit!"

The passenger doubled over, wheezing with laughter. "Tucson, man, you’ve gotta calm down. You sound like a pissed-off middle school teacher!"

Tucson glared at him, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Shut up, Damien."

Zayne sighed quietly, leaning back against the car door. Their names wouldn’t help him much, but the tension between them could. If they were distracted, maybe he’d have a chance to loosen the ropes around his wrists.

He shifted subtly, twisting his wrists against the rough bindings. The coarse fibers bit into his skin, but he ignored the sting, focusing instead on the give in the knots.

"You’re wasting your breath with the kid, Tucson," Damien said, still grinning. "He’s not scared because he knows his daddy’s gonna come looking for him."

Tucson snorted. "Yeah, well, his daddy's gonna find his corpse."

Zayne didn’t respond, keeping his expression carefully blank. Inside, though, his thoughts churned. They were right—his father would be looking for him. He had to believe that. But how long would it take? Hours? Days?

His hands trembled slightly as he continued to work at the ropes, the rough fibers fraying beneath his fingers. He needed to stay calm, to think clearly.

"I don’t get why the boss wants him alive," Damien muttered, his voice dropping. "Easier to just—"

"Shut up," Tucson snapped, cutting him off. "The boss gave us an order. You want to cross him?"

Damien fell silent, but the unease in his expression didn’t escape Zayne’s notice. He filed the information away, his mind racing.

The car’s engine hummed steadily, the tires droning against the pavement. Outside the window, the scenery blurred—trees, open fields, a world that felt maddeningly out of reach.

Zayne’s wrists ached, his skin raw, but he didn’t stop. The knot was loosening, fraying under his persistence.

"You keep your mouth shut, kid," Tucson growled, glaring at him through the mirror. "Things’ll go a lot smoother for you that way."

Zayne met his gaze, his expression unreadable.

In his mind, though, he wasn’t thinking about obedience. He was thinking about survival.