Kingwood Manor isn’t much farther, and I take a deep breath to pull myself together again. My excitement builds easily just thinking about seeing Alexander again. When I round a bend, I smile. Then I’m slamming on my brakes to avoid hitting the blue car, the road becoming a blur as I swerve off the road into a clearing. I jolt to a stop in shock as my belt tightens against my chest. I gasp and shift the car into park before tugging at the seatbelt to loosen it from hurting the baby. When it won’t, I unbuckle it and start to pull at it again to reset the lock mechanism, but freeze with my hand in the air.
On the other side of my window stands the man with vengeance set in his eyes, holding a gun aimed straight at me. Reflexively, I duck down, frantically searching for anything I can use as a weapon. I have nothing. Nothing. Shit. I find an umbrella under my seat, but that won’t save me. Keys. I take the keys and tuck them into my pocket.
My door is opened, and he’s grabbing me by the shirt and yelling at me, “Get out! Get out, bitch!”
I’m yanked from the car, not able to stop my eyes from filling with tears. “Okay. Okay.” I put my hands in front of me, hoping it calms him enough to lower his gun. “Please don’t hurt me. You can take the car. I don’t have much cash.” He uses the gun to signal where he wants me. I move quickly to the back of the car, holding my head up. My ribs ache from trying to cage my raging heart. Panic takes over and I begin to cry, pleading, “Please don’t hurt me. Please. My cash is in the glove compartment.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I look up, hoping the hate is gone from his dark eyes. “You can take the car—” Wait . . . didn’t. Past tense. The words stuck to the back of my throat. He didn’t want to hurt me.
He’s going to hurt me.
He growls, his lips rising into a snarl. “This is payback. I got fucked, so you get fucked.”
“What? No. Please. I think there’s been a mistake.”
His eyes are crazed, glassy and hollow, and I wonder if he even has a soul. “No mistake. We had a deal. Your boyfriend apparently finds it good business to destroy people’s lives, so I’m going to destroy his world.” My thoughts are racing, trying to grab hold of something that makes any sense. Getting right up in my face, he adds, “Kingwood is going to burn in the pits of hell for fucking me over. No one fucks me over and lives to tell the story.”
Kingwood.
A sinking feeling starts spinning in my stomach, picking up speed. “Please. Please. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Surely it was a misunderstanding. He killed himself. I was never his girlfriend. He shot himself.”
“Shut up! I’m talking about your boyfriend, not his father. We had a deal with the old man. He was good to us, knew when to pay up. His son needs to learn a hard lesson.”
So close. I’m so close to returning to my heart and soul. Oh God, if you can hear me, please help me make it home. Please. “We can clear this up. We . . . we can clear this up. One phone call. That’s all I need. Please. Please. Please.”
“You fuck scum, which makes you scum. Why should I trust you? You’re just another spoiled rich bitch.”
“No. No. I’m not rich, but I can help you. I promise. Please. One phone call.”
The handle of his gun slams against my cheek. I drop to the ground, landing on my hands and knees. Pain scorches through me as I watch blood drip from my nose and bleed into the dirt.
From above me, he kicks my foot. “Make the call, and you better be convincing. I want him or the money or you won’t see the sun set.” He drags me to my feet by my elbow. My legs shake under the pain, my hand shaking from terror.
I am strong.
I swallow the blood that coats my lip and glance up long enough to memorize his face. I’ve seen him—at Kingwood Manor—at the party, watching Alexander and me when we went upstairs. I remember him. Sweating, nervous, staring.
He will pay for this. Alexander will make sure of it. The phone appears in front of me and I look down at the screen. On the screen, there’s a photo of a woman—mid-forties, maybe slightly older. Pretty. Too pretty for him. This is my chance, my only chance to save myself. Blowing out a breath, I take the phone and dial Alexander’s number.
One ring.
Two rings.
I swallow. Closing my eyes, I will him to answer.
Three rings.
“He’s not answering.”
“You’re a dead bitch if he doesn’t.” He starts pacing, keeping the gun locked on me—his target.
Four rings.
Answer. Please answer, Alexander, I pray.
Five rings.
All my hopes of survival vanish as soon as my call is sent to voicemail. My grip loosens, the phone almost falling. When I look up, I can barely swallow, my throat too dry. Then it occurs to me, and I try one last tactic. “He won’t answer your call. You said yourself that he won’t do business with you.”
“And?”
Hope lives on when he shows interest in my line of thinking. Dropping another breadcrumb down for him, I say, “I need to make another call.”
“Fuck that. No. Get to your knees.”
“No. Please. I can call a friend. He’ll get Alexander for me. He’ll take my call.”
He stares at me, his own twisted hope coming out to play when his pocked cheek rises in a happy sneer. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he wipes it away with his hand. “Fine. One more call. You better pray to whatever god you believe in that you get hold of him.”
Without the number handy, I struggle to remember Shelly’s number, but I dial, taking the chance.
One ring.
The call is answered. Thank God! “Hello?”
One chance. “Shelly,” I reply. “I need Alexander.”
“Sara Jane?”
“It’s me. It’s me,” comes rushing out of my mouth.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I need Alexander. Please.” I break down and start crying again.
“He’s not here, Sara Jane. Hold on. I’ll ask Chad.”
While staring into my death, I hear muffled voices and then Chad takes the phone. “Sara Jane? Where are you?”
“A few miles from the manor—” I’m backhanded, coughing into the phone.
“What the hell is happening?”
“I need Alexander.”
“Hang tight. I’ll find him and have him call you back.”
“I don’t have time for that—”
“Get off the phone,” my captor shouts at me, spittle hitting my face.
“What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“I need to go,” I say, realizing I’m out of chances. “Tell him I love him.”
“Don’t hang up. I can help. How can I help?”
The man disconnects the call, tucking his phone into his pocket. He grabs my arm, his fingers squeezing hard enough to leave a mark. Pulling me forward, he knees me in the stomach. “Say a prayer, bitch! You’re gonna fucking die for his sins.”
I fall to the ground when he kicks me in the back.
I am strong.
I am strong.
I am—
My world goes black . . .
A hard hit to my face jumbles my mind awake. My vision is blurry, and my ears are ringing. I wipe drool from my mouth, but when my hand pulls back my vision clears, and I see the blood and dirt dredged across my skin. Looking up at the man with hate-filled eyes, he spits on me and scowls. “I should fuck you, take everything from him and send him the leftovers. He thinks he’s a king, but I’ll make him a pauper.”