“What are you gonna do?”
And when he asks, my answer comes easily and without second thought. “I’ll do anything to make sure she’s safe.”
Once the words are spoken, I catch myself in a revelation I wasn’t expecting to come to so effortlessly. I hang up with Lachlan and attempt to convince myself that I shouldn’t be wanting this. That I should just turn a blind eye to her and let this situation work itself out. She’ll be destroyed, and in return, I won’t ever have to deal with Elizabeth again. Because if this man owns up to the promise he made on the phone, he’ll kill her if he doesn’t get his money. And then the book will be closed, and I can move on.
But I can’t do that.
I can’t turn away.
Taking the laptop from my briefcase, I log into the security cameras again. This time, to backtrack the footage that was recorded. I load the camera that monitors the gate to get a timestamp on when any cars arrived. It takes a while, but soon, two cars approach, my roadster being one of them. I watch closely and switch cameras when they pull up to the front of the house.
An older man, around the same age as my father, emerges from the one car. They speak and then head inside. I switch cameras again when they walk through the house and down to the library. She grows irritated, and I wish for the life of me there was audio on these cameras.
They sit and talk before the man turns angry, lurching off the couch, moving towards Elizabeth. And what happens next drains all warmth from my bones. I lean in toward the screen while I watch this unknown bastard take a gun out of his suit jacket and aim it right at her face. Her hands are white-knuckled to the chair as he then presses the barrel against her forehead.
Every cell in my body fills with a storm of tumult as I watch my world spin more and more out of control. I watch helplessly when he pistol-whips the side of her head, sending her flying to the floor. They exchange more words, she stands, he slams the gun into the side of her head again, this time, knocking her unconscious. He then goes out to his car and returns to duct tape her lifeless body, binding her ankles and wrists. Anger explodes, erupting in an outburst of seething fire when he hunches over her and spits in her face. Once he’s dragged her out of the house and tossed her into the trunk of his car, I slam the computer shut.
My breaths come heavy, loaded with guilt, fury, and an undeniable urge for vengeance.
I want to kill that motherfucker.
“Drive faster, God dammit!” I bark at the driver.
Raking my hands through my hair, I can feel my body shuddering in emotions I need to get in check before I lose all the temperance necessary to keep my shit together. As we continue to drive and the mania begins to dissipate a little, I’m reminded of all the ways this woman has sent my life into an upheaval of disarray—her cunning hypocrisy, her ugly spitefulness hidden underneath her shiny exterior, and the blood that will everlast on my hands because of her malicious and selfish vendetta.
I remind myself of all the reasons why I should let this man kill her, remind myself of all the reasons why I hate her. But no matter how many reasons there are, I can’t rid myself of the unyielding need to find her. It tugs on the threads that stitch my heart together, the heart that she ripped from my chest and tore apart. And as much as I want to deny it, as much as the thought repulses me, the fact is, the one that destroys is the one that heals.
I need her.
MY STOMACH GROWLS as I sit here on the ground with my hands bound with a plastic zip tie around a pipe that runs down the length of the wall. Since restraining me, Richard has retrieved a bag from the car filled with food and water that will never find its way into my stomach that hungers. So, I sit and watch, having no idea how much time has passed, if it’s night or day.
We’re underground, and I can tell by the looks of his phone that he’s also operating on an untraceable disposable, making me worry that no one will be able to find me. Although Declan called and now knows I’ve been taken against my will, a part of me doubts that he cares enough to even come looking for me. But he’s the only hope I have because there’s no one else out there that even knows who I am. No friends. No family. Nothing.
Strength wanes.
Hope fades.
The tired fight inside of me vanishes.
Slowly, I open my fisted hand and wince from the sting of oxygen hitting the gash in my palm. Flesh covered in crusted blood—blood dead—proof that nothing survives forever. Old news to me, but yet I’ve always chosen to go on.
Why?
What’s the point?
Win one battle only to be faced with another, but when will it end?