Chapter Three: Dark Pursuit The rain had stopped, but the night clung to the roadside diner like a shroud, the air thick with tension. Abraham's eyes locked on the shadowy figure near the truck, its stillness more menacing than any movement. "Come on," he barked, grabbing the woman and the little girl by their arms. They scrambled into the cab, the girl's wide eyes reflecting the flickering neon as the truck's engine roared to life. The headlights cut through the darkness, slicing a path down the empty highway, the road ahead a black ribbon under a starless sky. No one spoke. The silence inside the truck was suffocating, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the suspension. Abraham's jaw was set, his hands gripping the wheel, while the woman clutched the girl, her breathing shallow. Then, abruptly, he broke the silence. "I saw a shadowy figure staring at us back there," he said, his voice low and steady. "Thought it'd be dangerous to stick around. That's why I got us out." The woman nodded, but her eyes were sharp, searching his face for more. Before she could respond, the truck's headlights caught a glint of black up ahead—two sleek cars blocking the road, their engines purring like predators. Abraham cursed under his breath as two more black cars appeared in the rearview, boxing them in. The trap snapped shut. He slammed on the brakes, the truck skidding to a halt in a cloud of dust and gravel, caught between the vehicles like prey in a cage. "Stay down!" he shouted, throwing the door open and leaping out, his boots hitting the ground with a thud. The woman pulled the girl to the floor of the cab, huddling low as Abraham faced the threat. Figures emerged from the cars—men in black suits, their movements synchronized and menacing. Each held weapons: bats, hockey sticks, bike chains, knives, and even a few gleaming katanas and swords, their edges catching the moonlight. They fanned out, surrounding Abraham, their eyes cold and focused. "Give us the girls," their leader snapped, a tall man with a scar slicing across his cheek. His voice was ice, his bat tapping rhythmically against his palm. Abraham raised his hands, stepping forward, his voice calm but firm. "Hold on. These two girls are just normal folks, and I'm just a truck driver. You've got the wrong people. Please, let us go so I can get them where they need to be." The leader sneered, stepping closer, his katana glinting dangerously. "Don't play dumb, old man. We know who you've got. Hand them over, or this ends badly." Abraham's black eyes narrowed, his body tensing. He knew a bluff when he heard one, but the weapons—and the sheer number of men—meant talk might not be enough. He shifted his weight, ready to strike, but kept his tone even. "I don't know what you think you know, but you're making a mistake. Walk away now, and no one gets hurt." The men laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed in the stillness. The leader raised his bat, signaling the others to close in. "Last chance," he growled. Abraham braced himself, the memory of the Naf River flashing through his mind—fifty-one men, his bare hands, the rush of survival. He wasn't about to let these thugs take the girls. Not on his watch.
