I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime Book 2)

by Jessica Frances

  Bowen smiles then, moving the phone back to his ear. “Betrayed again, Mr. Lockwood. Sasha Jennings is absolutely an untrustworthy piece of shit.” He hangs up then, nodding at one of his men, who takes out his own cell and makes a call.

  I only hear him say the words “do it” before he disconnects.

  A few seconds later, an explosion in the distance is visible. Smoke billows into the sky, and my mouth drops open in shock.

  “What the hell?” I gasp, not sure if this is related to what is going on.

  Bowen just stares at me with a crazed expression, his smile creepier than any frown or glare could be.

  “Unfortunately,” he begins, sounding happier than I have heard him, “it appears you and Mr. Lockwood are definitely back off again, rather permanently this time.”

  “No,” I gasp, denying even the thought that the explosion could have anything to do with Declan.

  No, he has to be okay. It’s just a trick. Wherever that explosion was, it wasn’t near Declan.

  He’s alive. He’s not dead.

  He can’t die.

  “Bring her along,” he tells the man behind me.

  That is when I start to fight in earnest. I kick, twist my body, and bite his fingers as best as I can, since his grip is still tight over my mouth.

  “Stop this,” Bowen growls, a gun appearing at the side of my head.

  I still, feeling the cool metal against my skin.

  “Don’t worry, my dear.” He grips my face again as my vision blurs from unshed tears while his grin grows. “You won’t be missed.” He then holds my cell up, clicking on my messages to show me messages sent from my phone. Ones I definitely didn’t send.

  One is to Cynthia, telling her I am not coming tonight, that I can’t be bothered with her drama, and though I hate Vanessa and absolutely did steal her bracelet to cause drama between them, I already know she can’t do any better than Vanessa.

  The next one is a group message to all of the guys. This one is much worse, telling them all about Artie, about his feelings for me, and making a joke about having bagged two of their group now.

  I feel sick about the words and understand Declan’s anger. He might know that doesn’t sound like me, but how else would anyone know about that? He told me he hadn’t admitted Artie’s feelings for me to anyone else. So, unless he went on an unlikely gossip session with everyone between Monday and now that I wasn’t aware of, then it is safe to say he must think I had a hand in that message.

  When I stop struggling, the hand over my mouth is removed, and I glare at Bowen.

  “How did you do this?” I demand, my voice sounding stronger.

  “I’ve been listening to you since you got back from the wedding and watching you even longer,” he admits.

  “How?”

  He shrugs calmly, his smile never leaving. “Listening devices, you stupid woman. Had them in your offices since you left for the wedding. My guys faked a blackout, and got in and out without anyone the wiser. We placed them in your homes even earlier. I knew one of your guard dogs was the one you set on Jordan; I just needed to know which one.”

  And he obviously heard Declan and I talking about that last week when he also mentioned Artie’s feelings to me.

  I’m furious that he’s been listening in on important, private conversations, but I’m also pissed that he’s been messing with me.

  “Why are you doing this? What have I done to you?”

  He drops my cell to the ground, stomping down on it until the screen is cracked and the device looks damaged beyond repair.

  “Get her in the limo,” Bowen instructs, speaking to the giant behind me.

  I don’t bother fighting. It’s pointless against so many, and I don’t want any of my neighbors to get hurt.

  I am dragged to the vehicle, and once the door is opened, I am then unceremoniously thrown inside, ass basically flying over my head as I have zero control over how I land.

  After being shoved upward and pushed into a seat, zip-ties are quickly placed over my wrists and ankles before my arms are lifted and I’m tied to the handle at the ceiling by the doorway. Bowen is sitting in the back with me, as well as three of his cronies.

  The windows are heavily tinted. I doubt anyone outside can see a thing inside this limo.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask again, my own voice now sounding defeated.

  “Why?” His smile finally leaves and a glower replaces it. “Because of what you did to my brother.”

  “Who?”

  “Jordan!” he roars. “I only found out I had a half-brother earlier this year. By then, he was already in a psych ward, his brain too damaged to ever return him to us. After you had Mr. Lockwood, someone my brother could never hope to defend himself from, on him to scare him, he turned to drugs. He dropped out of college and never recovered. A full-blown junkie within a year, and while high, he was hit by a car. They say it’s a miracle he’s alive, but he doesn’t even know his own name. He exists, but he doesn’t live. You did that.”

  “Are you for real?” I shriek, beyond scared and angry now. This is all because of that shit? “He was stalking me! He masturbated in my dorm room all over my clothes, my bed! He was following me around and—”

  “So that gave you the right to destroy him? To ruin his life?” Bowen bellows. Even his men beside him look fearful.

  “I told him to back off,” I defend, my voice sounding small in this even smaller cab as my fear begins to swallow my anger.

  “No, you set one of your boys on him. The day my brother laid eyes on you was the day his fate was sealed. His life was ruined because of you and that asshole you set on him, and I vowed to make your life a living hell.”

  “It was his choice to take drugs,” I argue, but all that gets me is Bowen charging forward, ripping my head toward him as my neck protests at the odd angle he forces.

  “He was pushed into it! He was humiliated! He was made to feel worthless when it is you who are worthless!”

  My ears ring from his shouts.

  “So what, now you just kill me and suddenly all is right in your world? Your brother is avenged and you’re happy?” I snap, aware that I might be provoking a terrifying, deadly criminal, but what am I going to lose? I’m clearly going to die either way.

  “He had a journal that he wrote in often. He started it when he was nine and wrote until the drugs started to kill his insides. He wrote about you; how much he loved you and poems he left for you that you ignored,” he spits out.

  The poem attached to the flowers clicks into place. Jordan wrote the same one for me in my dorm room over my mirror.

  “Then he wrote how your betrayal crushed him. He spoke of how you made him feel, and then, as he turned to drugs, he began to become paranoid. His friends abandoned him, his life began to fall apart, and he lost everything. Then, one day, he stepped in front of a moving car, and no one knows if it was an accident or on purpose. He had high levels of cocaine in his system, but they can’t be sure what was going through his mind when he stepped out onto that busy street.”

  “That isn’t my—”

  “It is your fault!” he roars, spit hitting my face. “And I was determined to do the same to you. To show you something you wanted, and then take it away. I researched you, your friends. Before the wedding, I placed those listening devices in your home, but I admit, Mr. Lockwood skated under my radar. My original plan had been to seduce you and alienate you from your friends, but when that plan fell through, I decided to implement my back-up plan and use him. So, I made him doubt you. I made him wonder if it wasn’t just you committing these acts, if it wasn’t you who was doing this to manipulate him. I had his home bugged, so I heard his confession that he was the one who hurt my brother.”

  “He didn’t lay a finger on him,” I deny.

  “He intimidated, embarrassed, and threatened him. That was enough!” Bowen cries.

  “So, he deserved to die?” I ask, choking on that last word.

  I
s Declan really dead?

  “Yes.” His one-word answer is decisive and without doubt or regret.

  Tears spill down my cheeks as I try to swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

  “Declan was a good man—”

  “He was useless. And now he’s nothing. He’s dead and soon to be forgotten. Just like you all forgot about my brother.”

  We drive over a bump in the road that makes my head knock against the window, made harsher since Bowen, who still has a hold of me, makes the collision more forceful, before we turn a sudden corner and my wrists pull at the restraints from this new angle.

  “So, everything was you?” I whisper, piecing together everything in my mind.

  “I wanted your relationship to sour. I wanted your friends to doubt you and abandon you. I wanted you to start doubting yourself. I admit, I had hoped for better results, but it doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, his grip tightening until I feel his nails cut into my skin.

  “Why doesn’t it matter?” I don’t know why, but I need him to say it out loud. I need him to admit he’s going to kill me. It won’t change anything, but at least I won’t have hope inside me that maybe he will let me go.

  However, he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he leans toward one of his men when the guy nods his head at Bowen to get his attention. After a quiet conversation that I hear nothing of, he turns his stern expression back to me.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “We are on our way to a private airbase,” he says somewhat calmly.

  “T-to go where?” My body is back to shaking, absolutely not wanting to go anywhere with Bowen.

  “We”—he indicates to himself and his men—“are going to New York.”

  “New York?”

  “It’s where my home base is. It’s where I have witnesses who will testify that I have been there this entire time, just in the off-chance Mr. Lockwood was able to communicate that I was here to anyone before he was killed.”

  My heart feels as though a knife cuts through it every time Declan’s death is confirmed.

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “That is where it gets a little more interesting.” He smiles grimly at me. “Did you know my brother technically died when he was hit by that car? He stopped breathing, and even though they were able to revive him, the oxygen was starved from his brain for too long.”

  I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, but before I can ask, he leans toward me, reaching down to circle my neck, squeezing so tightly that I can’t breathe.

  “So, let’s see how you fair after having your oxygen cut for the same amount of time,” he says steadily.

  I kick out with my bound legs, only to have one of his cronies hold them down. Then I simply stare into the crazed eyes of Bowen as his grip becomes unbearable.

  Is this truly the end for me? This is how I go out? Murdered by an insane man?

  I close my eyes as dots begin to appear, my body jolting and twitching without me even consciously doing it. My body is fighting for freedom, my lungs burning for oxygen, but I don’t have any illusion that it will help. I’m alone in here, surrounded by bad men who have no issue with murder, so I don’t just close my eyes because my vision is wavering and I’m crying uncontrollably.

  I close my eyes so I can see Declan in my mind’s eye.

  I think of everyone I love. I picture Zander and Joey arguing the merits of something they saw on the news. I think of Declan at the nursing home, interacting and smiling with all the residents. I think of Ava holding Jensen, and them smiling at each other. I think of Cynthia becoming flustered when that waitress at lunch gives her attention.

  I think of every moment I can that doesn’t involve Bowen. Through this moment I’m trapped in and this situation, I think of only goodness.

  If I’m going out this way, then at least my thoughts will be my own and on my terms.

  Then something jolts the limo, and our bodies swerve to the side, causing Bowen to loosen his grip as he struggles to remain where he is. Then we swerve again before another impact knocks us. And just as I’m gasping in air, we begin to roll.

  Glass smashes, my body crashes into the roof, into the side, into the cushioned bottom, and it continues. My wrists are still bound to the ceiling of the car while everyone else flies around. I’m still hit by my own body, as well as the others.

  Just when I wonder if we will ever stop this never-ending circle, the limo comes to a crash on its side, where it sounds like we are sliding now.

  I’m beyond confused, my body aches, and more tears blur my vision as I try to get a handle on what the hell is happening.

  Light filters from above where the smashed in windows face the street lights. It is enough for me to see the others are either unconscious, dead, or slow to move.

  Something sharp is digging into my thigh, and when I try to move, I find my hands are still bound to the handle. When I give it a little pull, it easily comes off the crumbled roof, leaving me free from the limo, but not from the restraints themselves.

  “Sasha! Sasha, are you okay?” a male voice screams from close by, and I dumbly glance around to see if I can see them, before looking up and finding a head blocking the view of the lights.

  I can’t see who it is, but when I see arms reaching down, I don’t hesitate to reach up. It could be someone wanting to hurt me, and I wouldn’t care. I just want out of this limo and away from Bowen and his men.

  Hands grip my forearms, and then I am painfully lifted up, my ribs protesting the entire way, while the man, who is looking exceptionally a lot like Declan, places his head between my trapped hands and uses this to leverage me and get me out while he wraps his arms around my waist.

  “Thank fuck,” a very much alive Declan sighs against me, and I can’t stop myself from crying tears of relief and happiness.

  “She okay?” Zander yells out from the side of the car.

  Once Declan has me out, he leans over and lowers me down, where new hands grip my hips. Then Declan moves his head out from between my arms, and as soon as I feel my feet on solid ground, he leaps down beside me, which is lucky since my left foot collapses under my weight.

  Sirens and flashing lights fast approach us while I’m held up by Declan, who holds me tightly against his body.

  “I thought … I …” I can’t say more, and since we are swarmed by police officers and firemen within moments, I don’t get to finish that thought.

  I am checked out by paramedics, along with one other of Bowen’s men. The other two, plus Bowen, are immediately taken to the hospital. The driver hasn’t moved, and I assume that is not good news for him.

  Zander, Declan, and Joey are all fast talking to police officers, and I am annoyingly answering questions about how many fingers I see in front of my face. Although, to be fair, I’m told I get that answer wrong.

  A suspected concussion, fractured ribs, a deep cut over my thigh that needs stitches, a broken ankle, plus a bunch of other less deep cuts and many bruises is my prognosis.

  I’m apparently lucky to be alive, which I definitely believe.

  After a short while, Cynthia finds her way over to me. Then, without alerting Zander, Declan, or Joey, who are still busy talking to the police, we are driven away to the nearest hospital. I still need scans to be sure nothing more serious is wrong with me. Plus, I have the joy of a leg cast to look forward to.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Cynthia asks, hesitantly holding my hand while I’m lying in the back of an ambulance.

  “Yeah.” I sigh, more than glad this is almost over. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you tonight. I never sent that message—”

  “I know. Ava called me once Zander got news of what was going on. They had Jerry hack into Bowen Pizor’s cell phone. I have no idea how Jerry was able to do it remotely, but he was able to turn on Bowen’s phone speaker. We heard the whole thing.”

  Relief courses through me, but it does little to ease my worry. “I’m still sor
ry. You didn’t deserve to have to read that crap, and—”

  “You don’t need to apologize for what that asshole did. You did nothing wrong. I promise, no one blames you.”

  I nod, not completely feeling settled, but still better than before.

  “How did it go with Vanessa?”

  “Surprisingly well. She seemed more relieved than anything. I guess she saw this coming. I didn’t get a chance to get my things before Ava called, but Joey already offered to help me tomorrow. I’m going to stay with him for a few days, just until your place is sorted, if that’s okay?”

  I nod, not sure I even want to stay at my place anymore. Although, I will definitely warn her about Joey and all surfaces in his house before I forget. She deserves that warning.

  “So, if Declan is okay, then what was that explosion we saw?”

  Cynthia laughs then.

  I’m so surprised that my mouth drops open a little, not sure anything in this entire night is laugh-worthy.

  Seeing my expression, she quickly sobers and rushes to explain herself.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just …” She chuckles again, seemingly unable to stop herself.

  I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from snapping at her to hurry up and explain what happened.

  “Yes?” I finally ground out.

  “Bowen Pizor blew up the office. We lost another one!” she finally says, and I’m so shocked that my mouth is hanging wide open now.

  “He … He blew up our office?”

  “Yep. The place was empty. Declan had been there, but he was out before it blew up. They obviously thought he was still inside.”

  “How is that funny?” I grumble, still not seeing the humor yet.

  Zander must be pissed …

  “That part isn’t. In fact, probably none of it is. Yet … Sasha, we lost another building! That has to be some sort of record, right?”

  I do crack a small smile at that, not that I really feel like smiling yet. Maybe I will see the funny side when I’m out searching for buildings willing to house a P.I. office that can’t seem to stop their buildings from crumbling.

  “You sure no one else was hurt? Bowen said … Maybe he placed bombs elsewhere in case I lied to him?” I worry my lip, then stop when I find it sore.