“It’s fine, tiger,” he says. He combs his fingers through my hair. “I want to stay with you.”
Yesterday Gunner’s FBI contacts were able to confirm Sebastian’s cell phone is still in Atlanta, which we can only assume means he is, too—I’ve never known Sebastian to be without his phone. But it hasn’t been anywhere near my neighborhood lately, which is good. And he hasn’t called me in several days, which is even better.
I love how much Ryder wants to take care of me, but I also know how important it is for him to take care of the fight tonight. We can’t live our lives worrying about Sebastian. I tried that for two years, and it got me nothing but bruises and a very expensive last-minute ticket home.
I take his hand, kiss his knuckles. “No, you have business. I don’t want you to be late,” I say. “I’m sure Gunner can drop me off on his way to the warehouse in a little bit. And then I’ll drive myself to the fight and you can follow me back to your place tonight. I’m not letting him run our lives, okay?”
He considers. “Where’s your car parked?” he says.
“It’s been locked safely in my garage since yesterday,” I say. “I promise I’ll be safe. A quick wardrobe change and I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” He kisses my jaw next to my ear. “Just make sure whatever you decide to wear,” he whispers, “you can take it off easily later.”
***
By the time Gunner and I pull into my driveway, night has fallen. His headlights shine into the small windows of the garage door, and I see my car is there alone. Jamie is, as usual, out and about somewhere, I guess.
Gunner starts to open his door, but stops when I say, “It’s okay. You don’t have to walk me in.” I literally jump out of his Ford F-150 truck—the thing is huge—and tell him thanks for the ride. “If you end up in the ring tonight,” I say, “good luck. Not that you need it.” He nods, and I think almost smiles as he sits back against the driver’s seat.
He watches as I unlock the side door to the kitchen. I flip on the overhead light and wave to him, clicking the deadbolt with my other hand. The truck drives away, the diesel engine roaring as Gunner peels off down the street. Men.
Walking upstairs, I try to think what I even have that I can wear tonight. Having not shopped a lot since I’ve been home, and definitely not having acquired too many dresses over the last couple years, I may have to dig through my closet and hope that I left something cute behind when I moved to England.
In my bedroom, I turn on my bedside lamp, preparing a backup plan—Run by Shelby’s? The mall?—in case I don’t see anything I like. But when I open the closet door, I see only one thing: Sebastian.
He lunges at me, grabs me from behind as I try to run, and wraps his arms around my neck, pressing, squeezing, choking me until I can’t scream or breathe. I thrash in his tight grasp, try to twist free or land a kick or a punch, but the more I struggle, the less energy I have to fight. Without air, my vision goes dim.
And then I see nothing.
CASSIE
CH. 28
I wake up cold and confused and I try to say these things out loud, but no words can come out because my lips are pressed against my teeth by something tight and soft that smells like stale cologne.
I blink quickly, as though the movement will clarify what I’m seeing in front of me—a smooth wall of white—and I try to touch the fabric tied across my mouth, but my arms just jerk uselessly. My hands, I realize, are restrained behind me, and when I move them, something rough and scratchy like rope digs into my skin.
I’m not sure where I am or how I arrived. But I’m positive I’d like to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.
My bare feet are free, and lying as I am on my side, I try to roll onto one shoulder and kick myself up. But there’s not enough space to unfold my legs in what I realize is a bathtub. A motel bathtub. I can see the tiny wrapped soap on the ledge. Not much of a weapon to defend myself when Sebastian comes back to finish whatever he started at my house.
There isn’t room for me to haul myself to sitting, much less standing. I close my eyes, shutting out the harsh overhead light, and listen for sounds of him in the rest of the room, wondering how long I have to formulate an escape plan.
Silence. There’s no TV, no traffic from outside, no footsteps. I can hear my heart. I can hear myself swallowing, which hurts a bit, though maybe not as much as I would expect from my throat being crushed in a choke hold. It makes me wonder how long I’ve been here. If anyone has noticed I’m gone.
I told Ryder I would come to fight night after I got dressed, but if he’s caught up in managing his fighters and handling his betters and watching the crowd, it might take him a while even to realize that I’m not there yet. When you expect things to occur, it isn’t always immediately apparent that they haven’t.