I took care of feeding Cat and cleaning out her litter box when I got in. Then I set off to pick up the rest of the apartment since I had torn it up while looking for a clue as to where she was.
And then I was left sitting on the couch, staring at the clock as it ticked each painfully slow second by. Mocking me with the knowledge that I couldn’t make time go by more quickly.
I must have fallen asleep because the sound of my phone ringing jolts me with a start. Noticing that the time is just a few hours before dawn, I make my way down the hall to grab my screaming phone.
When I see her name across the screen, my heart skips a beat. She could be telling me not to bother or calling to tell me to come back. Either way, I’m nervous—a feeling I have no idea what to do with.
“Em,” I greet, my lips tipping up in a smile.
I don’t hear anything for a few beats . . . until a voice that I know damn well doesn’t belong on this call comes through the line.
My heart stops. Right now, the blood just stops moving through my body and a rage I’ve never known consumes me.
While I race to the elevator, knowing that my leg will never hold up if I storm down twenty-seven flights of stairs, I try to calm my mind and go into fight mode. As hard as it’s going to be, I need to think about this as objectively as I can in order to get her out of there. Treat her like a hostage who has the clock against her—which is exactly what I’m dealing with.
It’s almost impossible to put my feelings for Emmy aside and focus on how to save her, but it’s my only chance. I keep the phone trained to my ear, listening to the muffed hell she is living. I use the sounds to fuel my rage and determination. If I stop for just a second and let the helplessness of the situation sink in, I know I’ll be no good to her. I need that rage, the years of hate and injustice, to be my weapon.
This is my chance to let every one of the demons—the monsters in my soul—free and let the wrath consume my body.
I reach the garage level in minutes. Minutes that, in reality, felt like hours, but less than a second after the doors open, I’m sprinting as fast as I can towards my Charger. My phone is still glued to my ear as I listen to the muffled fight.
Then I’m rushing through the streets as fast as I can push my car, my eyes focused like tunnel vision on one thing.
Obliterating the motherfucker who dared to put his hands on my sweet angel.
It takes me five minutes and twenty-six seconds to get to the hotel. I jump out of the car before I even have a chance to throw it in park, not even giving a fuck that it’s rolling towards the brick pillar holding up the covered carport. I jump and fucking run.
“Give me the keycard for room four seventeen,” I demand, my eyes wild as I take in the terrified night clerk. She doesn’t move. “Fucking hell! NOW!”
“I ca-can’t give you access, sir,” she stutters.
“There’s a sadistic, abusive, FUCKING RAPIST up there right now with my woman, so let me tell you again—give me the goddamn keycard!” My voice booms through the lobby.
Her eyes go wide as she fumbles with the stack of cards next to her computer. “We got a call down not even ten minutes ago. I thought it was a joke, so I hung up.”
I’m sorry—what? I’m having a hard time following her, keeping my attention to the noises coming through my cell, and seeing through my adrenaline-filled, raging mind.
“Give me the card and you better fucking pray I’m not too late,” I threaten.
She fucking hung up. She had enough time to make two calls and only one came.
“NOW!” I bellow when it takes her a second longer.
With a shaking hand, she hands the card over. I keep my eyes trained on her and show her just how dangerous I am.
“Stairs?” I bark. She points and I take off. “And fucking call the police!”
Knowing that she is just four flights of stairs away and I’m just seconds away from her gives me the added push that I need to stretch the limits of my body. I don’t have the right prosthetic for running on—every heavy step I take pinches the skin around my stump, but all that pain does is help power my determination.
It drives me, my demons, and the fear I have for her to the brink of dominance over my body. I’m in control here, and that motherfucker better watch out.
I move swiftly down the short hallway until I’m standing outside her door. Not knowing if he is armed has me at a disadvantage, but I’m trained for this—trained to kill—and there isn’t anything that can stop me now. I drop my phone in the hallway and ready myself for whatever I might find inside her room.