“Where did he send the girl? Who did he auction her off to?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t.”
“You didn’t get to him on your own. Who sent you to him before you became a free agent? Who was your pimp?”
She licked her lips. “I saw him a lot when I was still turning tricks for Nikki…” She swallowed a lump in her throat, clearly shaken at naming the island’s top madame. A madame who’d been skirting indictment with the police for nearly a decade, claiming her call girls weren’t having sex but simply having innocent, consensual “meetings” with the powerful men on her client list. “She’d set up the meet, and he’d fly me out.”
Any other day, Linc would’ve been salivating at a hooker standing before him, naming Madame Nikki for what she truly was. A pimp.
But everything was different now. Now, he was gone. In a place so far removed, he wondered if he was floating, watching that entire exchange go down from a dark cloud in the ceiling. Now, he didn’t even blink when Ruby, a woman who could take Nikki—and her entire business—down with one testimony, barreled passed him. He didn’t flinch when a jingle filled the air as she struggled to undo the chain lock from its holder. He didn’t even look when the deadbolt clicked and the door hit the wall due to how violently she’d thrown it open.
All he could think…
All he could fathom…
All he could breathe.
Was finding out who the hell “Gleb” was, and making him pay with his life.
16
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackwater.”
Celeste’s green eyes, wide as saucers—went even wider at the voice that greeted her upon entering the Blackwater’s white stone mansion later that day. She froze in the doorway as if she’d just seen a ghost, but when she locked eyes with Irma, a member of the family’s staff who was in the midst of dusting the vase of roses on the circular wood table in the middle of the expansive foyer, Celeste relaxed.
After spending all morning at the police precinct, being interrogated by the most unpleasant people she’d ever had the displeasure of being locked in a room with, Celeste was exhausted. The FBI was questioning everyone who had a connection to Blackwater Cruises, and considering what had allegedly been found at the bottom of the ship bearing her name, she couldn’t blame them for doing their jobs so passionately. Regardless, it hadn’t made the experience any less tedious. Add in the fact that she still had no idea where her son was—if he was even alive—and Celeste was nothing but a ball of nerves—rattled by any unexpected occurrence—even the warm voice and welcoming smile of her family’s most beloved maid.
“Irma,” she breathed, closing the front door behind her, her voice but a breathy whisper. “Good morning.”
“Can I get you anything?” Irma asked, taking a break from her cleaning and holding the feather duster in front of her plump belly, her Spanish accent ever present. “Something to eat? Something to drink?”
“No…” Celeste held out a hand. A hand that hadn’t stopped trembling since the night she and Gage had escaped the gun-toting lunatic who’d been out to kill them, days earlier. A hand that had been trembling since the moment she’d put Gage in the family’s old BMW, given him twenty grand from the vault, and handed over a written map to the only place in the world she knew he’d be safe. A hand that, from her vantage point at the front of the door, she noticed was just as white as the roses shooting out of the vase on the foyer table. She felt her cheeks heating up and imagined they must perfectly match the red roses that were mixed in with the white ones. She covered the belly of her form fitting purple dress, wondering if she’d ever be able to hold food down again. “No, Irma, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Irma pressed her lips together, her eyes saying everything she wouldn’t dare—she watched the news just like anyone else—before she went back to the vase and continued her morning duties.
Celeste’s slim body swayed in her dress as she made her way through the foyer, black stilettos clicking against the marble floors as she approached the grand staircase. Every step she took up the stairs trembled as a new vision of Gage flashed through her mind. The vision of him being alone. Lost. Maybe even hurt. Since the day he’d gone, she’d dreaded every ring of her phone, terrified what news might await her on the other end of the line.
As she made it to the top of the stairs, her hand was still over her stomach, feeling sicker by the moment. Once she made it to her bedroom, hot tears had filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She’d turned off the bedroom lights before she’d left that morning, leaving the room, which had been decorated in whites, golds, and deep purples, nearly pitch black, save for the hint of afternoon sun whispering through the small crack in the gold curtains.
She didn’t bother turning the lights on and was halfway across the white marble floors of the master bedroom before she kicked off her heels and began toward the master bath, desperate for a tissue to wipe the tears. Tears that had surely caught onto her black mascara and were seconds from falling down her cheeks and leaving black streaks on her face.
Just as she reached the bathroom door, however, the dark room became awash with light, clarifying her blurry vision and nearly blinding her as her irises struggled to adjust to the sudden illumination.
With a gasp, Celeste swiveled on her heel, her moistened eyes flying across the room and landing on the king-sized bed. So startled by the sudden light, she’d turned on her heel so fast the tears flew out of her eyes, instantly crystalizing her previously hazy vision.
Her clutch bag tumbled from her hands and landed on the floor with a thud.
David Blackwater, dressed in the same rumpled black business suit he’d been wearing when the FBI had accosted him at the airport, days earlier, set the remote control he’d just used to turn on the lights down beside him, at the foot of the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he leaned forward on his knees, his gray eyes slicing Celeste so deep she could almost feel them cutting her across the throat like a razor blade.
One hand over her heart, sucking in a sharp breath, Celeste bent down and quickly swept up the clutch bag she’d dropped, shaking her long black hair away from her face.
“Heavens, you scared me half to death.” She took a moment to dredge up a smile from the muddy pit in her stomach and succeeded. She felt that smile shaking, however, but hoped he couldn’t see it. “Sweetheart, I thought you weren’t being released for another couple of hours.”
David dropped his head with a soft chuckle, digging his fingers into his white hair, which was in almost in as much disarray as his suit. He kept his head down.
Celeste swallowed thickly while taking a small step forward, the smile on her face more difficult to maintain by the second, fighting to control her voice when it threatened to shake. “Why—Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve picked you up from the police station. Is—Is my father with you—?”
“Where is he?” David looked up, removing his hands from his hair and clasping them in front of his body. He cracked each knuckle, one after the other, slowly.
Each crack filled the air like a firecracker, feeling so loud and powerful Celeste worried it might split the marble floors. Her stomach rolled, heart skipping several beats until she was sure it might stop completely. Her tongue wet her lips as they went dry, eyes blinking rapidly as she thought of Gage.
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I—” Her voice broke. “I don’t…”
She couldn’t speak.
David blinked slowly, calmly, the tip of his own tongue darting out to lick a pair of ashen white lips that looked like they hadn’t been moisturized in weeks.
“BMW’s gone.” He kept his voice low and slow. “I can only assume you chose it because you believed I wouldn’t notice, considering it’s been locked in a shed out back, untouched, for nearly five years. Twenty grand, missing from the safe.”
She tried to swallow the second lump that climbed up her throat, but that one refused to move, sealing it shut and making he
r every breath come haggard. All she could do was shake her head, softly, over and over.
David held his hands out. “I have the plate number. I’ll find him regardless. So don’t make it harder for me. You know how I get when you make things harder for me unnecessarily, Celeste.”
She pressed her lips together.
Silence.
David stood.
Her nostrils flared in a gasp, and she took a healthy step back. The moment she took that step, however, her eyes fell closed. She begged for courage before opening her eyes once more, feeling how wide they were as they considered him across the room.
Still standing at the foot of the bed, David sank his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath, and then began a slow stroll toward her, across the expansive room, his bare feet pattering against the floors, icy eyes never leaving hers.
Celeste steeled herself.
He lifted his head once he was within a foot of her, his eyes searching her face. “Where is he?”
She held his gaze, breathing, “I don’t know.”
“Where is he, Celeste?”
No matter how hard she worked to maintain a soft smile, her trembling lips caved in and curled. “I don’t know.”
He sniffled sharply before looking away from her, off toward the closed curtains, running a hand over his downturned lips. Then, he nodded, reared back, and caught her cheek in a backhand.
The hit caused her head to snap to the side, so violently it nearly cracked her neck in half, and a white-hot pain seared her jaw as she flew back. Her clutch went soaring, hitting the floor a few feet away as the strike sent her stumbling, slamming into the wall behind her, her knees instantly buckling underneath her until she was slowly sinking to the ground.
David’s hand was around her neck before she made it to the ground, however, squeezing hard and cutting off her airway, using his fierce hold on her esophagus to bring her back up to her unsteady feet.
The black tears falling from her eyes dripped down her cheeks, under her chin, and along her neck, getting trapped in the valley between his thumb and forefinger as he tightened his hold on her throat.
Celeste gasped in each breath through pursed lips, feeling the hot veins blazing across her eyeballs like red lightning when each breath came a little shorter than the last. David tightened his hold even more, causing her to croak.
He spoke over her even as the sound of her chokes reverberated all over the room, teeth clenched. “What did you tell the police?”
Gagging, cheeks beet red with every moment her breath was stolen from her, Celeste clapped both her hands on his wrists, digging her nails into his skin, silently pleading for air. When he didn’t relent, she attempted to speak, which only made her neglected lungs burn even more. Realizing she couldn’t speak, she shook her head rapidly instead, feeling like her eyes were seconds from popping right out of her skull, the pressure so intense she wouldn’t be surprised if her head exploded altogether.
His face went beet red as well, as if he were the one with his neck locked in a death grip. He moved in closer, until the tips of their noses were brushing, the hot air from his mouth hitting her lips, sneaking past her clenched teeth until she was sure she could taste his breath. His eyes went hot with rage.
“I gave you everything,” he spat, drawing in a deep breath for every one he stole from her, appearing to enjoy the sight of the life slowly leaving her. “I dug you out of that pile-of-shit house in that pile-of-shit town and gave you everything! You were nothing before I chose you and this is how you repay me?”
Tears plummeted from her burning eyes as she pressed her lips together. Then, her eyes fell shut, even as his whispered voice continued to float in.
“I loved you, Celeste. I loved our son.”
She opened her eyes once more and saw that his own gray orbs had filled with tears, too. That his face had calmed, even as his grip remained unapologetically brutal. Even as her croaks began to die down, signaling she was close to death.
“I loved you both.” His glistening eyes softened in hers, disappointment staining his words. “I really did.”
Then, with one last, vigorous squeeze of her neck, David threw her to the ground like trash.
Celeste crumpled into a gasping heap on the floor, shaking wildly, heaving so loudly she sounded on the verge of death, even as she took her first breath in minutes. She dug her nails into the floors as she slowly regained her grip on vitality, watching from the corners of her heated eyes as David bent down and seized her clutch bag from the floor. The clutch that had her entire life inside it—her cell phone, her car keys, and all of her money. If she weren’t already gasping for every precious breath, a stunned gasp would’ve left her lungs right then because the flash of deja vu that washed over her like a tidal wave nearly stopped her heart.
Even though her limbs felt like Jell-O, she managed to reach out and seize the arm he’d just used to grab her bag.
“Please,” she begged, looking up at him. “If you love our son like you say, then please don’t—” She gasped when David snatched his arm from her grasp, causing her to crumple into a heap once more, her bones still too weak to do much else but scream. “Please don’t hurt him, David. Leave him. Leave him alone!”
Knowing what was coming as he stomped away, with her bag in hand, every bone in her body begged to get up and race after David as he moved toward the door, but her body had been too neglected. Her bones still too weak to even stand up, let alone chase after him. She slapped the palms of her hands on the floor as she watched his retreating figure, but couldn’t even push herself up.
“No,” she begged, her voice a weak whisper. She doubted he’d even heard her, but still she called out. “Please… don’t.”
Not again, her mind cried.
Opening the door of the bedroom, David faced her with her bag hanging at his side. “I hoped you’d never make me do this to you again, Celeste, but I suppose the foolish little girl in you is still alive and well…”
“No…” A tear spilled down her cheeks.
The tears made him blur in her vision, but his voice was crystal clear. “When you’re ready to tell me where he is, let me know.”
“No!” Each breath giving her a little more strength than the last, Celeste finally managed to stand and race across the room, tripping over her own feet in her haste to get to the door.
But she wasn’t fast enough, making it to the door only after David had already stepped out into the hallway and slammed it shut behind him. The click of the lock rang out from the other side of the door just as she threw her body against it, jiggling the handle furiously, feeling twelve-years-old all over again when the handle resisted her pull.
Clawing at the white wood, she sank to her knees once more. When they hit the floor, some part of her wanted to stay down. Some part of her had no fight left. Still, another part won over. Still heaving, she stumbled back up to her feet and hurried across the room to the balcony doors.
Locked.
She zoomed into the bathroom where there was a small window above the bathtub.
Locked.
She’d learned long ago, at twelve-years-old, that the glass would be too thick to break. That he’d purposely built it that way. Gasping, and teeth bared, she jetted across the bedroom again, returning to the main door once more, desperately jiggling the locked handle with one hand while pounding on the door with the other. She screamed the name of every member of the house staff she could remember in her terrified, muddy brain. She screamed Irma’s name the loudest, knowing she’d just seen her downstairs in the foyer.
But, just like when she was twelve, Celeste was met with nothing but silence. A silence that screamed the bone-chilling truth about who the workers’ allegiance really belonged to.
Just like when she was twelve, she was alone.
Caged in.
Trapped.
17
Later that night in Abilene, Kansas, a small town over 1500 miles away from Shadow Rock, Gage sat
on the edge of a lime green floral bedspread with nothing but a white towel around his waist. The motel room—with its dim lighting, 80’s decorations, and polyester bedding—wasn’t exactly The Ritz, but it was the only motel in Kansas willing to sell him a room with no I.D. or credit card. Regardless how shoddy the accommodations, and the faint smell of mold attacking his nose, that was good enough for Gage.
The motel was just off the freeway, with constant traffic noise floating in from outside, but he knew he’d still sleep like a baby. The drive from Shadow Rock to his mother’s cottage in Connecticut was proving a draining one. Even though he was anxious to get to her safe house as quickly as possible, after nearly falling asleep at the wheel of his BMW, Gage had been forced to call it a night. For his sake, and everyone else on the road.
The clerk at the motel’s main desk had been utterly unimpressed by him, more irritated that he’d interrupted her episode of Grey’s Anatomy than the fact that he had no ID. She’d snatched his money and cut him a keycard without even looking him in the eye. All while reminding him that room service would be available at six a.m. and he was expected to have his ass out by noon to avoid being charged double. He’d been thankful for the abysmal customer service. It meant the clerk wouldn’t recognize his face if someone walked in with his photo in their hand, asking if she’d seen him. More than likely someone with a gun in their back pocket.
A chill went down his spine as his eyes moved to the closed window in the corner of the room. The window looked out into the motel parking lot, where his BMW was parked just outside. The window curtains were adorned with the same horrific lime green floral print as the itchy bedspread he sat on.
With the memory of the gun toting maniac who’d been in his home just a few days earlier burned into his brain for eternity, Gage had gone out of his way to steer clear of that window from the moment he’d walked into that motel room with nothing but the clothes on his back. Clothes that, after driving halfway across the country, had reeked of dirt and sweat. After giving them a good scrub in the motel’s moldy bathtub, using their cheap shampoo, he’d hung them to dry in the closet.
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