by Eve, Jaymin
“Where does he live?” I demanded of Decker. The captain quickly scribbled down an address on a scrap of paper and handed it over.
“This is the address we have for him,” he said, “but something tells me he won’t be somewhere so obvious.”
I wracked my brain for a beat, trying to remember anything I knew about him.
“He said he had grandparents in Jefferson, right?” I said to Dylan. “He mentioned it as soon as we told him where we’d come from.”
Dylan nodded, face serious. “Yes. I remember him saying that.”
“Find that address!” I said to Decker.
The captain nodded. “Will do. You head out, and I’ll send through the address and backup asap.”
He was already reaching for the radio on his desk, but Dylan stopped him by snatching the handset out of his hand and smashing it against the deck.
“No need,” Dylan snarled. “This is Delta business. Just get the address.”
I shoved my way out of the police station with a deathly scowl on my face, Johnson’s “address on file” clutched in my hand. We would start by checking it out, but something told me the grandparents’ place was our winner. Decker better find that property straight away.
Then Johnson was going to pay for every scrape on Riley, a thousand times over.
22
The steady pitter patter of my blood splashing against the concrete floor was the only sound keeping me awake. My head was fuzzy and thick from blood loss, but as far as I could, tell he was yet to hit anything debilitating. So long as I didn’t pass out from all the little cuts he’d made, then I should be fine to run. It was all surface wounds, and so far I’d escaped anything worse than some slimy kisses and rough boob grabbing.
Johnson had been gone for a while, long enough that I almost started to panic. Had he gotten bored and decided to leave me here until I was unconscious? Or was this the opportunity I’d been waiting for?
Biting the side of my cheek in an attempt to focus my thoughts, I raised my heavy head and tried to shake the stringy, blood crusted hair from my face. I must have taken a head injury in the crash because Johnson had been focusing his attacks on my body.
I took a few deep breaths then strained to hear.
Silence.
Surely this was as good an opportunity as I’d ever get. I’d been Johnsons prisoner for too long to just keep waiting for a rescue. It felt like I’d been in that dark room for days, but it was probably only a couple of hours. Still way too long for my liking.
Thankfully, my attacker had left the glaring spotlights off when he’d run out of here some time earlier, and my eyes had grown more accustomed to the dark. Enough that I could make out my shadowy surroundings.
As far as I could tell, I was in some kind of shed. He’d placed my chair in the dead center—well away from the equipment—and set up an industrial looking spotlight directly in front of me.
A grim smile crept across my pained and cracked lips, and I swallowed back a smug laugh. This prick had severely underestimated my desire to live, and my newfound spine of steel. One thing that being sucked into Delta’s world had taught me was that I was much stronger than I ever thought. If I could survive my parents’ death, being in a plane crash and being forced to shoot a man in the head ... then I could damn well get out of this mess.
Spotting my target, I sucked a deep breath in then held it for what I was about to do. Because it was gonna hurt.
As hard as I could, I threw my weight to the side of the chair, trying to tip it over.
Nothing happened.
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. My arms tied behind the chair back were preventing me from leaning far enough to topple the chair. I bit my cheek again, clearing the spinning fog from my brain before using every damn ounce of effort to lift my arms up. It wasn’t a particularly high backed chair, so it only took a moment of excruciating, tearing pain in my shoulder sockets before I managed to slip over the chair back.
“Fuck yes,” I congratulated myself, turning to jelly and taking a moment to rest before the next step. My arms were still bound behind me but at least now I could shift my weight over far enough to—
Gravity took over exactly as I wanted, and I braced myself just a fraction of a second before hitting the damp concrete floor. My anticipation of how much it was going to hurt was understated. Every stab and slice Johnson had inflicted on me, along with my wounds from the car crash, all screamed with pain and for a moment my whole world went black as I slipped into unconsciousness.
Thankfully, my body was in too much pain to leave me knocked out for long, and I blinked my way back into consciousness while panting through the agony.
Thank fuck for small mercies, I’d landed in the direction I’d been aiming. Just a few feet away from a pair of garden shears that had been kicked under a work table. Johnson had them out while trimming his fucking black roses earlier. Taunting me. Well, the joke was going to be on him. I would use his fucked up sheers to free myself.
Hopefully.
A few feet sounded so damn close, but when tied to a chair, bruised and bleeding ... it may as well have been on another planet. But I’d come this far, and I’d be damned if Johnson came back to find me halfway through an escape attempt. That’d just be damn stupid, so there was nothing else for it. I had to reach those shears, free myself, and get the hell out before he returned.
Easy, right?
Right. Keep telling yourself that, Riley.
Gritting my teeth, I started wriggling my way in the direction of the equipment. Through a mixture of frantic thrashing, and digging the bare toes of my bottom leg into the concrete, I was making progress. For the first time since realizing Johnson intended to kill me, I grabbed hold of hope. I could do this. I could do this!
It took a while, and I needed to stop to rest every couple of inches, but eventually my head brushed the leg of the work bench and my heart soared. Fuck. Yes. Who said you needed special Delta training to be a total badass?
Another extended session of wriggling, grunting, panting and straining, and I had the handle of the shears between my teeth. Backing out from under the workbench took a little more effort, given I couldn’t drop the death grip my teeth held on the shears.
After a minute of struggling, I gave myself a rest and lay there panting. My whole body was screaming with pain, and the room spun with dangerous speeds before my eyes, but it was just a reminder that I needed to push through.
My whole body was screaming with pain, and the room spun with dangerous speeds before my eyes, but it was just a reminder that I needed to push through.
“Come on, Riley,” I muttered to myself, hoping the pep talk would help focus my energy. “Come on, you can do this. You’re not the weak, defenseless heiress he’s mistaken you for. You can save yourself.”
Whether I really believed that, it didn’t matter. It was either try ... or die.
Groaning with the effort, I picked the shears back up in my teeth. I was still on my side, my hands bound between my back and the chair, and my legs tied to each chair leg. But I just needed my hands free. Once I managed that, the rest should be cake.
My neck muscles howled as I lifted the shears from the ground with my teeth, turning my face to the ceiling then over my shoulder. I sucked a couple of rasping breaths, then sort of threw the shears with my mouth, aiming to drop them into the gap where my hands were bound.
There was a thunk as they hit the wooden chair back, then ... nothing. I waggled my fingers and only just brushed the side of the fucking things, which seemed to have gotten hooked between the slats of the chairback.
“For the love of fuck,” I groaned, peering at the sheers hooked in the most infuriating location just out of reach of my fingers. For lack of any better ideas, I gave my body a quick shake, rattling the chair against the floor.
To my amazement, they dislodged from the chairback and dropped neatly into my hand. I was so stunned, I almost burst into tears but bit it back. There
would be plenty of time to cry—or laugh—after Johnson was dead.
It took me multiple tries, and several agonizing cuts to my fingers, but I finally managed to snip the cable ties holding my wrists together. The second they were free, I wanted to scream and howl my satisfaction, but a noise held my tongue.
I froze.
There it was again! Someone was coming, heavy boots crunching on gravel, and I was willing to put money on it being Johnson.
Frantic, I cut my legs free and staggered to my feet, searching for a weapon in the darkness. The shears were great, and I wasn’t losing them, but I wanted something big to smash over his head. I had one chance to debilitate him.
Moments later, I positioned myself beside the locked door, clutching a shovel to my chest, and leaning into the wall for support. The second that psychotic asshole walked through the door, I was getting the hell out.
Keys jingled outside, and I held my breath.
The distinctive snick of a padlock opening reached my ears, then the clank of the bolt and the creak of the door. For a second, he paused in the doorway, his long shadow cast by the moon at his back stretching across the floor. Then he stepped into the room, and I struck.
My shovel hit home, smacking him in the side of the head with all the force I could muster up. While weak from my injuries and the mission to cut myself free, I still held enough strength that he dropped to the ground, and in that moment, I grabbed my shears and fucking ran...
...Straight into the arms of a second person.
Arms like steel wrapped around me, knocking the heavy garden utensil to the ground, and I screamed. Fuck hiding my fear, I had nothing left. Maybe if I was loud enough, a neighbor would hear. Either way, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I screamed and thrashed, kicking and hitting my captor with everything I had. It wasn’t until his hand closed over my mouth—cutting off my hollering—that I heard what he was saying. Ah shit.
“Riley! Riles, babe, cut it out!” Jasper yelled at me, keeping one hand over my mouth while his other wrapped around me like a straight jacket, keeping me from hurting myself. Not that I needed it anymore. The second my mind cleared enough to realize this was my rescue party rather than my murderer, I was like a puppet with cut strings. My whole body sagged, and a whimpering sob worked its way free of my throat.
“Hey, hey, babe we got you,” he soothed, turning me around in his arms so I could cling on like he was a life raft in a storm. “We got you, Riles. You’re safe.”
He sank to the ground with me still glued to him, sobbing into his shirt as all the fear and desperation of the night flooded through me, battling with the realization that I was safe. They’d come for me, just like I knew they would.
“Oh shit,” I gasped, pulling away from Jasper and wiping my eyes on the back of a grimy hand. “Who did I hit?”
“Me,” Dylan replied, coming out of the shed with his shirt off. He held it wadded up in a ball against his bleeding head where my shovel had connected, and I gasped.
“Oh my god, Dylan. I’m so sorry.” I looked up at him, horrified that I’d tried to kill my friend, but not physically able to let go of Jasper yet. “I thought you were...” I swallowed hard, unable to say the words I thought you were coming back to rape me or kill me or both.
He shook his head dismissively, his eyes soft as he looked me over. “No apologies necessary, Riles. You did exactly what you should have. It’s my own dumb fault for charging in there unannounced.”
I looked around, then frowned when I didn’t see anyone else. “Where’s Beck? And Evan? Are they...” I didn’t even know what. The last time I’d seen Beck was as I crashed his beautiful Bugatti into an embankment. What if he had never made it out? What if his neck had been broken on impact?
“Dealing with Johnson back down at his house,” Jasper informed me. “They’ve still got him alive, though.”
The relief would have knocked me down, if I wasn’t already on my ass. I arched a brow, even though tears were still running down my face. I couldn’t seem to stop them. “So I could finish Johnson off myself?” I asked, and shocked myself at the cold cruelty to my voice.
“We kept him alive iIn case we couldn’t find you,” Dylan corrected. “But if you want to kill him yourself, you’re more than welcome to. Not even Beck will argue with you on that point.”
I nodded slowly then took Dylan’s hand when he offered it to me. As badly as I wanted to stand on my own two feet when I faced my attempted murderer, I just didn’t have anything left. The second I stood up my knees turned to jelly, and I would have collapsed in a heap if weren’t for Dylan scooping me up.
“It’s a decent walk down the hill,” he told me, “I’ll put you back down before we get there.”
I gave him a weak smile, appreciative that he knew where my head was at. But that was what made us all such a formidable team, wasn’t it? We were all so tuned in to each other. The old, corrupt bastards at Delta and Huntley didn’t have a fucking clue what they were in for with us five.
They’d learn, though. Just as soon as I dispensed a bit of justice for my own sake.
23
It was no wonder it’d taken the guys so long to find me. Johnson’s property backed onto an expansive stretch of forest, and the shed he’d taken me to must have been an easy mile and a half from his house.
“I see why you kept him alive,” I murmured to Dylan as he subtly supported me with a hand on my waist.
He grunted a noise as we entered the house to find a badly beaten Johnson, Beck and Evan standing over him. “It could have taken days to search that area if his information was bad and we hadn’t found his path.”
I nodded, then took a few steps closer to the famed Osiria Killer. Hardly the terror inspiring figure that had toyed with me earlier in the evening, he was now a pathetic, bloodied lump just staring up at me with dead eyes.
“Come to finish the job?” he asked me, his voice thick with pain but totally devoid of apology.
Beck’s gaze was locked on me from behind Johnson’s body, the intensity so fierce I could almost feel the heat, and it made me shiver. I couldn’t look at him yet. Not unless I wanted to crumple into a sobbing mess ten times worse than I’d done to Jasper.
Respecting my need for strength, Beck silently held out his pistol for me. His blood smeared hand brushed mine as I took the weapon from him, and I flinched slightly at the heat of his skin. He was a fucking furnace, like his body temperature was reflecting his fury.
The gun was heavy in my hand. Solid and unwieldy, unlike the small handgun Beck had gifted to me in those early days. This was a tool for killing, plain and simple.
I clicked the safety off, just like I’d been taught, and aimed the barrel at Johnson’s head. How easy it’d be to just ... shoot him. He wouldn’t be my first kill but by god he’d be the most justified.
“What are you waiting for?” Johnson spat at me. “Just do it. I deserve it. I would have happily tortured you for days, making it as agonizingly painful as possible before I took what was mine ... your sweet cunt.” He smiled. “Then I would have stabbed you to death. Just like Cordelia. Just like Katelyn. Just like the four other girls in other states that have incompetent police departments and never connected the dots.” He started laughing then, but it was a bubbling, blood filled laugh that resulted in his coughing and hacking.
I pursed my lips, staring at him down the barrel of Beck’s gun. He wanted this. He wanted the easy death at my hands.
Well, fuck that.
I flicked the safety back on and handed the gun over to Beck. “No, I think we will let the legal system handle you, Johnson.” I crouched down and pretended like the pain of my injuries didn’t make me want to pass the fuck out. “Won’t that be fun? Getting your picture splashed all over the news? Being dragged up in front of a jury so the whole world can see what a pathetic, inadequate, cowardly sack of shit you are?” His beaten face paled, and I knew I’d hit the mark. He had thought he’d do all this
terrorizing and murdering and then just take the easy route out. Never need to answer for his crimes.
“Are you sure?” Evan asked me from where he stood, his arms folded and more than a few smears of blood on his clothing. “The legal system doesn’t always mete out the punishment that fits the crime. Knowing this piece of shit, he’ll plead insanity…”
This caught my resolve for a moment, the possibility of Johnson actually being free to walk the streets again one day a possibility I couldn’t consider.
“If that happens,” I said softly, “we’ll track him down and make sure he never has a chance to touch another woman.”
Johnson snorted a pained sound. “It was pure fucking unlucky that you all caught me tonight.” His eyes lifted to Dylan and Beck, looking between them. “These two with their eidetic memories and knowledge of cars. They told me they tracked me through the police vehicle. I was supposed to be following Riley tonight as protection duty. But … the opportunity to grab her was too good to pass up.”
I smirked. “You got greedy, asshole, and now you’ll pay.”
He didn’t look that worried, and I hoped I was making the right decision. Sirens cut through the early morning stillness.
“Looks like Decker decided to send out the troops,” Dylan said.
Beck still hadn’t spoken, and I still couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Not when SWAT and armed police stormed in the room. Not when I gave my statement and the photographers took pictures of the room I was held in. Not when the greenhouse of Osiria flowers were found out near his torture house. And not even when some preliminary photos of my injuries were taken, the ones on my arms and throat mainly. The others they would get at the station.
“Johnson has had this place on lockdown for a long time,” Decker said, swaggering around like he’d single handedly solved a serial killer case. “We found the records of how long it belonged to his grandparents. They died in odd circumstances and left it to Johnson. It was the only thing he ever inherited after his family disowned him.”