CHAPTER 76: CHAPTER 76

The next morning, New York’s media landscape erupted like a fucking volcano. An anonymous email had hit every major outlet, screaming that pop icon Avril Lavigne and Hollywood queen Christine Vineyard were kidnapped by unknown assailants on the same damn night, with the LAPD already launching a covert investigation. The news spread like wildfire, igniting a frenzy from Manhattan’s skyscrapers to the grimy streets of Brooklyn.

Desperate to verify the bombshell, reporters bombarded Avril’s and Christine’s PR teams with calls, their voices dripping with urgency. The teams were blindsided, their polished facades cracking under the pressure. The kidnapping was supposed to be a tightly guarded secret, known only to a handful of insiders. How the fuck had it leaked overnight, splashing across every screen in America? After digging into the source, the truth hit like a gut punch: a traitor in their midst had sold them out to the press.

"Goddamn house thieves," One PR rep muttered, slamming her phone down. No amount of security could stop a backstabbing insider.

With the kidnappers’ wrath looming, both teams moved in lockstep, denying the story with icy precision. "It’s a fucking prank," They insisted, their voices calm but strained. "A pathetic attempt to stir up drama." Behind the scenes, they scrambled, pleading with the LAPD to bury the story before the kidnappers caught wind of the police involvement. One wrong move, and Avril and Christine could end up with their throats slit.

But Avril’s husband had ensured the leak was unstoppable, blasting the news to every media outlet in the country. It was now a half-open secret, amplified by reckless tabloids that published unverified headlines, fueling a storm of online chatter. Unless Avril and Christine appeared in public to debunk the rumors themselves, there was no containing this shitshow.

Outside LAPD headquarters, a mob of reporters and gawkers gathered, their cameras flashing like vultures circling a corpse. They demanded answers: Was this a publicity stunt or a real fucking crisis? The pressure mounted, a tidal wave of public scrutiny that left the police no choice. The LAPD chief, his face grim under the glare of floodlights, called a press conference, confirming the double kidnapping to a stunned nation. The announcement detonated like a bomb, its shockwaves rippling from Wall Street tycoons to street vendors, dwarfing even the Long Island prison break in impact. Everyone, from billionaires to bums, was talking about the audacity of snatching America’s brightest stars.

---

At dawn, Jason yawned, dragging himself out of the Mercedes, his body stiff from a sleepless night crammed between two women. Christine and Harley had taken over the car, their soft breathing and faint perfume—jasmine and something sweeter—filling the air, keeping him awake as he wrestled with restless thoughts. He shuffled to a secluded corner of the factory lot, unzipping to take a piss against a crumbling wall, the morning air cool against his skin.

Finished, he flicked on his system interface, the holographic display shimmering in the dim light. He wanted to check his reputation points, curious about his standing after the night’s chaos.

[Reputation: 5187 → 9146]

(Reputation needed for next recruitment: 10,000)

Jason rubbed his eyes, blinking in disbelief. "What the fuck?" Yesterday, he was at five thousand and change. How the hell had it nearly doubled overnight? Had John Wick and his crew stirred up some shit in New York? No, that didn’t add up—the system would’ve pinged him if bodies were dropping.

A dark suspicion crept in. He pulled out his phone, logging into social media with a flick of his thumb. The headline screamed at him: ’Avril Lavigne and Christine Vineyard kidnapped in Los Angeles!’ The internet was a warzone of hashtags and hysteria, fans wailing, trolls joking, and armchair detectives spinning theories.

[My fucking goddess!]

[Tell me this is a nightmare!]

[LAPD’s just sitting on their asses? Save them!]

[I’m the kidnapper. Avril and Christine are mine. Send cash to this account or they’re fucked!]

[If you’re the kidnapper, you’re already dead, buddy.]

Jason’s mood soured, his jaw clenching as he scrolled through the chaos. Somewhere, somehow, his plan had gone to shit. He’d meant to keep the kidnappings low-key for three days, quietly pocketing the ransom before blowing the story wide open for a reputation boost. Name and fame, the perfect score. But now, with the news plastered everywhere, the LAPD would be mobilizing every resource—cops, feds, maybe even the fucking military. This hideout was a ticking time bomb, and Avril’s ransom was still three days out.

Then it hit him, a cold realization slicing through his anger. Christine’s kidnapping going public made sense—her manager had likely snitched to the cops when he refused to release her. But Avril? He’d only told her mother. So who the fuck leaked that?

A chill ran down his spine. "Her fucking mother," He muttered, his mind racing. Was she the traitor, or had someone played her? Either way, the game had changed.

He glanced at the car, where Christine and Harley were still asleep, their faces peaceful in the morning light, unaware of the shitstorm brewing. He slipped quietly to Avril’s holding room, his boots silent on the cracked concrete. She was slumped in the iron chair, her head lolling, exhausted from Harley’s relentless fangirling through the night. Her makeup was smudged, her blonde hair a tangled mess, her wrists raw from the cuffs.

Jason grabbed a water bottle, took a swig, swished it around, and spat it in her face. The spray hit her like a slap, jolting her awake. Her eyes widened, fear flashing as she recognized him.

"Morning, princess," Jason said, his voice cold. "Got something for you to see." He shoved his phone in her face, the headline glaring in bold letters.

Avril blinked, her groggy brain struggling to process. Then her eyes locked on the screen, and she gasped. "You... you fucking kidnapped Christine too? Where is she?"

Jason snorted, his patience thin. "That’s what you’re worried about? Look closer, genius."

Avril squinted at the tiny text, her face paling as she read. She shook her head, confused. "I... I don’t get it."

"Alright, let me spell it out for you," Jason said, yanking the phone back with a sneer. "Your kidnapping was a secret between me and your mom. So why the fuck is it trending on every goddamn platform? Someone spilled, and it sure as hell wasn’t me."

Avril’s face went white, her voice trembling. "No, it can’t be. Not her."

"The evidence is staring you in the fucking face," Jason said, his tone brutal. "If your mom didn’t leak it, who did? How else is this all over the internet?"

"No!" Avril’s voice cracked, her eyes blazing with denial. "It wasn’t her! Someone must’ve tricked her!"

"Maybe," Jason said, his expression indifferent, "But it doesn’t fucking matter why. The damage is done." He leaned closer, his voice low and menacing. "This shit’s gone viral, way beyond the LAPD’s jurisdiction. The feds, the military, and every badge in between are probably forming a task force as we speak. They’ll find this place eventually, so I’m cutting my losses and getting out."

He pulled his silenced pistol, the metal glinting coldly in the dim light. "And you, sweetheart..."

"No, please!" Avril’s voice broke, her body trembling as panic seized her. Her mind raced, grasping for any lifeline. "Wait! I’ve got something!"

Jason paused, the gun steady on her forehead. "Speak fast."

"I have a friend!" She blurted, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "He can wire you a hundred million, right now! No waiting!"

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his finger still on the trigger, weighing her words. The factory’s silence pressed in around them, the weight of her life hanging in the balance.

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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

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