A pause. I see his knuckles turn white as he grips the phone. He raises it over his head and slams it on the ground, shattering it. “Fuck!” he yells, kneeling and clenching both fists. “Fuck!” He holds the cleaver to my face. “Your fucking bitch girlfriend escaped. Change of plans. I was going to take my time, but now I’m going to fuck her and then bring you the pieces of her day after day.”
I realize this is my last chance and I act. My hand flashes out, grabbing his wrist and squeezing. I rip the cleaver free while he’s distracted and slam it in his chest. It all happens in a split second and he has no idea it’s coming. His eyebrows dart up and his eyes widen as he looks down at his chest. Blood drizzles from the wound, splattering to the floor. I rip the cleaver free and he falls to his knees. I bend, using the edge of the blade to saw the ropes holding my legs in place free. Once standing, I look down at Liam. Blood is seeping from the corners of his mouth and he’s still looking down at his chest in shock.
“Where were you keeping her?” I ask.
He finds the strength to laugh, but the sound is cut short as he coughs up more blood. “Fuck you,” he says.
“I made the mistake of letting you go once,” I say. “Not again,” I growl as I slide the cleaver’s blade across his throat, bathing my hand in hot blood. My face contorts in disgust as I search his spasming body, finding car keys and a Glock. I leave him, gurgling and bleeding to death.I climb the stairs and cautiously step out of the door, surprised to see a grassy field and a gravel road. His BMW is parked a few yards from the door. I turn to see a bunker-like entrance to what must be his torture cell. Sick fuck.
I search through his car. I’m surprised when I open his glove compartment and my phone tumbles out. I tap the home button and frown in confusion when I see a text from an unknown number.
931-555-2133 (4:31 p.m.): It’s Makayla. I’m with Kennedy. Got out. Called cops to find you. Hold tight. I love you.
My eyebrows draw down in confusion. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t just heard Liam admit she had escaped, but how could she already be with Kennedy? Maybe his men were afraid to call him when she first escaped and waited until they were sure they couldn’t find her? Shit. I don’t know why, but my heart is hammering in my chest. I want to believe it’s true so badly, but I’m afraid of latching on to the fantasy and finding out it’s false.
I throw the car in gear and look through my phone’s memory for Kennedy’s address. I stored it when I first took the job, always getting as much information as I possibly can has paid off in the past, and it looks like this time is no exception. It’s about fifteen minutes away, but I plan to make the drive in half that time.
42
Makayla
I’m pacing around Kennedy’s kitchen, phone clutched in my hand and blanket draped around my shoulders.
Kennedy leans against the sink, watching me nervously. “The police are going to do all they can, Makayla. Why don’t you take a shower and get the blood out of your hair?”
I shake off her suggestion. “He’s out there right now and all I can do is walk in circles in this fucking kitchen,” I snap. “I should be doing something.”
“You have no idea where they took him,” says Kennedy soothingly. “The police are going to do all they can. The smartest thing you can do is stay here where you’re safe. There are half a dozen cops out there in the hallway and more still in the lobby downstairs. No one is going to hurt you here. If you do something stupid and go driving around to look for him, the bad guys might find you again. Think about it.”
I don’t want to think about it. I just want to do something. I’m trying to sift through the tangle of emotions. The confusing, absolutely incomprehensible emotions. I must have mental whiplash by now with how many times my feelings for Jesse have changed. The truth is I’ve never really believed he wasn’t right for me. I’ve always known, but I’ve spent so much energy trying to convince myself that he wasn’t. Hell, Jesse has tried really hard to convince me too. But behind all of it is the way he makes me feel. When I’m near him my heart sings and my head feels light. I know he’s the one. I know it with so much certainty that it’s a wonder I’ve deluded myself into thinking I could live without him until now.
I just wish I had come to my senses before it was too late.
I’m about to yell something incoherent when the phone in my hand buzzes. “Oh my God. It’s Jesse,” I say breathlessly.
“What does it say?” asks Kennedy, rushing to my side.
Jesse (4:42 p.m.): Coming.
“How?” I ask.
Kennedy shakes her head. She smiles up at me a little uncertainly. “You did say he’s kind of a badass,” she suggests.
I feel tears well in my eyes. “How do I look?” I ask.
We both laugh as Kennedy gingerly lifts some of my hair. It’s stuck together by dried blood.
“Take a shower,” suggests Kennedy. “It’ll help you calm down. He’s okay. He’s coming,” she says, smiling and gripping my shoulders. “It’s over.”
Not completely, I think. If what Liam said about my stepfather is true, he’s still out there and he still wants me dead. I told the cops what I knew, but so far everything is circumstantial. Unless something concrete turns up, it’s unlikely they will be able to do anything about him. Kennedy’s right though, everything may be a blur of confusion right now, but I know one thing for certain. I’m going to throw up again if I let this blood sit in my hair any longer.
I strip my filthy clothes and turn on the shower. I pointedly avoid the mirror before stepping into the steaming water, sighing with relief as I work the clumps of gore from my hair and skin. I may be able to wash it off my body, but I have a sinking feeling the memory of what I did and saw isn’t going to scrub away as easily. I have to avoid closing my eyes because I keep seeing the way the hole opened up in Rosenthal’s forehead when I shot him. I see the way Edwards’ body jolted with each impact and the way blood sprayed behind him, splattering the floor.
I breathe deeply, wishing I could forget it all, trying to focus on the positive. He’s okay. Jesse is okay. He’s coming here.
I hear a commotion outside but can’t make it out over the water. Kennedy says something loudly and a door slams. There’s a thud as the door to the bathroom opens and I see Jesse storming in. Kennedy follows close behind him.
“I tried to tell him to wait!” cries Kennedy. “But he just… oh,” she says, turning and shielding her eyes when he pulls the door to the shower open and steps inside with me, fully clothed.
His hand is covered in blood and his face is bruised and bloody. I’m so happy to see him that it takes a moment to register that I’m standing absolutely naked in front of him and he’s completely clothed. The water rushes over his face, softening the blood caked there and rinsing it away. He looks into my eyes so intensely that I feel heat spreading through my body, and it has nothing to do with the steam from the shower. The suit and dress shirt he wears are getting soaked.
“You’re going to ruin those clothes,” I say distractedly, reaching to strip his jacket.