“Damn fucking straight you did.”
She hurries to the door, and I trail behind her, wanting to ensure she goes. I can’t have her spouting this shit at Ashley when she returns. It’ll only freak her out even more. I know my girl is worried. She’s been acting strange the past couple of days, and I won’t have her psycho mother making it worse. The woman is clearly unhinged. It’s no wonder Doug divorced her ass.
“Please don’t tell Ashley I was here,” she says as she opens the door.
“On that, we agree.”
I stand in the doorway as she smooths a hand down over the cream pencil skirt she’s wearing. “Please take care of her, and be vigilant at all times.” With those parting words, she turns and leaves. I watch as she descends the stairs, gets into her BMW, and drives off before I slam the door shut.
“Damn crazy bitch,” I mutter to myself as I walk toward the door leading to the basement. I need to punch something to vent this new frustration.
But beating the bag in our basement gym does nothing to take the edge off my anxiety. The woman is clearly crazy, but she has me spooked. What if she’s telling the truth? Not about that bullshit wedding shit but about Ash being in danger? What if her parents are involved in something and they’ve put her at risk? I will murder them with my bare hands if their actions have endangered her life.
What was with all that wedding stuff? How does me becoming Ash’s husband protect her any differently than how I can protect her now? It makes no sense, and I’m seriously questioning Pamela’s sanity.
Deciding to head out for a run after all, I call Ash, needing to hear her voice and know that she’s safe. It goes straight to voice mail, and that does nothing to quell the fear rising to the surface. I jog past the security gate, heading out on the open road as I try her number again. Same result. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter as I pick up my pace, pounding my feet on the asphalt as I reason with myself.
Pamela freaked me out, and now she has me worrying over nothing.
Ash’s cell is probably out of charge. My girlfriend is notorious for it. Or she’s eating dinner and she purposely powered her cell off at Hera’s request. Her stepmom is anti phones at the table, so it’s not inconceivable. I am probably overreacting because Pamela has rattled me.
I’m sure she’s fine.
Except, as I round the bend and spot Ash’s SUV in the distance, I immediately know something is wrong. I push my limbs to the limits, speed jogging toward my girlfriend’s car, silently praying she’s just got another flat and she’s in a cell black spot.
I’m panting and breathless when I finally reach her car, and the discovery does nothing to calm my racing pulse. The SUV is empty, and I spin around, looking in all directions, wondering if the car broke down and Ash went looking for help. But there is no sign of her anywhere.
I open the door, cursing when I find it unlocked with the keys in the ignition. Terror sweeps over me like a violent wave, and I’m shaking as I examine the car fully for clues. The only out of place thing I find is an envelope with a bunch of photos of Ash and her baby sister.
All the blood drains from my face when I find her phone, just under the rear wheel, shattered to smithereens. But it’s the droplets of blood leading from the back of the vehicle that send me into a tailspin.
Dropping to my knees, I bury my head in my hands, emitting a strangled shout as I realize she’s been taken—and she is hurt.
Someone has kidnapped Ash, and when I find them—because I will—they’ll wish they’d never been born.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Ashley
My body jolts, and I wake with a start as something warm presses against my right thigh. My head is fuzzy and sore. Bile collects at the back of my throat, and my tongue is practically glued to the roof of my mouth as I open my eyes. Adrenaline races through my veins when I’m met with pitch-black darkness. I blink repeatedly, wondering if I’m still asleep, but nope, it’s dark as shit, and I cannot see a thing. It’s as if someone has poked my eyes out, shoving me into a world with no light. Attempting to move my hand, to remove whatever the hell is obviously covering my head, I discover both hands are bound behind my back the same second my shoulders throb with a dull ache.
“She’s awake,” a man with an unfamiliar voice says, and I jump at his nearness.
A hand clamps down on my thigh. “Stop fidgeting. Stay still and quiet, and this will go much easier for you.”
Yeah, not likely.
It comes back to me now. Being ambushed on the road, only a couple of miles from home. I was upset, distracted by the things my father had said—and the things he hadn’t—and I stupidly wasn’t paying attention. Until I was hemmed in on all sides and figures dressed head to toe in long, black cloaks surrounded my SUV, pointing guns and ordering me out of the vehicle. When I reached for the glove compartment to get my gun, an arm extended from the back seat, and I felt a sharp jab in my neck before it was lights out.
The thought of someone hiding in the back of my car the entire time I was driving creeps me the hell out, but I have more pressing problems now. “What do you want with me? Who are you?” I add, wishing I didn’t sound so hoarse and my body wasn’t shivering and trembling.
“Stop speaking!” a different man says as a second hand clamps down on my other thigh.
A fluttery feeling skates around my chest as blood rushes to my head. Alarm bells ring in my ears, and this is so not good. I focus on my breathing, quietly inhaling and exhaling in an attempt to calm my racing heart. What the hell is going on, and what do these creeps intend to do with me? The heat emanating from the two men sitting on either side of me makes me uncomfortable and far too warm. Little beads of sweat form on my brow, and my T-shirt sticks to my back.
The hand on my left thigh inches higher, and my breath stutters in my chest. Thank fuck, I wore jeans today. Though it won’t stop them if they plan to assault me. Fingers brush against the seam of my jeans, moving upward to the button, and I thrash around as much as I can with bound wrists and within the confines of whatever vehicle I’m in. “Get your fucking hands off me,” I hiss, attempting to wriggle out from under both men’s firm grip.
“Do you have a death wish?” the first man replies, and initially I think he’s talking to me.
