“Shhh,” Beckett says gently as he holds me to his chest. “We need to get you out of here. Don’t say anything until you're safe.”
I am still bound, still have my mask on as Beckett carries me in his arms. After what seems like an hour of running, we finally get to a road, and Beckett only sounds the slightest bit over-exerted.
“We’re not out of the woods yet, but I can free you,” he says, and I can feel him working on the lock of my cuffs with something.
Miraculously, after a little bit of manipulation on his part, the handcuffs fall away. In the distance, I hear screaming and fighting and gunfire. It is terrifying—like a war is happening just a short distance away from us. My legs are bound with zip ties, which Beckett is able to cut through with a knife. When he takes off my ski mask, I am so stunned I don't speak. I just sit there on the ground, finally free of my restraints.
“Okay,” Beckett says as a helicopter lands in the distance. “That’s for us. I’m going to carry you.”
I clamp my legs around his waist and bury my head in his chest as he lifts me into his arms.
“Don’t worry, little dancer. I’ve got you.” He brings me toward the whirring sound.
“We’re taking a helicopter?” My strained voice sounds dry and choked.
“I have four of them; I might as well use one,” he laughs, and I love the sound of his laughter.
He moves us to the helicopter, and a co-pilot takes me from Beckett and places me in a jump seat while Beckett yells over the loud sound of the engine and propellers.
“I’ll buckle her in,” he says. “You get us out of here as fast as you can.”
Beckett finishes fastening the seatbelts and then gets into his own seat as the co-pilot closes the door and restrains himself next to the pilot. The pilot gives Beckett a thumbs-up, and suddenly our helicopter is in the air. Below, I see several patches of dark black smoke pluming up from a straw-colored field. There are tiny dots running around to the faint sounds of gunshots and explosions. What a monumental rescue effort… all for me?
My body hurts, but I am free from a situation I sincerely doubted I’d survive. After the big guy gave me water and walked away, he left me on the bed for hours. All I did was think of Beckett, Rayne, and Mia. When I couldn't bear thinking of the people I would never see again, I composed dances in my head to popular songs.
I’ve always wanted to choreograph a classical ballet piece with contemporary music. Ballet is one of the most beautiful art forms, in my opinion, and classical music is a great pairing for it, but it doesn't reach young people. I was hoping to crossover into a more mainstream platform. I became a dancer because I was given free classes through the community center when my mom was trying to get custody of me from DCFS. After being reunited with my mom, the community center continued to pay for my dance classes. I really did like Mrs. Wellington. She was strict but also kind. She died when I was nineteen years old, after my first year at NYU. She was extremely proud of me for making it to college as a dancer, and I will always credit her with my ability to do it.
It is too loud to have a conversation in the helicopter, so I close my eyes and try to connect with the fact that I am finally safe. I had not been gone for long—perhaps only twenty-four hours—though time is mysterious to me at this point. Despite how short the time has been, I was just waiting for the moment when I’d be killed.
I wondered how they would do it. Would they shoot me, strangle me, poison me? What would that moment feel like? The idea that I was minutes or hours or maybe days away from the end of my life was so debilitating. I'd never see my beautiful baby again; I'd never talk to Mia or get to know Beckett. I am safe now, and I start to cry; in fact, I am sobbing.
I didn’t expect any kindness from Beckett. He saved my life. That was enough. Sitting in the jump seat next to me, he reaches his soft, warm hand out and takes mine, caressing my fingers. Words are not necessary at this moment. He hands me a soft linen handkerchief, and I use it to pat my eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” he assures me, though I don’t believe he is able to keep that promise.
I can’t say anything; I am still in shock. About an hour later, we land on a small, wooded island. The helicopter touches down on a landing pad. When the engines turn off, my ears are still buzzing, and my body feels completely drained. Beckett unhooks me from the chair and lifts me out of the seat.
“I can walk,” I say weakly.
“I know,” is his response. “But I want to carry you over the threshold.”
He is being remarkably jovial, not only for Beckett and his usual gray mood but for the circumstances. He just went through a war zone to liberate me from captivity. I don't have the heart to argue, so I let him carry me into a massive three-story cabin. The place smells like cedarwood and spice. It reminds me of Christmas, though it is summer.
He carries me into an immense great room with an entire wall of windows looking out over the lake. The house is on an island and surrounded by water and other islands in the distance.
“We’ll be safe here. I have surveillance around the island. A boat can’t get anywhere near us because there’s an electromagnetic barrier that will deter anyone from entering. It's similar to an electric fence. I have sensors that will alert me when aircraft or vessels get near, and Ihave an entire fleet of security officers with boats stationed all around. We’re as safe here as we’ll ever be.”
“Scarlett!” I hear Mia scream from above. Looking up, I see her blonde hair cascading down as she yells from the banister of a second-story balcony.
“Oh, and my sister and the baby are here. We’ll be staying in the boathouse.”
There is a trampling thud down the stairs, and Mia comes bounding forward to throw her arms around my neck even though Beckett still holds me.
“She’s shell-shocked, Mia. We need to give her a little space,” he says, setting me down on the couch.
Mia sits next to me. “I’m impervious to shell shock,” she says and holds my hand as I stare out at the water through the window.
“You might be,” Beckett says as he returns with a big glass of cold water, “but she isn’t. Drink this,” he says gently, and I do because I am dying of thirst. At first, I gulp it down, needing the water. “Slowly,” he adds and strokes my hair.
