Forcing myself through, my eyes slowly adjust to the swallowing darkness. The dim room, lit by the moonlightpouring through the French doors, highlights the emptiness that I somehow felt in my bones the moment I entered the house.
The cream duvet on her bed is untouched, the pillows perfectly in place. Dread pools in my gut. Not at the immaculate space, or the emptiness that devours the warmth that once thrived here, but it's the object glistening on the nightstand.
Soft, white light reflects off the gold chain, replacing the heat that consumes my bones with ice. Rage simmers under my skin, sizzling enough to melt it off my flesh to seep into the carpet. My footsteps are weighted as my anger drags me to the nightstand.
I grip the collar in my fist as if I can crush the pure gold into shards that will fall to my feet.
Kate ran.
Lowered my guard with that gorgeous mouth and that sweet pussy and a soul that I naively thought might be made for mine.
The collar dangles in my fist, my eyes fastened on the jagged edge where one of the chains was cut. The lock, still perfectly in place, taunts me. Gripping the collar with one hand, fueled by every ounce of fury coursing through my veins, I reach into my pocket and yank out my phone, dialing Brody.
The line connects, but he says nothing.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl. “I swear to God, if you don’t find her in the next five seconds, I’m going to lodge my knife up your—”
“Preston.” His words are a trigger, nailing my chest straight on like they were meant to. “Arden has her.”
THIRTY-TWO | KATE
Trails of my tears sear my fevered cheeks, enough that I think—if I make it out of this alive—I’ll have permanent burn scars on my face.
Another reminder that danger is inescapable.
Tied to me in a way I’ll never understand.
I’m a magnet, somehow always sucking it in with my pull.
I fight to lick my lips again. The bitter taste of the duct tape adhesive is already filling my mouth. Zip ties bind my wrists to the arms of the metal chair and my ankles to the legs. I’m powerless, but that’s the point. This is the second time I have found myself in this chair and in this room. The first was when Preston found me in the tunnels.
Now it's the man who created him holding my life in his hands.
I know why they use metal chairs now. They are easy to clean. Sturdy. Cold in a way that makes me think they keep them in a freezer before use, so that insufferable chill soaks into your flesh and penetrates your bones. I doubt it makes the torture any less painful.
I’m trembling profusely, trying to refrain from letting the muted sobs from leaving my taped lips. I wouldn’t doubt Arden to make good on his promise and impale my vocal cords if I make too much noise. But in this case, it would be with a bullet instead of the butter knife he threatened me with at dinner before stabbing my arm with an unknown injection.
I’ve been in here for hours. Falling in and out of consciousness until the nightmare decided to be a solid thing I couldn’t rid myself of. I almost miss the oblivion tugging me under to pass the time. At first, everything was hazy and blurry when I came into consciousness before I was dragged under again. Then I fully woke, realizing I was bound, with my mouth taped to keep me from talking. The weight missing from my neck had dread filling my stomach almost as much as the livid and brooding man sitting in the chair across from mine. At some point, Arden removed the chain from my neck that held the tracker.
Then my eyes would meet his, still black and lifeless compared to the warm whisky I had grown accustomed to in our brief interactions.
The plastic zip ties dig into my skin enough that I can see the marks forming. My ass is numb, along with my limbs, from being immobile for this long. My chest is still heaving, my eyes puffy, but I’m exhausted from fighting the restraints.
At first, he found it amusing. Arden’s been lounging in a chair across from mine, with his Glock rested on his thigh. He hasn’t said a word, keeps glancing at the clock on the wall, waiting.
Patiently.
Calmly, though I know there’s a violent war raging inside him that he won't let me see.
He peeks at the clock again and grabs the handgun from his thigh, his finger dancing near the trigger. Arden is going to shoot me, and I’m not sure why. There’s so much lingering inthe crevices about this family that I can’t reach. I can’t say that I’m not still curious about what they think I’m tied to. Their past somehow bleeds into everything they do. Someone wronged them, and I can’t help but feel like it has to do with Preston’s mom and his sister, Arden’s wife and daughter.
Just because I slept with Preston doesn’t give me a free pass to learn the things that mark their hearts. Those truths take time.
Now I may never find out.
A bang reverberating off the cold concrete walls has my eyes slamming shut. My scream is muffled behind the tape, my pulse accelerating to dangerous levels that could kill me alone.
The air shifts, more tension pulling at the already suffocating room. My eyes slowly peek open, landing on a pair of bourbon ones that inject a little warmth back into my limbs.
