Last night she was in my arms, safe and loved and mine.We made love, whispered promises, talked about a future together.
Now she's tied to a chair in some warehouse, hurt and terrified, and it's my fault for not protecting her better.
"I'm coming," I murmur to the phone, even though Morrison can't hear me."Just hold on a little longer, Angel.I'm coming."
And when I get there, Morrison's going to learn what it really means to suffer.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
evangeline
The first thingI register is cold concrete beneath me, seeping through my clothes, making my bones ache.Then comes the smell: rust, mildew, and something chemical that burns my nostrils.
My head pounds like someone's taking a hammer to my skull.Whatever they injected me with in the parking lot is wearing off, leaving nausea and disorientation in its wake.
I try to move and discover my hands are bound behind my back, zip ties cutting into my wrists.My ankles are free, at least for now, thank God for small mercies.
The room is dark except for a sliver of light coming from under what looks like a metal door.As my eyes adjust, I make out concrete walls, exposed pipes overhead, and absolutely nothing else.An empty room designed for one purpose.
Holding prisoners.
"She's awake."A voice comes from somewhere to my left.Male, unfamiliar, with an accent, I don’t recognize.
Footsteps approach, and then the overhead lights flicker on, so bright they make my eyes water.I squeeze them shut against the assault, my headache intensifying.
"Good.I was starting to worry that we gave her too much."I recognize Ethan's voice; it’s smooth, slimy, exactly the same as always.
I force my eyes open, blinking through the tears until I can focus.Ethan stands about ten feet away, looking immaculate in an expensive suit.Like he's here for a business meeting instead of whatever sick game he's planning.
"Where am I?"My voice comes out rough, my throat raw.
"Somewhere your criminal boyfriend won't find you.Unless I want him to, of course."
I try to sit up and discover every muscle in my body protests.Whatever drug they used has left me weak and uncoordinated.
"The kids?—"
"Are fine.Still at that disgusting clubhouse, probably wondering where Aunt Evie disappeared to."He crouches down to my level, and I can see the madness lurking behind his polished exterior."But they're not who I'm interested in right now."
"Then let me go."
"Let you go?"His laugh is cold, brittle."After everything I've done to get you here?After all the planning and patience and carefully orchestrated moves?Not a chance, darling."
"I'm not your darling."
"You were mine for years.That counts for something."
"It counts for me being stupid enough to miss the warning signs."
His face darkens with anger, and for a moment I think he's going to hit me again.Instead, he stands, smoothing his suit jacket with deliberate movements.
"You know, I almost convinced myself you'd come back eventually.That this infatuation with that biker trash was just a phase, a reaction to your brother's death.But then I saw those photos."His voice drops to something venomous."You fucked him in his bed like some common whore."
"Better a whore than your trophy wife."
The slap comes fast, snapping my head to the side.Pain explodes across my already-bruised cheek, and I taste blood.
"You don't get to talk to me like that," Ethan says, his voice terrifyingly calm."I own you.I've always owned you.You just didn't realize it."
