Taming My Sugar Mommy-Chapter 24: The Abduction

The hallway of the fancy hotel stretched out before them, the shiny marble tiles reflecting the soft golden light from the wall sconces. A cleaner walked by, pushing his cart with careful movements. "Good evening," he said politely, his tone respectful. The squeaking of his cart echoed in the quiet hallway as he turned the corner and disappeared. Isabella let out a small breath of relief, while Liam's shoulders remained tense.

That moment of distraction was all they needed.

Isabella's heels clicked sharply against the polished floor, each step echoing in the late hour. The air was thick with tension, her unease from the earlier fight with Roberts still lingering. A security camera above them swiveled slowly, its red light blinking in steady rhythm against the cream-colored walls.

"We're almost there," Isabella murmured, her voice a cool contrast to the storm building inside her. She could feel the weight of the night pressing in, but her pace remained steady, unwavering. Liam trailed a few steps behind, the sense of quiet danger still hanging between them.

As she reached for her phone, her fingers were poised, ready to unlock it when a noise broke the silence—a sharp sound, like a whip cutting through the air.

Liam barely had time to react.

A fist slammed into his face, knocking him back a step. The force was enough to make his vision blur for a split second, but his instincts kicked in. He staggered but didn't fall, blood tasting bitter on his tongue as he wiped it away with a swipe of his hand.

Before he could recover, two men materialized from the shadows, both in dark suits, their movements swift and calculated. The larger man, bull-necked with a jagged scar across his forehead, lunged at Liam with terrifying speed. His partner, lean and whipcord-muscled, circled to flank.

Liam barely managed to duck the first punch, the air whistling as it passed. His counter-strike caught nothing but air as the scarred man weaved aside with practiced ease. The second punch came faster than the first—a short, brutal hook that clipped Liam's jaw. His head spun with the force of the impact, vision blurring at the edges. The lean attacker was already moving to cut off his retreat, herding him toward the corner with quick, precise footwork. He could feel his body aching from the blow, but there was no time to nurse the pain.

The lean attacker circled behind him, forcing Liam into a narrow space where the walls seemed to close in. Liam's mind raced. These men weren't amateurs. He'd faced his fair share of fights, but this was different—this was calculated, cold, and relentless.

Isabella's voice cut through the chaos. "Liam, get back!" she shouted, but there was panic in her posh tone, her body already retreating.

Liam's back hit the wall, but he fought to keep his position, using his body to block the men's movements. A painting of some fancy countryside scene wobbled on the wall as Liam drove his shoulder into the scarred man, forcing him back. The impact would've dropped most blokes, but this one just grunted and shifted his weight.

As the fight erupted, Isabella backed away, her mind racing. These men were professionals - the way they moved, the precision of their attacks. One wrong move and Liam would be dead. Her hand trembled as she pulled out her phone, fingers quickly finding Marcus's number.

"Come on, come on," she whispered urgently, watching Liam dodge another vicious punch. The phone rang, each tone seeming to stretch forever. "Marcus, pick up the damn phone!"

"Marcus, I swear to God," she hissed into the phone, "if you don't answer—" The call connected, but the signal bars began dropping one by one. Static crackled through the speaker, then died completely. She glanced at her screen - no service. "No, no, not now!"

"Looking for help, Miss Ashworth?" the scarred man taunted, not even winded despite the beating he'd taken. "I'm afraid your calls won't reach anyone tonight."

The lean attacker grabbed Liam's wrist, twisting it painfully behind him. Liam gritted his teeth, his other hand coming up to strike the man in the gut. As they grappled, the scarred man backed away three precise steps, creating distance. Isabella had retreated toward the window alcove, giving her a clear view of everything—including the gun now emerging from the scarred man's jacket. The sharp click of the safety being released froze everyone in place.

It froze him in place.

The scarred man, now a few feet away, had his weapon trained on Isabella. The gleam of the weapon caught the light, sending a chill through Liam's veins. His gaze snapped to Isabella, who stood rigid, eyes wide with fear but not backing down.

"Stop," the scarred man said, his voice low and controlled. "We're done here."

Liam's chest tightened as his eyes darted from the gun to the men. The lean attacker was back on his feet, circling warily.

"No more fights," the man continued, his finger still lightly brushing the trigger. "We just need him."

Liam's heart sank. He was outnumbered, and the odds were stacked against him. The punch to his head still throbbed, the taste of blood lingering in his mouth. He could barely focus, the world spinning around him. But there was no time for hesitation. The gun was aimed at Isabella's head, and she was standing still, unmoving, a clear sign she was already preparing herself for the worst.

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"Let her go,mate, " Liam ground out, his voice hoarse. But as much as he wanted to fight, he couldn't risk it. Not like this. He knew too well how easily this could end in disaster.

Isabella's hand twitched at her side, the useless phone heavy in her pocket. Her eyes darted between the gun and Liam, mind racing for options that weren't there. "Whatever they're paying you, I can double it," she said, her voice low and controlled despite her racing heart. "Triple it. Name your price."

The scarred man's laugh was cold, almost pitying. "You Ashworths," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Always thinking everything can be bought. Always thinking everything revolves around your money, your power." His eyes hardened. "Did it ever occur to you that some things can't be solved by throwing money at them?"

"Why him?" she demanded, her earlier confidence cracking. "Why take him?"

The scarred man smirked, but there was no humor in it. "It's not about you, Miss Ashworth," he said, his eyes flicking back to Liam, then to the hallway behind them. "It's about him."

The lean attacker produced a black hood from his jacket pocket. Liam's muscles tensed, but the gun trained on Isabella kept him from resisting as they roughly pulled it over his head. The fabric was thick, disorienting – professional grade. They worked with practiced efficiency, securing his hands behind his back with zip ties that bit into his skin.

Isabella watched, her mind racing. These men knew her name, knew where to find them, and had somehow disabled all communications. The sophistication of their operation sent a chill down her spine. This wasn't a random attack – this was planned, coordinated. But why Liam? He was just her... what exactly? Partner? Asset? The uncertainty of their relationship suddenly felt significant.

"Move your bloody arse," the scarred man ordered, shoving Liam forward while keeping the gun steady on Isabella. "Miss Ashworth, I suggest you forget what happened here. Some questions are better left unasked."

The warning in his voice was clear, but something in his tone made Isabella's instincts flare. There was an undertone of... respect? Fear? These men knew who she was, yet they were taking Liam instead of her. The pieces weren't fitting together.

They marched Liam down the hallway, one man on each side, their movements fluid and practiced. Just before they reached the emergency exit, the lean attacker produced a key card – not a hotel card, but something more advanced. The door opened with a soft click, revealing a service corridor Isabella hadn't known existed.

The last thing she saw was Liam's hooded form being pushed through the doorway, his shoulders still squared despite everything. Then the door closed with a final, decisive click.