by S. R. Grey
Haven speaks again, and I hear Rick saying something about how hot it is in the house. It’s cooler in the basement, but I’m still roasting. I can only imagine what it feels like upstairs.
Suddenly, someone starts to turn the doorknob on the basement door. Eric lifts his pant leg and pulls a pistol from a holster on his ankle.
I knew he was armed.
He makes a shushing noise to me, even though I can’t talk. Asshole. I am bound and helpless. And that fact is never more apparent than when events begin to occur. Events I find I have no control over.
I whimper and struggle, but there’s nothing I can do when Eric races up the basement steps. There is no warning I can shout out when the door swings open. I catch a glimpse of Rick in silhouette, before Eric slams his pistol into Rick’s temple. Haven screams as Rick tumbles down the basement steps.
Rick’s body settles at the base of the stairs, unmoving. Haven is still screaming, and Eric warns her to “shut the fuck up.”
He starts to drag Haven down the stairs as she tries to get herself under control. When she has to step over Rick to move forward, she begs, “Let me make sure he’s okay. Please, Eric, just let me check on him.”
Eric has her in his grasp. “No,” is his one-word response. Thankfully, I can see Rick’s chest is rising and falling. He’s alive, at least.
When Haven catches sight of me tied up in the center of the basement, she gasps, “Oh, no, Essa.” She turns to Eric and says, “Just let her go, please. Take me. Leave her alone.”
“Haven,” he chides. “Always trying to be the hero, just like your brother.”
“Eric,” Haven pleads, “please just untie her.”
He laughs. “Oh, I will”—Eric’s cold blue eyes slide to me—“when I’m ready to fuck her.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pray he’s not serious.
Haven starts to squirm in Eric’s grasp. “Shut up,” she yells. “You’re disgusting. Get the hell off of me.” She struggles valiantly, but Eric grabs her cheek where there’s still a remnant of a bruise—surely one from him—and squeezes hard.
That stops her. She cries out and goes slack. With Haven subdued, Eric swings around the chair he was sitting in. He shoves Haven down on it and ties her up next to me. Her teary eyes meet mine as he tightens her ropes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I give her a look that I hope conveys that this is absolutely not her fault.
Thankfully, despite his disgusting threat, Eric makes no move to sexually assault me. He leaves Haven alone, too. He doesn’t even bother to tape her mouth shut. My duct tape, however, remains in place.
Eric waits for Farren. His chips are in place; he has me and Haven. And now he’s biding his time, waiting to strike.
I watch as he methodically drags Rick’s limp body from the base of the stairs to the laundry nook. Rick is still unconscious. Eric ties him to a pipe, peers down at him. After studying his handiwork of knots, he returns to where Haven and I are bound to the chairs.
He takes his gun out again, makes sure it’s loaded, and then says in a tone that chills me to the bone, “Now, we wait for Farren.”
An hour later, someone arrives at the house. But it’s not Farren who starts down the basement steps. When I take in the tall man with the dark hair, a man who slightly resembles Farren, I gasp.
“Vincent?” I mumble through my duct-taped mouth.
Haven’s left hand, though tied, is close enough to my tied-up right hand that she’s able to stretch her fingers out and reach me. It’s a move meant to comfort us both, but when I feel her trembling, my own fear ratchets up a few notches. Vincent may not have assaulted her, but he never attempted to free her either. Nor did he stop the things Eric—and the others—did to her. Plus, I can’t forget that Vincent had no qualms about drugging me the night he and Eric abducted Haven.
My body shakes as I wonder what could have brought him here.
Haven, who’s clearly the stronger of the two of us, squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay, Essa,” she mutters quietly.
There’s no need for such a low voice, though. Eric is busy greeting his friend and cohort. “Man, where have you been?” he says to Vincent, his tone betraying his agitation. “I asked Dawson if I could get you in on this”—he motions to us with a sick grin—“but he said you’d gone off the grid.”
“Yeah,” Vincent replies coolly, glancing nonchalantly at Haven and me, “a family matter arose. But everything is good now.”
Eric raises a blond eyebrow. “You sure?”
Vincent laughs and claps Eric on the back, the move both placating and somewhat condescending. Interesting. Here I’ve been, thinking all along that Eric is the man in charge. But it appears Vincent may outrank him in some way.
What way, though…?
As Vincent redirects his focus to a still-unconscious Rick, he asks Eric, “What happened there?”
Eric shrugs. “Ah, just some collateral damage, nothing to worry about. We’ll take him out later.” His icy blue eyes slide to Haven. “He was with my girl, Haven, out in the back. Bastard probably had his hands all over her. And though I like to share, I prefer to choose who gets to touch her.” He steps close and nudges Haven’s chin. “Isn’t that right, baby doll.”
Haven’s fingers are still wrapped around mine, and she’s squeezing so damn hard I have to grit my teeth to keep from making a sound. Her iron-tight grip is the only indication Haven is fazed. She schools her features so Eric doesn’t catch on that he’s affecting her so.
“Say yes,” he prompts, like he’s speaking to a three-year-old. In that moment, I hate him more than ever.
“Yes,” Haven replies compliantly.
Haven is wearing a V-neck top that exposes the swell of her breasts. Eric lowers his hand. He cups Haven’s breast. As he squeezes lightly, the cruel, hard look in his eyes betrays his true intent—his soft touch is a farce. And just then, as if to drive that point home, he raises his hand and backhands Haven across the face. Raven hair covers her cheek as her head whips to the side. Eric brushes it back, smiling when he sees there’s now a fresh welt on top of her faded bruise.
“Hey, hey…” Vincent moves quickly, grabbing Eric’s hand before he can strike Haven again. “Calm down.”
A strangled cry escapes Haven. A tear slides down her cheek. Eric has taken the first step to breaking her down again. And, if he’s to be believed, I am next. Farren will kill him for this. Eric may be waiting for Farren—and now Vincent is here to probably help him—but my money lies on the man I’ve fallen for: Farren Shaw.
Just as I’m thinking these thoughts, with my heart racing so fast I feel as if I may die, I hear footsteps upstairs.
We all hear the noise.
Eric suddenly forgets all about Haven. Vincent drops his hand from where he was preventing Eric from hitting her again. Everyone’s eyes lock in on the door at the top of the stairs as the doorknob begins to slowly turn.
Suddenly, all hell breaks loose, everything seemingly happening at once.
Eric pulls his gun from the back waistband of his pants.
The door at the top of the stairs swings open.
And Haven screams, “Farren, watch out! Eric is here, and he has a gun.”
Meanwhile, I struggle to make warning noises of my own.
And then my warning noises become actual screams, because Vincent, of all people, suddenly rips the duct tape from my mouth.
“What…” I utter as I spit out the cloth gagging me. I look up at Vincent, confused, and he gives me a small smile. But then his focus moves to Eric, who is already at the bottom step, gun at the ready.
He’s about to shoot Farren.
In an instant, Vincent presses his gun to Eric’s head. What is going on?
“Hold it right there,” Vincent says to Eric. “Drop your weapon.”
“What the hell is going on?” I ask in a loud voice. I have my voice back, and I sure as hell intend to use it.
But no one answers me.
<
br /> Haven glances from me to where Vincent is pressing his gun harder to Eric’s temple.
“Do as I say,” Vincent urges, “or I will shoot you.”
Eric drops his weapon. It clatters to the cement floor. “What’s wrong with you?” Eric grinds out. “Get that fucking gun away from my head.”
“I don’t think so,” Farren says as he calmly starts down the steps.
Wait, Farren is with Vincent? He said they didn’t work together.
Farren reaches the two men. He nods to Vincent in some kind of understanding. Then, he bends down and picks up the gun Eric dropped.
Okay, I guess there is some kind of working relationship there. Crazy.
Farren’s vibrant emerald-green eyes, eyes that I’ve missed so much, find mine. He smiles reassuringly, as if to let me know everything is going to be fine now that he’s here. I know it will, and I relax.
Farren’s smile falters, though, when he notices the swelling on my cheek. When his gaze moves to his sister and he sees she’s been struck recently as well, he moves swiftly. In a flash, Farren takes Eric out with one hit. Not with the gun in his hand, but with a solid hit using just his elbow.
There’s a loud snapping noise, and Eric drops to the ground. His hand shoots up to his nose as blood begins to flow. “You broke my nose,” Eric wails in a wet voice that makes him sound like he’s underwater.
Vincent’s eyes flash fearfully to Farren. He appears worried that he might be next. “I did as you requested,” Vincent says. His tone is placating. He clearly fears Farren. “I got here as soon as I could,” he continues. “And if I hadn’t stepped in immediately, like I did, Eric would have shot you.”
“He would have tried,” Farren corrects. “But, yes, you did well. And for that, I thank you.”
Farren extends his hand, and Vincent shakes it. I can’t help but ask incredulously, “You two know each other?”
Haven echoes my sentiments and adds, “Yeah, what the hell?”
Farren explains. “Vincent works for the government. He’s on a special task force that’s trying to take down the same organization I’ve been working on destroying. That means he’s on our side.”
“You’ve known this all along?” Haven asks, sounding wounded.
Farren’s expression softens. “Of course not, Hav. I became privy to that information only a couple of days ago.”
I have so many questions, but just then Rick moans from where he’s still tied to a pipe on the other side of the room.
“What the fuck?” Farren grinds out. He hadn’t noticed Rick until now. While Vincent keeps his gun trained on the fallen Eric, Farren walks over to his friend. Rick is coming to, and Farren asks him a few questions as he unties him. They speak in tones too low for me to catch any words, but I assume Farren is making sure Rick is okay.
A few minutes later, Farren returns to where Haven and I are bound. “Will Rick be all right?” Haven asks her brother.
“Yes,” Farren replies, kindness in his tone, “he’s going to be fine.”
Haven lets out a breath, while Farren squats down behind our chairs. He unties the ropes holding us, quickly and adeptly. Seconds later, Haven and I are free. After standing and stretching out our arms and legs, we turn to Farren. He pulls his sister to him, hugging her gently. I receive a hug next, one that is more intimate and lasts a little longer.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
Farren is holding me close, so close, and I take the opportunity to inhale his delightful scent that I missed so much. He leans back so he can kiss my lips lightly.
“We have a lot to talk about, Essa.” He sighs. “But not here. Not now.”
There’s warmth in his gaze, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it is warmth born of love. But then again, maybe Farren does love me. I’ve felt as if he does—especially the night before he left. But I’ve not yet heard it from his lips. In any case, I hope he loves me. Because if I wasn’t 100 percent sure before, I am now—I love Farren beyond a shadow of a doubt. I want nothing more than to tell him, like, right this second. But like he just said, this is not the time or place to be professing feelings.
Eric makes a noise, like a labored breath, and I glance his way. His nose is askew but no longer bleeding, mostly due to the fact that he’s grabbed up the rag that was in my mouth and stemmed the flow of blood with it. He tries to sit up, but Vincent makes him remain as he is, lying prone on the cold, hard floor. Serves him right, I think. Bastard.
It’s then that I realize Farren has divulged Vincent’s identity to Eric. “That can’t be right,” I mumble to myself.
Farren cocks an eyebrow. “What can’t be right, Essa?”
“Eric knows who Vincent is now,” I reply. “Why would you let him know that?”
Farren smiles sadly. He trails a finger down my injured cheek, so lightly I barely feel a thing. “We need to get you some ice,” he whispers.
He’s deflecting, and I know the reason. Eric will not be leaving this room. He’s going to die in this basement. “Are you going to kill him?” I ask Farren, my voice barely audible. I just don’t know if I can witness that.
From over on the basement steps, a man answers, “No, I am.”
I peer past Farren, who doesn’t bother to turn around. That action indicates to me that this man I just now noticed has accompanied Farren. He must have been waiting at the top of the stairs until Eric was subdued.
“Who is that?” Haven asks, reminding me that she’s watching this drama unfold just as I am.
“I know who it is,” I reply softly.
I feel Haven’s eyes snap to me after the words fall from my mouth. Vincent’s head jerks my way as well. His eyes are questioning. But it’s Farren who appears the most surprised by my admission.
I lift my eyes to him. “It’s Mr. Barnes, right?”
Farren nods, confirming my statement. But his confirmation is unnecessary. I would have recognized the man who is now at the base of the stairs anywhere. Hell, I was just gazing at his picture yesterday. Quinton Barnes looks the same as in the glossy photo. He’s a sophisticated man of roughly sixty, dark hair streaked with gray, classic features.
“He’s here to avenge the death of his daughter,” Vincent states, as if to inform anyone who hasn’t figured it out yet. “In fact, he flew in last night for this express purpose.”
Haven and I glance over at each other at the same time. Her aquamarine eyes convey what I am thinking: Wow, Farren is going to allow this powerful man he works for to commit murder. Mr. Barnes is about to take out one of the bad guys who hurt and ultimately killed his Annemarie.
And we are right—that is exactly what Farren is planning to do. He steps over to Mr. Barnes and hands him Eric’s gun. Barnes takes the gun and walks over to Eric. He kneels down next to him.
“Just do it,” Eric grinds out, defiant to the end.
Farren says to me and Haven, “Don’t look. Turn away.” Neither of us listens. The scene before us is much too riveting.
Vincent steps back, but not before handing Mr. Barnes a large folded towel from a rack nearby. Barnes places it over Eric’s face and says, “You should suffer for what you’ve done, but this needs to be over.”
And then he fires the gun.
The report is muffled by the towel, but the white material turns red swiftly. Vincent says grimly to Farren, “I’ll clean up.”
Rick, whom I forgot was in the room, stands. He walks over. “I’ll help,” he says to Vincent.
Farren places a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re up for that? You took a nasty hit to the temple.”
Rick replies, “No worries, man. I’m good.”
Vincent and Rick get to work on cleaning up and removing Eric’s body from the basement. I have a feeling he’ll end up in an unmarked grave deep in the desert, which almost seems too good for him, considering all he’s done.
Farren whispers a few words to Mr. Barnes, and then the two men step over to where Haven and I a
re standing. “I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Farren says to us, though I note he addresses Haven more than me.
After the introductions are made, Barnes stares hard at Haven. Not in any bad sort of way, but in a very curious manner. I glance from one to the other, perplexed. When my eyes land on Farren, he looks away.
What am I missing here?
Haven, always forward, says to Mr. Barnes, “You wanted to be the one to do it, didn’t you? You wanted to kill Eric yourself.”
Mr. Barnes nods solemnly. “Yes, I wanted to be the one to kill him. This is true.”
“You must have loved your daughter very much,” Haven murmurs wistfully, never having known her own father, since he left when she was three.
“I did,” Barnes confirms, his voice catching. “But she’s not the only child I was avenging.”
Farren clears his throat. “Barnes,” he snaps warningly.
Paying no heed to Farren, which is kind of a shock, since everyone concedes to Farren Shaw, Barnes says, “I shot him for the things he did to both my daughters.”
Haven knows, the same as I do, that Barnes had only one child. She tilts her head, curious, and says, “What do you mean you shot him for both your daughters? Annemarie was your only child.”
Mr. Barnes takes a tentative step toward Haven. “That’s not exactly accurate,” he says softly.
“What are you saying?” Haven whispers, her voice trembling.
Barnes, choking back a sob, says, “I’m telling you that you, Haven, are also my daughter. I’m not just Annemarie’s father. I am your father, too.”
Haven reaches for and practically falls back on the chair she was tied to earlier. Farren places a steadying hand on her shoulder. She reaches back and holds onto her brother’s hand tightly. “What’s going on?” she asks weakly.
Mr. Barnes, his voice choked with emotion so raw that tears spring to my eyes, says, “You and Farren are my children. You’re the children I was forced to leave nineteen years ago.”
Oh my God.