My phone rings and I think finally, but it's not Becca calling, only my sister. "Hey, Em." I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"I've had this nagging feeling to call you for the past couple of hours. Is everything okay?" Emerson asks.
I look up at the ceiling. "Becca's late."
"As in pregnant?" my sisters ask.
"No, Em. She hasn't made it in from running errands, and all of us here at the ranch are getting worried."
"Is this out of the norm for her? Maybe she simply stopped at the store or is visiting with friends." Emerson gives valid explanations, but none of them fit the mold.
"Maybe," I reply, but I don't believe that is the case.
"Do you feel differently?
"I have a knot in my stomach that is convincing me otherwise," I admit.
"Then listen to your gut, East. With all this stalker business, you shouldn't risk ignoring anything."
"You're right." I tell her and can hear the smirk on her face when she replies.
"I know. Anyway, keep me updated, and if you need anything—" Emerson pauses for a second, then says, "Love you."
"Same here." And I end the call. Needing fresh air, I step outside and take a deep breath. Relax. Maybe Emerson is right. It's only been two hours. I try my best to push the worry aside, but it's not working. Twenty minutes later, I find myself pacing the front porch.
"Any luck?" Arthur asks. I turn my head to find him taking a seat in his rocking chair. A few feet from him, David and Steve stand, both leaning against pillars, staring into the darkness.
"Straight to her voicemail," I say, then step off the porch.
"She could have broken down. The damn truck has given her fits here lately," Arthur states.
I step off the porch. "I'm going looking for her." I start heading toward my vehicle.
"Hold up," Arthur says, standing. I stop and look back. He walks into the house, only to emerge a minute later, holding a shotgun in his right hand. "I'm coming with you." He looks back at Steve and David. "Keep an eye on things. Let us know if my granddaughter calls."
"You got it." Steve nods.
The two of us climb into my truck. "You think there could be trouble?" I put the key into the ignition.
"Got to be prepared for any situation," Arthur says.
It's pitch black on the twenty mile stretch of two-way road between town and Connelly Ranch. I feel the silence all around me as the humidity in the warm air sticks to my skin. Suddenly, my headlights reflect off the chrome bumper of a vehicle on the opposite side of the road. It's Becca's truck. My gut clenches, and frantic, disjointed thoughts race through my mind. Why wouldn't she have called? Did she get out and start walking home? What if she's hurt? What if…?
No. I stop that last thought before it develops. Don't go there.
I make a quick U-turn in the road, pulling up behind it the entire time, my heart racing. My eyes search for Becca. "I don't see her." My hands get clammy, and the pounding of my heart increases. I rush from my vehicle and fling open the driver's door of Becca's truck. Her purse is on the seat, and the keys are hanging in the ignition.
I should have gone looking for her sooner.
The passenger door flings open, and Arthur shines his flashlight inside the cab. There, on the floorboard, under the gas pedal, lays an envelope.
"What's that?" Arthur asks as I open the flap and pull out the piece of paper.
I FOUND YOU.
She has brainwashed you into believing you love her. It's not true.
YOU LOVE ME.
They are conspiring against us.
SHE WILL PAY.
I will prove my love.
YOU WILL LOVE ME.
The air is sucked from my lungs, and I can't breathe. This can't be happening.
"Easton." Arthur's voice waivers as I go to pass him the letter. "Look." He motions the beam from the flashlight moving across and up the leather seat. There on the headrest is a small amount of blood. The blood in my veins runs cold. Please, fuck no. I swallow the lump in my throat and hand him the letter. I can't even look at him while he reads. I can't bear it. This is all my fault. I should have never come here, bringing my trouble with me.
Bright beams of light shine from behind us, and I shield my eyes to make out who it could be. The truck pulls up alongside Becca's truck, and the window lowers, revealing Jax's face. The look he gives me causes the muscles in my body to lock up. I know whatever he has to say is nothing I want to hear. My feet feel as though they're welded to the asphalt beneath my feet. Arthur is quickly at my side. "Please tell me you know where Becca is." By the way, Jax's face falls; he has no clue.
"I was just on my way out to the ranch. I have no idea where Becca is," he says.
"A low-life piece of trash has my granddaughter." Arthur shoves the letter at Jax.
Jax's eyes scan the short letter. "Shit." He pauses for a second too long.
"Son, you'd better spit out whatever you came out here to say," Arthur demands, his voice strong with worry.
"We have reason to believe the person behind the letter, and the break-in at your apartment was Mallory Vargas," Jax states.
"My publicist Mallory?" I'm in disbelief. Yet, the more I give it thought the more it starts to make sense. Why couldn't I see it before? Her persistence for us to get together, trying to push a narrative that I'm more important than my bandmates, the way she acted in the elevator that day towards Becca.
"Easton," Jax says and I look at him. "I put a call into a tech guy we work with from time to time and were able to obtain her cell phone information and track down her location." Jax looks between me and Arthur. "Mallory is here."
It feels like my heart is ripped from my chest. "Where?"
"Somewhere near Miller Road."
"The old Fulton home," Arthur says. "It's hard to find unless you know what you're looking for. I'll show you the way."
"Get in," Jax tells us both, and Becca's grandfather climbs into Jax's truck, but I decide on taking my own.
"I'm right behind you."
14
BECCA
I wake up with a pounding in my head and try prying my eyes open, but they feel heavy. I'm suddenly assaulted with the overwhelming need to vomit and double over. I take deep breaths in, trying to let the feeling pass before getting the urge under control.
I lift my hand, touching the source of my pain. Pulling away, I find the tips of my fingers coated with blood. Panic sets in. Blood starts pounding in my ears as my heart beats wildly in my chest. My hands begin shaking, and my vision blurs. I need to get out of here.
Pushing against the dingy floor, I slowly get to my feet and stand on unsteady legs. I take in my surroundings. I'm in an older house, the size of a shack. I look to the floor. The carpet is dirty, and the musty smell of mold is almost too much to breathe. Focus. I try desperately to fight off another dizzy spell. I'm standing in a living room furnished with a ratty sofa, covered with burn holes in the cushions, and a small round table sitting in the far-right corner of the room. The only light source is coming from a floor lamp beside the front door.
A movement to the left of me catches my attention. Through the cracked windowpane, I notice someone pacing back and forth with a phone to their ear. I squint, trying to make out the person's face. It's too dark to make out any features, but their side profile looks familiar.
It takes a moment for my memory to come back, going to the bank, my truck breaking down on the way home.
My eyes widen as the events fall into place. My kidnapper turns entirely toward the window, and her gaze zeros in on me. Pure disdain crosses her features just before she crashes through the front door.
Even though my entire body is screaming in pain, I rush forward, hoping to force my way out of the home, but stop short, coming face to face with the barrel end of a gun.
"Don't even think about moving, bitch," Mallory sneers.
I raise my hands, showing her I'm not a threat. "What are you
doing?" I'm careful not to move and keep my tone calm.
"I'm doing Easton a favor. You thought you could swoop right into his life and screw up what he and I have?" Mallory takes a step closer, and her hand holding the gun starts shaking. "Well, you're wrong, you little slut. I'm going to save him."
She is deranged. This woman is off her rocker. "Save him? Mallory, Easton doesn't need saving." When those words leap from my mouth, a feral look crosses Mallory's face, and her eyes appear to glaze over.
"You brainwashed him!" she screams. "He and I had something special before you came along. He was starting to see it. Everything would have been fine if that son of a bitch Miles hadn't convinced Easton to leave." Her lips lift in a sinister smile. "He deserved what he got too." Lightheadedness causes me to sway, and I stumble but catch myself before falling. Stay focused. I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to clear the fog from my head. "Then you come along, corrupting his head, making him fall in love with you, and forgetting about me." Mallory's movements become frantic with her increased rage and frustration. "Easton doesn't see what I see. He can't see you for the manipulative, gold digger you truly are." She laughs manically. "Oh, but you are good, I'll give you that. You even managed to have him save your stupid little ranch by paying the bank off. Luckily, Easton can count on me to fix this. I'm going to take care of everything."
"You're fucking nuts, lady," I spit.
"And you're nothing but a desperate money-grabbing bitch!" Mallory screeches, proceeding to backhand me across my cheek, ripping the skin open with the ring on her finger. "And I'm not crazy!"
Fuck. I stomp my foot. Now I'm really pissed. "Are you serious? You leave creepy letters for Easton everywhere, making him put his life on hold all in the name of love, and you don't classify that as crazy?" I yell. "Oh, and let's add kidnapping and dragging me out in the middle of God knows where." At this point, I'm fully aware that acting recklessly and taunting this woman is dangerous, but I'm beyond caring. "Lady, you are the definition of crazy, and you won't get away with this."
Mallory glares, her eyes like daggers and consumed with evil intent to do harm. "We'll see."
Mallory's phone rings. Keeping the gun aimed at my face, she answers her cell. "Where are you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago." She pauses then, through clenched teeth asks, "Why haven't you been answering my calls?" She's quiet for a second, then her face goes red. "You have got to be kidding!" she yells. "We had a deal. You have your money. I want what was promised." Mallory's lips are thin. "I don't care who Jax Mayson is or where he's been snooping around. I paid for your services, and I expect you to carry out your end of the deal." My stomach tightens with the mention of Jax. "Fuck!" she stomps her foot and shoves her phone into her back pocket. "That son-of-a-bitch!"
Mallory is about to lose what sanity she has left. There's no reasoning with her. I need to act now. It's my only option because the way I see it, either way, I may die, and I won't go without a fight.
Mallory is preoccupied, mumbling to herself, so I take advantage of her distracted state and bring my arm up and down, connecting with her wrist, knocking the weapon from her hand. The gun clatters to the floor. She's stunned, but only for a split second before diving for the gun. I kick the pistol to prevent her from reaching it, and it slides across the living room floor.
Mallory jumps to her feet and tackles me. She slams my body into the back end of the sofa, knocking the air from my lungs. Mallory lands a blow to the side of the head, distorting my vision. She is not much bigger than me, but damn she's strong.
"I'll have to get rid of you myself," Mallory huffs, grabbing a fist full of my hair. She prepares to throw another punch. Just as she pulls her arm back, I bring the heel of my palm up, driving it into her face.
Mallory grunts and stumbles back, crying out in pain. Blood gushes from her nose. Not letting up, I continue to fight back, delivering another blow, this time slamming my knuckles into her eye socket. She falls to her hands and knees. "Fuck you." I kick her in the ribs, then dash across the room. I retrieve the gun from the floor, then turn and run out of the house.
It's pitch-black outside, so dark I can't see my hands in front of my face. I'm swallowed by trees and the vastness that surrounds me, but I keep running.
Suddenly the cloudy sky clears enough for the moonlight to illuminate and navigate me towards a narrow dirt road. Light footsteps closing in from behind press me to run harder. A brutal force tackles me, propelling my body to the ground. "I'm going to kill you—you stupid cunt!" Mallory screams.
Through all of this, I manage to keep possession of the gun. Mallory begins scratching and clawing at my arm. "Give it to me," she seethes, her hand wrapping around mine. I struggle to maintain control of the weapon in my right hand. Bringing my left arm between our bodies, I press my forearm against her neck, then, with forwarding momentum, force her backward.
Before I have the chance to make another move, Mallory reaches for a broken tree limb lying beside her and swings, bringing it down on my wrist. The gun drops from my grasp, and I cry out in pain. "Ahh, fuck!"
Mallory reaches for the weapon, so I bring my foot up to kick the bitch. My boot makes contact against her ribcage. Not hesitating, I get to my feet and take off running again.
"You don't have anywhere to go!" Mallory shouts.
I don't look back and keep pushing.
I've been running for what feels like miles, and my feet are heavy. I won't give up. Not when my grandfather still needs me. Not when I've finally found happiness with the man I want to spend the rest of my life loving. With every step, I become slower but persist. Putting one foot in front of another is becoming increasingly difficult, but my efforts, though wavering, move one more step away from the person trying to kill me. Suddenly, I hear the rumble of a car engine coming up behind me. I look back over my shoulder to a car barreling down the dirt road, with no signs of slowing down. Behind the wheel is Mallory.
The toe of my boot hits a solid object, causing me to trip and fall to my knees. Bits of rock and dirt cut into the flesh of my palms as I attempt to break my fall.
Weak, I struggle to get back on my feet immediately and become blinded by the bright beams of lights.
15
EASTON
It all happens so fast. One minute I'm driving behind Jax, following him to Mallory's last known location, the next, out of the corner of my eye, just as we are slowing, I catch sight of a car racing down a dirt road. Someone within yards of the vehicle’s pathway falls to the ground. My stomach clenches at the person's unmistakable fiery red hair and it causes my breath to catch in my throat. I don't have time to think—only react. I press the gas pedal to the floorboard, and gun it. I swerve my Bronco around Jax's truck, trying to head off the car barreling toward Becca. My wheels squeal as they try to grab hold of the asphalt before hitting the dirt road.
Before impact, my eyes make contact with the driver of the car—Mallory. Then, the front end of my truck collides with her passenger side door. There's an explosion of metal scraping metal and my seat belt locking up, pulling tight across my chest before everything comes to a stop.
My heart is pounding, and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. My neck hurts from the force of the impact, but I ignore the pain and climb from my Bronco. "Becca!" I shout, searching around the wreckage. Several yards away, I spot her lying on the ground, unmoving, and rush toward her. Falling to my knees, I pull her into my arms. She's unconscious. "Come on, open your eyes, baby," I plead, my words getting stuck in my throat when I notice the left side of her hair is soiled with a mixture of dirt and blood. "I'm here, Red." I stroke her cheek. "Wake up," I coax her.
Jax's truck comes to a stop, his headlights shining a light on the wreckage behind me. "The cops are on the way!" he yells on his way toward Mallory's car.
Arthur joins me, kneeling at my side. "Sweet Jesus." He looks at his granddaughter.
Leaning down, I press my lips to Becca's. Emotions roll down my face
as I whisper one more time, "I love you, Baby. Wake up." I swallow hard, trying to hold my shit together.
"Easton," Becca softly moans and tries to get up.
"Don't move," I tell her.
Her hand slowly lifts, and she touches her head. "My head."
I look around for Jax, finding him standing by the wreckage. "Becca needs to go to the hospital and get checked out."
"I'm okay," Becca groans.
"You're bleeding," I inform her.
"Mallory—she hit me good on the side of my head," Becca states.
"Then you're going to the hospital and letting a doctor look you over. You may have a concussion," Arthur tells his granddaughter.
"Where's Mallory?" Becca clutches my arm with one hand and I notice her nursing her other, holding it close to her chest. Her wrist looks swollen.
I look around for Jax, finding him reaching through the driver's side window. When he emerges, there's a gun in his hand. Jax looks at me. "She's alive."
"Easton." Becca looks at me. "Mallory mentioned something about Miles. I think she may have hurt him too."
"Shit." I fumble to dig my phone out of my pocket and pull up Miles' number. The phone rings a few times before his voice fills my ear. "Are you okay?" I rush my words.
"Don't worry about me. Easton, it's Mallory. She's the stalker," he says.
"I know. Mallory found me."
"Dammit. Are you okay?" he asks.
"Mallory went after Becca."
Miles spits out a few more curse words.
"She's alright, and Mallory is in custody," I finish telling him.
"Thank God. And I'll relay all this to the authorities."
Until Easton Page 11