“Biggin Hill Airport,” I tell the driver.
“You okay, sir?”
“Get me there as fast as you can.”
He nods without further question as I wait impatiently for Lachlan’s call, but all I can hear are her screams as they play over and over in my head. So many times I’ve wanted to inflict a pain so brutal to induce that type of reaction, but knowing her torture is outside of my control has my heart racing to protect her. It’s a twisted thought, but if anyone is going to hurt her, it’s going to be me.
I think of all the people who would choose to use her to get to me, and I’m drawing blanks. Truth is, I don’t know the people she surrounds herself with, if any at all. But this person, whoever it is, was targeting her and knew just where to find her.
Logging back into the security cameras from my phone, I click through the rooms looking for any kind of clue I can because I don’t know what else to do in this moment. When I check the camera that looks over the drive, I see my car that’s missing from the garage. She must have been taken from the house if the car is there, but how? Why would she let anyone in the gate?
The phone rings, and I quickly answer. “Did you get it?”
“Yes. The plane will be ready to go in half an hour.”
“Good.”
“What can I do?”
“Have you seen her or spoken to her since I left yesterday?” I ask.
“No. I’ve been home.”
“They want money,” I tell him.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. After you gave me her cell number, I called, but she didn’t answer. I dialed the number a few times, and then a man answered. I could hear Elizabeth in the background.”
“What did he say?”
“That we each hold something of value to the other. That he will let her go when I wire money into an offshore account.”
“How much?”
“Enough to destroy either my foundation or my business.”
“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?
Will it ever stop?
Cellophane crumpling draws my attention to Richard’s hand that holds a wadded chip bag. He stares at me as he throws it my way, but it doesn’t reach me as it falls to the ground. I look at the garbage and can’t help but compare myself. I sit here, lifeless as well, but marred in swollen bruises, cuts, and scabs. Some are self-inflicted, but others come from my love and this bastard in front of me.
I’m waste.
“What are you waiting for?” my voice cracks.
My words catch Richard’s attention, and he looks down at me with question in his expression.
“No one’s coming for me,” I tell him. “If you think Declan cares about me, you’re wrong.”
He doesn’t respond as we stare at each other, and then I ask what I need clarity on before my time runs out, “How did you know my father?”
His eyes shift to his gun that lies on top of the desk, and when he reaches over and picks it up, he gazes at the steel as if it’s his desired beloved.
“You worked together, didn’t you?” I ask on a trembled voice that threatens to break. Pieces begin to connect in my theory. “You said you used Bennett’s business to wash money from guns.”
Keeping his hand around the pistol, he rests it upon his thigh when he leans forward, saying, “You have no clue the tangled web you’re caught in. It’s almost a privilege to be the one who gets
to unwrap this gift for you.”
I thought I knew Richard. Thought he was nothing more than an ascot-wearing chauvinist that I didn’t have to worry about. But now, I have no idea who this man sitting in front of me really is. I’m wondering if we’re more alike in the fact that we mold ourselves in pursuit of self-gratification and manipulation.
“Just tell me,” I say, free from revealing the emotions tugging at me.
“Steve worked for me. He worked as the middle man, the eyes and ears on both sides.”
“Both sides?”
“Me and the mules.”
I can’t even attempt to connect the dots that led him to Bennett because all that floods my mind is my dad. Never have I pictured my father other than what he always was to me and still is—my prince with a handful of pink daisies. I can’t imagine him working for a man like Richard, a man that dug his knife into my face and hand just to prove a point.
“He was always loyal though,” he adds. “Until he took a plea bargain in exchange for names. I guess he thought the Feds would protect him, but Menard is filled with prisoners that are linked to me in one way or another. Although he never gave me up, which I hold great respect for, he did give up names of men who walked the low ladder of the business, and for that, he paid the price.”
“You bastard,” I breathe in sulfurous hate.
“Me?”
“You knew he gave up names?”
“Yes.”
“And out of loyalty to you, he never gave you up?”
“Steve did what the Feds asked of him in exchange for an early release—for you,” he says, nodding his head to me for emphasis. “But at the same time, he never turned his back on me.”
His words are gloats of pride for his assumed stature, and I grow in rage at the price it cost my father. The gravel in my voice thickens along with my animosity when I say, “But you held power. You knew the danger he was in, and you did nothing to protect him from what you knew would be inevitable!”
“It was out of my hands.”
Blood boils, fists clench, and I begin to tug my wrists against the zip ties as I seethe, “But you’re the boss! You hold all the power, and you did nothing!”
And then it starts clicking. The pieces now begin snapping together. Twisting my hands even more, the edges of plastic dig into the tender flesh of my wrists, cutting the tissue and releasing the blood my wounded heart pumps.
“You wanted him dead,” I state in my revelation. “You were scared, weren’t you? You knew he gave up names, and you feared it was only a matter of time before he sold you out too, right?”
His head tilts, and his condescending gesture acknowledging my theory as truth sets me off.
“You fucker!” my screaming voice scratching my throat. “It was you! You put the hit out on him, didn’t you, you motherfucker!”
His only response is a slow upturn to his lips as he sits there.
I’ve always put all the blame on Bennett, and even though I hate Bennett for being the catalyst for all this shit, it was Richard who had the say in my father’s life, and he took it to save himself.
“You’re a fucking coward!” I spit out as I feel the bursts and pops of veins and ventricles—heartbreak over and over and over. My daddy risked his life in giving up names just to get to me.
Blood rolls down my arms like teardrops as my skin rips open as I fight against the zip ties. When my frustration snaps, I release a defeated scream and slump over. My bones tremble, and when I hear Richard chuckling, I turn to him in disgust.
“Does this get you off?”
He stands and walks to me. “Seeing the queen of Chicago society fall apart before my eyes? Yes,” he responds and then kneels down in front of me, touching his finger to my face and running it along the cut on my cheek and then down my neck.
His touch is vile, rousing my stomach in putrid disgust, and I just can’t take it.
“Tell me something,” he starts. “When you found out that Bennett cheated on you, did you wish you’d known before he died so you could’ve gotten even with him?”
He then takes the knife out of his pocket and pops the blade up. My eyes follow his hand as he moves the blade to the zip tie and holds it against the plastic that’s now covered in my blood.
“Did you?” he questions again.
“No.” I didn’t give a shit about Bennett cheating because I never felt anything for him other than pure hate.
Suddenly, with quick movements, Richard cuts through the restraint and frees my hands. He then moves the blade between my breasts. My top hangs open from when he cut the fabric earlier. I hear the lace snap apart when he presses the blade against the fabric, and I know his intentions. Focus is key, and knowing the process all too well, I protect myself and shut down.
He now knows the truth about his wife and son. I could overhear him when he was down the corridor and on the phone right after he bound me to the pipe. I knew he was talking to Jacqueline. He questioned her, and I could tell from the words he spoke, that she admitted the truth to him. He didn’t raise his voice or become irate. It was the opposite. He remained collected, but looking into his eyes right now as he cuts through my bra, I see the fire of betrayal burning, and I brace myself for what I know is coming my way—retaliation.
Richard doesn’t know how strong I am when it comes to sex. After all, I made it through four years of fucking the enemy, and I did it so well that he was none-the-wiser of my deep-seated hatred for him. My body is used up and polluted. It always was and always will be. Even Declan desecrated it when he raped me. So when Richard pushes the fabric aside to expose my tits, I feel nothing.
The cold, dank air hardens my nipples, and when this happens, he smiles and gloats, “Eager, huh?”
Fucking idiot.
When he stands up, I notice his erection pressing against his slacks. He walks over to the desk, exchanging his knife for the gun, and returns to me. My breath catches when he shoves the muzzle underneath my chin.
“Don’t get brave on me,” he threatens. “One wrong move, I’ll put a bullet in you.”
Although I now know his true profession, I still want to doubt that he would be a man capable of killing, but his next words disintegrate all doubt.
“But something tells me you won’t beg for your life like your little boyfriend’s mother did, which is disappointing. I love hearing a woman beg.”
My eyes widen is shocked disbelief. “You?” I question, horrified.
“Sometimes in life you have to teach people lessons, and when Callum thought he could screw me over, I made sure he learned I wasn’t someone to be fucked with.”
He’s right—I’ve gotten myself tangled in the most fucked up cryptogram imaginable.
“What does Cal have to do with any of this?”
He shushes me, running his gun down my belly and shoving it into my pants, the coolness of the metal seeping through the lace of my panties. His grin is scathing when he unzips my pants to earn more room to slip the barrel between my legs. He slides it back and forth along my pussy, all the while smiling. But I’m detached. My mind is in the past with Declan on the afternoon when he opened up to me about his mom being shot in the head.
The pain he hides so well surfaced in his eyes, and just like me, the moment he lost his parent, he was forever maimed with a wound that would never heal. I would do anything for him, and to know that Richard was the one who pulled the trigger that forever fucked up Declan’s faith in security and comfort fuels my affinity for revenge.
Richard catches my attention, taking me away from my memories when he begins tugging my bottoms down my legs.
“My wife acted like a cunt,” he says. “But she’s not here for me to release my anger on, and neither is Bennett. All I have is you.”
With my panties gone with my pants, he forces my legs wide open and presses the muzzle of the gun over my clit. My body locks up in horrid fear. I close my eyes, bracing myself for whatever is to come next, and after he makes me wa
it, I gasp when he forces the barrel of the loaded pistol inside of my pussy. Keeping my eyes pinched shut, I press my lips together and force myself out of this moment while he fucks me with his gun.
I remove my emotions and escape, giving him my body that’s proven to be nothing but a piece of garbage. He glides the pistol in and out of me while I dig my fingers into the concrete beneath. Richard lets out a pleasurable groan as he starts fondling my breast in his one hand. I swallow down the puke that burns the back of my throat. My head rings loudly, and when the shield becomes too much for me to keep up, I beg for Pike to come, but he doesn’t.
The iron cast cracks, chipping away piece by piece, and behind my closed eyes is Carl. No longer is Richard’s gun raping me, but instead, Carl’s filthy dick. My body jerks when the numbness wanes, and soon I can feel everything that’s being done to me. When my hips buck, my eyes flash open to see the devil above me, and I lose it. With all my strength, I grab his wrist and lurch my hips back, forcing the gun up to my forehead, screaming like a maniac, “PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER!”
He looks at me bitterly, and with my hands fisted tightly around the barrel of the gun, I shriek, pressing it harder against my head, “Do it, you piece of shit! Pull the trigger!”
He yanks the gun out of my hands and snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What are you waiting for? Declan’s not coming, he would’ve already called by now. So why wait?” I tell him. “Just get it over with. Shoot me.”
“Like this?” he questions, cramming the gun into my mouth.
I sit still, tasting the mixture of my pussy and metal. My lips wrap around what I yearn to be my savior. I nod my head and pray for the shot that will end my misery once and for all. But instead, he uses it to degrade me even more. Fisting my hair, he forces my head further down on the gun.
“Suck it,” he demands as he bobs me up and down.
I gag, tears springing from my eyes as he makes me deep-throat it. He then pushes me away and stands.
“Put your pants on and shut your fucking mouth.”
And as the saliva drips from my chin and I wipe my eyes, the phone rings.