ONE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
The door closes behind me with a loud slam. My eyes adjust to the poor lighting quickly, and I lean back against the metal door, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I don’t say much; there’s no need to. For a while, I just stare at him, not tearing my gaze away from his pathetic face.
“Still haven’t kicked the bucket, I see.” I chuckle, but there’s no humor in the sound. Only pure contempt, distaste, and loathing. He flinches slightly, but given how he’s tied to a chair with a gag ball in his mouth, he can’t say or do much.
I don’t remember exactly what we’ve put him through.Mom and I would alternate between torturing him and trying to extract information out of him. The only rule was not to kill him, and we’d ensure he’s healed as much as possible before the other one would torture him next.
The hatred in his eyes fuels my anger. He dares to hate me, to hate this entire situation, when he’s the reason all of this has happened in the first place. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down and suppress the urge to reach for my gun, trying my damn best not to put a bullet between his eyes.
I push myself off the wall and take off his gag ball, not caring to be gentle. He gasps; his lips are bruised, split, and dry. His eyes beg for water, and I give him some, because I can’t have the motherfucker dying from dehydration.
Nelson Adams looks like a shell of his former self. The usually put-together, poised man is pathetic, at my mercy, at my feet. He no longer has the strength to beg, to put up a fight. He’s waiting for us to kill him, and although that’s inevitable, I’m not giving him the satisfaction of snapping and taking his life before I get concrete answers out of him.
Four months.
A hundred and twenty-five days, to be exact, and seventeen hours since Blair was kidnapped.
There hasn’t been a single sighting of her. Nothing that would tell me where she is, if she’s alive, and if she’s okay. I don’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep. If I wasn’t here, torturing Adams, I was with Lucas, trying to locate her.
Paul Simmons has officially started his campaign, and the motherfucker isn’t bothered at all. I’ve put a tail on him, and he’s been followed every single day since he resurfaced, four days after her disappearance.
I’ve sent people inside all of his homes, inside his office, and I even went myself – nothing. Absolutely no trace of her whatsoever, as if she doesn’t exist. I try to focus on the anger and the hatred toward the four men involved in this, because if I falter for a moment and let myself break down, I’ll never find her.
The water drips down his chin, and I close the bottle, tossing it aside, before pulling a chair and sitting in front of him. Without blinking, I stare at him and watch as his defiant expression starts to crumble.
No matter how strong a man is, four months in captivity, in a dark basement, with limited food and water, torture, and no sunlight is something no one can withstand with no psychological effects.
“Now, shall we chat?”
He flinches, eyes hardening for a moment. “I have nothing to say to you.’’
I nod. “That’s perfectly fine. It’s Noelle’s turn to have fun with you.’’
If possible, he pales even more.
My mother has had her fair share of torturing during her youth, and she’s picked up on the most painful but effective ways to hurt people. Adams is no exception. His entire body is filled with scars, wounds, and bruises. I highly doubt he can see through his left eye, given how many times Mom has knocked her fist into it.
“It’s been four months,’” I add. “Four months, and I’m not sure how patient I’ll be. You can either speak, or you can die in the most painful death known to mankind. The choice is yours, Nelson. You’ll die regardless.’’
That’s a bunch of lies. Yes, he’ll die, but it will not be a quick or easy death in any way, shape, or form. Mom will be the one to take his life when the time comes, and she’s free to do as she sees fit. Knowing her, it will be quite gruesome.
“I’ll ask you the same question I’ve been asking you for the past four months.’” I lean forward. “Was it Zoe?”
I already had a feeling from the moment we returned to thebase four months ago that Zoe either got nervous and snitched, or she was never on our side at all, and it was Nelson’s ploy all along. Either way, it means that Zoe will no longer be shown the same mercy I was willing to give her.
“What do you think?” He spits out, voice hoarse and cracking. His front teeth have been knocked out, courtesy of my mother. “She is my wife. Did you think she’d work against me?”
I sigh. I’d hoped she would. I gave her a helping hand, and if she had truly helped me, by now, she would’ve been free and Blair wouldn’t have been kidnapped. Putting blame on Zoe doesn’t help the utter and complete mess that my mind’s going through.
I’m the only one to blame for falling for it. I’m the one who’s to blame. I never should’ve brought her along. I never should’ve left her out of my sight.
But hearing him admit that it was his plan is both fucking maddening and terrifying. The fact that I didn’t see through her act is making me second-guess everything, from the smallest details to every single word that she’s spoken to me.
“Where is Blair?”
“I don’t know,” he repeats the same, pathetic answer I’ve been hearing for months. “Paul never told me where he would be taking her.’’
