“You were supposed to be a good little girl.” His voice turns colder than ice. From the corner of my eye, I see him slowly unwrap the scarf from his neck. “Instead, you were a fucking cunt. I gave your father a whole year to find you, and when he failed at even that, I had him hung. It only made sense to bestow on him the same punishment he gave me in lieu of your mother.”
Faux Italian loafers pad across the carpet, then he’s in my line of sight. I stare through him.
“Congratulations,” I say tonelessly. “You drove a grown woman to suicide, you’re a businessman who can’t collect payments, and you’re so desperate to get laid you need to tie up underage girls. You must have the world’s tiniest balls.”
A slap whips my head sideways, and I shut my eyes at the sting.
“You think you’re here because I need to get laid?” he seethes. He grips my hair and slams the side of my face into the wall. Pain cuts through my cheek, my jaw, ricocheting in my ears, but I don’t make a sound. His lips touch my forehead, and something cruel shakes his words. “You’re here because youhurtme. And now, I’m going to hurt you.”
Easton
“Five minutes,” I tell Alejandro over the phone and exit the freeway. “You there?”
My palms are raw from clenching the steering wheel so tightly. The first hour on the road, impatience shook my grip. By the second hour, my vision turned red. Now, three and a half hours in, the only thing keeping me sane enough to see the road is knowing the fucker had to drive the same distance to get Eva this far. He couldn’t have arrived much earlier than I will.
“I was in California when you called. It’s not easy to arrange air transportation at the drop of a hat,” Alejandro says. “You’ll get there a little ahead of me.”
“Where exactly isthere?” When he texted me directions, I didn’t ask questions. I just drove.
“The apartment Eva grew up in. Paul owns thirty-two complexes, and as of three years ago when Eva’s dad died, that includes this one.”
My jaw clenches, and I slow as I near the address. 4615 Bunker Road. “You’re sure she’s here?”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
Before today, I knew Eva had been dealt some shit hands, but I had no idea just how shitty or how many. When we first spoke, Alejandro filled me in on who Paul is. The sick fuck has another thing coming if he thinks he’s getting out of here a free man. I turn onto Bunker Road, where a wall of apartments blocks the rest of Detroit. My shoulders tighten as I take in the graffitied doors and rotting stucco.
“Wait for me when you get there,” Alejandro says. “We’ll go in together.”
I roll past a few tweens smoking joints, approach a faded blue building, and pull over across the street. My eyes narrow on the barred windows, then slide three stories up. Apartment 312.
“Easton. Did you hear me?”
My pulse ticks, my breathing heavy. She’s in there. Alone, with him.
Initially, when I told Alejandro I planned on calling the cops the second he texted me the address, the asshole decided to send me step-by-step instructions instead. He didn’t send me the actual address until five minutes before I called to check his status. I contacted the cops first, then him, but they’re not here yet. I am. Tension ripples down my back, and I pull the keys from the ignition and unbuckle my seat belt.
“I heard you.”
There’s a pause. Then a sigh. “Why do I get the feeling you’re doing the opposite of what I asked?”
I lock the car behind me, gaze set on the third story as I cross the street. “I appreciate your help getting me this far, but there’s no way I’m gonna just sit in my car while she’s across the fucking street.”
A frustrated breath seeps through the line. “Just try not to get yourself killed before I get there, yeah? Eva can’t afford to lose anyone else.”
My chest tightens as I step onto the sidewalk and head up the cracked concrete stairs on the side of the complex. A yelling match vibrates behind one of the barred windows, a dog barks behind another. My pulse rate picks up, and I climb past the second story. I’ve felt adrenaline before. I’ve felt rage. But nothing compares to the violent frenzy pulsing beneath my skin right now.
“I gotta go.”
“Right behind you.”
Reaching the third floor, I hang up, slip my phone into my pocket, and scan the doors. 306, 308, 310 ... Red spots cloud my vision when 312 appears in front of me. I check the knob. It doesn’t budge. It’s going to take a lot more than a locked door to keep me from Eva.
I back up a few steps.
Adrenaline rushes through my veins, buzzes in my head. I lunge forward, and the side of my body collides with the door, forcing it open. Breathing heavily, I stand in the doorway.
The apartment is quiet—too quiet.
