Chapter 133: Damaged goods
thirds person’s POV
When consciousness returned, it did so reluctantly.
Pain reached Ethan first, settling behind his eyes before spreading through the back of his skull with every heartbeat. His mouth felt dry enough to taste blood, and every shallow breath carried the unmistakable scent of rust, salt, and engine oil.
His brow furrowed.
That smell wasn’t a hospital.
It wasn’t a police station.
It certainly wasn’t home.
He forced his eyes open.
The world remained dim, broken only by thin ribbons of daylight filtering through narrow seams in corrugated steel. As his vision adjusted, the outlines of metal walls slowly emerged around him, enclosing him on every side.
He lay still, listening.
A low mechanical vibration hummed beneath him, steady enough to be felt through the floor, while somewhere beyond the walls came the distant rhythm of water striking steel.
Then the memories returned.
The deserted highway.
The black SUV.
The shattering driver’s window.
The blinding jolt of electricity.
His eyes snapped fully open.
He pushed himself upright too quickly and immediately regretted it. The container lurched beneath him, or perhaps it was only his balance. He reached for the nearest wall, steadying himself until the dizziness eased.
Only then did he truly look around.
A shipping container.
Bare steel surrounded him. There were no ropes, no chains, no furniture, nothing except a stack of supplies arranged neatly against one wall.
His pulse quickened.
He staggered to the cargo doors and seized the locking bars with both hands, pulling with all the strength he could muster. They refused to move.
He adjusted his grip and tried again.
Nothing.
Frustration flared through him. He drove his shoulder into the doors once, then again, the impacts sending pain through his body while the steel barely shuddered.
"Help!" he shouted, pounding both fists against the metal. "Can anybody hear me?"
Only the hollow echo of his own voice answered.
Ethan rested his forehead against the cold steel and drew several slow breaths until the panic subsided.
Forcing the doors wasn’t going to work.
He stepped back and began searching the container instead, running his hands along every wall, every seam, every rusted bolt, until a faint draft brushed across his fingertips.
He crouched beside the narrow gap where the doors no longer sealed completely and pressed one eye against it.
At first he saw only blue sky.
Then sunlight flashed across an endless stretch of water.
His breath caught.
A deep horn echoed across the distance, followed by the unmistakable crash of waves against a steel hull.
The vibration beneath his feet suddenly made sense.
He wasn’t in a warehouse.
He was aboard a ship.
Ethan pulled away from the gap as though it had burned him, his gaze sweeping across the container again with new understanding. This wasn’t a temporary holding cell. It was cargo, and he had been packed away as carefully as everything else on board.
His heartbeat quickened, but he forced himself to stay still.
Panic wasn’t going to change where he was.
It certainly wasn’t going to get him home.
He forced himself to breathe more slowly.
Panic would only drain what little energy he had. Whoever had put him here had gone to considerable effort to keep him alive, which meant they wanted him delivered somewhere. As unsettling as the thought was, it also meant he still had value.
He began searching the container again, this time with a calmer, more methodical eye.
Years of wear had scarred the steel walls. Rust crept beneath peeling paint, deep scratches crisscrossed the floor, and faded shipping labels clung stubbornly to one corner, their ink long since washed away by salt and time. Nothing identified the owner of the container or the vessel carrying it. Nothing offered even the smallest clue about where he was being taken.
At the far end, faded lettering caught his attention.
Most of it had worn away, but a few words remained legible.
DAMAGED GOODS
Beneath it, another line had survived.
Destination: Atlantic County
Ethan frowned.
The name meant nothing to him. It could have been a port, a warehouse, or simply the final stop on an old shipping route. Whatever it was, it offered no answers.
His gaze drifted toward the stack of supplies arranged neatly against one wall.
A shrink-wrapped case of bottled water.
Several packets of crackers.
A small cardboard box containing canned food.
He crouched beside them and picked up one of the bottles. The plastic was cool beneath his fingers. After twisting off the cap, he took a slow drink, letting the water soothe the dryness in his throat before setting it carefully back where he had found it.
Nothing about the arrangement felt accidental.
The amount of food.
The water.
Even the fact that he hadn’t been restrained.
Whoever had planned this wasn’t relying on ropes or chains. They were relying on the simple reality that there was nowhere for him to go.
The realization settled over him with uncomfortable clarity.
This hadn’t been a hurried abduction carried out on impulse. Someone had anticipated every step, from the attack on the highway to transporting him onto a cargo ship without attracting attention. By the time he regained consciousness, they were already far enough from shore that escape was impossible.
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment.
Faces drifted through his thoughts one after another.
Susan.
Nathan.
Jonathan.
His mum
Kuro.
Then, inevitably, Raina.
He remembered the look on her face as she handed him the old flip phone. There had been no triumph in her expression, no satisfaction at proving herself right. If anything, she had looked relieved, as though hearing Jade’s voice had mattered to her just as much as it had mattered to him.
It only deepened the confusion that had followed him ever since he left the cabin.
"What are you involved in?" he murmured.
He no longer knew whether Raina was orchestrating events, trying to stop them, or trapped inside the same web as everyone else.
A sudden metallic clang echoed somewhere above him.
Ethan’s eyes snapped open.
He held his breath.
Heavy footsteps crossed the deck overhead, accompanied by the muffled sound of voices carried away by the wind. He couldn’t make out the words, only the rhythm of a conversation passing directly above the container.
He was on his feet before he realized he’d moved.
"Hey!"
He slammed both fists against the cargo doors.
"Can anyone hear me?"
The footsteps paused.
Hope surged through him.
He struck the steel again.
"I’m in here! Help!"
For one suspended moment, he waited.
Then the footsteps continued.
Unhurried.
Growing fainter until they disappeared altogether beneath the endless thrum of the engines.
Ethan rested his forehead against the cold metal and let out a slow breath.
Whether they had ignored him or simply never heard him, the result was the same.
He was alone.