“He’s got dog-bite marks,” Kathy snaps, pointing at his leg. She kicks him in the knee.
“That’s my hockey knee!” he howls, crashing to the ground.
His mother rushes into the room, swinging her handbag. “Off! Get off of my baby!You!” she screeches at Kathy. “You and your horrible sister. I told my little baby neither of you were good enough for him, and now you’ve hurt his poor knee. It’s okay, Mommy’s here, Knoxie baby. Mommy’s here. You all need to get out! Knox has been here with his mommy.” She kisses his head.
“Where the fuck were you when Winnie was kidnapped?” I demand.
“We went for a nice dinner and then back here. I was rubbing his back,” Shelby yells at me. “I want room service to bring up ice for his knee.”
“No. You need to get the fuck out of my hotel.”
“You can’t kick us out.”
“I’m paying the bill, so yes I can. That’s how it works.”
“He’s your star hockey player.” Shelby is offended.
Frances hefts the hatchet.
“Not anymore. I’m moving you to Saskatoon. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll let the crazy old broad chop your balls off.”
“Well, that’s not good.”Carolina chews on her lip as we’re all standing out in the private elevator lobby to the suite level. “If Knox doesn’t have Winnie and you don’t have Winnie, then who does?”
49
WINNIE
My mouth is dry. My head is pounding. Thank God I haven’t brushed my hair—the mat at the nape protected my skull from whatever happened last night.
My throat is raw. It’s pitch-dark. And it smells like—lilacs? Why does a kidnapper’s den smell like lilacs?
I roll onto my side. My slippers are gone.
I haul myself upright. My hands are cuffed behind my back—not in a fun way like at Fitz’s house.
“Fitz.”
Does anyone even know I’m gone? Does he? Does he care?
For a second, I have a stupid thought: Maybe Fitz took me.
The more sensible voice says: Knox. Knox is the more likely culprit. Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a bitch toFitz. He would’ve been at my house, and none of this would have happened.
I force myself to my knees then stand and crawl my hands along the perimeter of the room. I can’t be scared. I can’t be sad. I can be angry.
“I’m going to fucking kill you when I get out of here,” I shout.
Silence. No answer.
I find the door and work the handle.
Locked. Of course.
I throw my weight against it.Bang!
“Fuck my life.” I throw myself at it again. “None of this would have happened if I’d just had some freaking self-respect in high school and stayed the hell away from Knox.”
The doorframe splinters.
