by Ashlee Price
I swear I’ll do everything I can to save her.
Chapter Twenty
Ingrid
When I force my heavy eyelids open, the first thing I see is a crack on the concrete wall across from me.
As my vision clears, I see other cracks, as well as windows without glass panes and a glimpse of the night sky beyond them. An electric lantern stands on a stool in a corner, shedding light on dusty floor tiles. A rat silently scurries across them.
Where am I? And what am I doing here?
The silhouette of a tall, broad-chested man with large arms shadowing one of the windows jolts my memory.
Right. One such man came to my apartment, and he…
I panic as the realization sinks in, but the moment I try to run I realize that my wrists are tied above my head by a half-inch-thick rope that hangs from a steel bar sticking out of the ceiling and is just long enough so the soles of my feet can touch the floor.
No way.
I tug at the rope but to no use. It’s knotted firmly around my wrists, digging into my skin as I struggle while the other end clings to the bar, trapped between two notches.
I struggle anyway, ending up swaying to and fro.
A chuckle from behind me interrupts my attempts. I turn my head, and my heart stops as I see Damien Shore walking towards me with more of his goons.
“You?” I spit out, glaring at him as he passes by me even as fear creeps up my straight spine.
“I see you know me even though we haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Of course I do,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re the child-molesting scumbag who wormed his way out of prison.”
He gives another chuckle. “It seems my reputation precedes me, huh?”
His expression turns serious as he stops a few feet across from me and takes a puff of his cigarette.
“I know you, too. Ingrid Halfield, am I right?”
I don’t answer.
“You used to work for The Dallas Times. Now, you work for that pathetic excuse for a paper, The Colorado Chronicler.”
My jaw clenches. How dare he insult my hard work?
He takes another puff. “You know what else I know? That you have a daughter.”
I freeze, my eyes popping out of their sockets.
No.
“She’s still a little too young, but in time, she might make a good addition to my collection,” he says.
Anger fills my chest and my hands clench into fists above me. I tug at the ropes harder and the hemp cuts into my skin.
“Don’t you dare lay a filthy finger on my daughter,” I growl.
“My, my, you really do enjoy pain, don’t you?” Damien gives a mischievous grin, ignoring my threat. “Eric told me you did.”
Eric?
“You know, the owner of The Weeping Rose.”
My eyebrows shoot up. What?
“He’s a good friend of mine. After all, our interests run along the same lines—whips, cuffs…He’s even more strict with the rules, though. Why, he’d beat the life out of anyone who disobeyed them.”
“You sent us there,” I voice my suspicion out loud.
“Correct.” Damien claps his hands. “As expected from a talented journalist.”
I take no pleasure from the compliment, though I’m grateful for it, since it reminds me of the recorder chip I have hidden in my watch.
“Byline,” I say to activate it.
“What did you say?” Damien throws me a puzzled look.
“Why did you send us to The Weeping Rose?” I ask him.
“Because I thought he’d kill you for me,” he answers without pause, taking a final puff from his cigarette before tossing it to the floor and crushing it beneath his leather shoe. “I thought you would rather die than play his games, but boy, was I wrong.”
He sits on a chair, crossing his legs.
“That wasn’t the first time I tried to kill you, either. I tried to burn you alive, but that didn’t work, either.”
My jaw drops. “You burned down Mr. Murrow’s house?”
“It was crumbling anyway. I did the old man a favor.”
“Why, you fucking…”
“Of course, that was when I was still bent on trying to kill people and making it look like an accident.” He hooks his arms around the back of the chair, letting them dangle. “Did you know I was also the one who arranged Ed’s accident?”
A pang of sorrow stabs my chest.
Ed.
“But then I changed my mind. I thought, why go through all the trouble of making them look like accidents. It’s more fun to just make it look like murder and blame it on someone else.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I had a lot of time to think, you know, in prison. It really gives one plenty of opportunities to reflect. I have Conner Blake to thank for that.”
Hearing Conner’s name from his lips for the first time sends a mix of emotions through me—fear, anger, hatred… love.
“I thought ‘What do some of the people I most want dead have in common?’ and I realized they all liked to write, so I had my good friend, Paul Newton—”
“Paul Newton?”
“—arrange for the three of them to be in a competition where they’d all be going after the same job. After all, there’s no more believable excuse for murder than money. Apart from passion, that is.”
“You arranged that job offer?”
He leans forward in the chair. “What can I say? I like pulling strings.”
Unbelievable. He went through all that trouble?
“But you said three. There are four of us,” I point out.
“Now, that’s the funny part.” He stands up. “You were an extra. You were supposed to be there just to confuse everyone and lend the whole scheme a touch of authenticity. But then I realized something. You’re not that innocent, are you?”
My eyebrows crease. What exactly did he find out?
“I found out that you’re Conner Blake’s girlfriend,” he answers my unspoken question.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I argue.
He ignores me. “And more importantly from my point of view, that you were him that night he took the pictures that sent me to prison. Am I right?”
I say nothing.
“Even then, you already liked this sort of thing.” He walks over to me, running his fingers along the rope above me. “Although I seem to remember you preferred cuffs. I prefer rope. It’s more versatile. You can do so many things with it.”
He grips my chin. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll show you some of those things.”
I wrench my chin away, fighting the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as I try to clear my mind.
What were we talking about again?
“You put us all together so you could pick us off one by one and blame the murders on someone else?” I ask.
“That was initially my plan, yes. One of you dies and another is the suspect. Then that person dies. You get the trend. It’s like The Hunger Games, except there’s no victor. Oh wait, there is—me.”
“I understand why you want to kill me and Conner, but what about Tiffany and Ed? What did they ever do to you?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He steps back, giving me an ounce of relief. “Tiffany hurt my pride once. Oh, and she kicked me, too.”
“Serves you right,” I mutter under my breath.
“She’s feistier than she looks, that one, but not much smarter. And Ed? There was a story he wrote that he shouldn’t have written. Nothing to do with this”—he gestures at the rope—“but it ruined a business deal for me, you know, cost me a lot of money.”
“So you killed Ed?”
I try to fight the wave of disgust I feel at remembering the sight of Ed’s corpse.
“I did,” Damien admits shamelessly. “Did you like it? I believe you saw what I did to him.”
“Why, you…”
“By that time, I had decided I’d blame the murde
rs on Conner, since he’s the one I hate the most. I sent Ed to that ski resort when you were there. I knew their paths would cross and they’d have an argument of some sort.”
“But they didn’t,” I tell him. “Conner wasn’t suspected of Ed’s murder. You failed.”
“Yes.” He turns his back to me, clasping his hands behind him. “I didn’t anticipate that, nor did I anticipate the fact that both of you would have other company.”
“You failed,” I repeat.
“It was frustrating, I admit. Then again, that’s still one down. Bonus points for the fact that it gave you and Conner a scare.”
My temper simmers anew. How dare he play with us like that?
“After all, it was so much fun seeing that scared look on Conner’s face in Dallas.”
My eyebrows arch. “You met in Dallas?”
“Didn’t he tell you? Didn’t Tiffany tell you? She was the one who introduced us. Now, that wasn’t planned, but it sure was good, because I scared the shit out of him without really trying. Let me think.” He touches his chin. “I think it was about the time I mentioned you that he started going pale. He was so scared at the thought of losing you. Frankly, that confirmed my intel that he had feelings for you.”
Just then, something sinks in.
Dallas. He wanted to leave me after that, and I thought it was because of Tiffany, but I was wrong. It wasn’t because of Tiffany. It was because of Damien Shore.
I stare at the man in front of me.
He threatened to hurt me, and Conner probably thought I was safer not being by his side. He couldn’t have known that Damien Shore already intended to hurt me.
Conner was trying to protect me. He does love me.
That realization causes a burst of joy in my chest, which quickly diminishes when the next realization sinks in.
I got mad at Conner for no reason. I pushed him away.
Stupid.
No. It’s not my fault. It’s Damien’s.
“Speaking of Tiffany, she was supposed to be dead by now, but by some miracle she survived.”
I snort. “Another failure.”
“It’s Margot’s fault, but she’s already been dealt with.”
“Margot?”
Damien chuckles. “Haven’t you heard? I’m engaged. At least I was.”
He places his hands on his hips as he continues. “Tiffany was supposed to die in Conner’s arms as he desperately tried to save her. Then her blood would be all over him and he’d be pinned as the murderer, especially when information came out that they were lovers. He’d end up in prison, and my new friends there would have made him suffer.”
My chest boils, but I try to hang on to my composure.
“It doesn’t matter.” Damien shrugs. “It’ll be easy enough to kill her after I’m done with you and Conner. He’s on his way here now, you know, thinking he can save you.”
My anger fades. Conner’s coming?
At first, that bit of information gives me relief, hope. But then I see the grin on Damien’s face and the monsters with him and my heart sinks to my feet. A shiver goes up my spine.
No. Conner can’t come here. He’ll die.
The thought of losing him tears my chest apart.
“What’s with that look? Now you look pale as a ghost. Do you care for Conner that much? No, wait. I know that look. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
I answer with a glare.
“I’ll take that as a yes. And based on Conner’s response earlier, I believe he feels the same.” He rubs his hands together. “Boy, this is getting very interesting. I can’t wait for him to arrive.”
“Are you going to kill us both?”
“Of course.” His answer makes my sweat run cold. “It’s only a matter of who I kill first. After all, it’s more painful to watch the person you love die. Something like that can break you. And if it doesn’t, I surely will.”
Damien walks towards me again, the grin on his face making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
He reaches out to touch me but stops at the sound of approaching footsteps.
I glance behind me in their direction.
Conner?
He comes out of the shadows with one of Damien’s men pointing a gun at his head, half his face swollen.
Blood drains from mine.
“Ah. Conner Blake.” Damien turns to him. “How nice of you to join us.” His brow furrows. “But what happened to his face?”
The man with the gun shrugs.
Damien frowns, hands on his hips. “I thought I said I’d be the one to make him suffer.”
“Sorry, boss,” the man mutters.
“Oh, never mind.” Damien places his hand on his forehead. “I can make him suffer more.”
“I’m here now,” Conner tells him. “Let her go.”
“That’s funny.” Damien rubs his chin. “I don’t recall making that promise.”
“Bastard!” Conner grits his teeth. “Let Ingrid go.”
Damien waves a finger at him. “Didn’t I tell you that you’re in no position to make demands?”
“You said…”
“I said I’d let her live, not let her go. Big difference.” Damien stands beside me. “I guess that answers my dilemma. Conner dies first. You’ll watch him die. But not before I make him suffer, watching what I do to you.”
Damien pulls a knife out of his pocket and I tense. He stands behind me, holding the blade to my throat. I close my eyes.
“Damien!” Conner shouts, his voice holding both a plea and a warning.
Damien chuckles, and the cold blade of the knife departs from my skin. I open my eyes just in time to see him rip the front of my shirt with it.
“Damien!”
Conner tries to run to me, but the man behind him blocks him, pressing the barrel of the gun to his forehead.
“Try anything funny and I’ll blow your brains out.”
“Go ahead, then,” Conner tells him. “Kill me.”
My insides coil. No.
“Stand down, Jim,” Damien orders. “I do the killing around here.”
He glances at another goon. “Tie him up.”
The man obeys, heading to the pile of rope in the corner. As he picks it up, a red dot appears on his back and my eyes grow wide.
Isn’t that…?
“Freeze!” a cop shouts.
I don’t know how the cops got here, but I don’t care. Relief floods through me.
We’re saved.
Chapter Twenty-One
Conner
“Don’t move or we’ll shoot!” another cop shouts.
From the corner of my eye, I try to count them. One, two, three…
“Well, well,” Damien interrupts my count. “Look who we have here. Gatecrashers to my party? What, you want to watch the show, too?”
He rips Ingrid’s shirt off, leaving her black bra in full view. She gasps.
Fear and anger rise to my throat. My fists clench, along with every muscle in my body.
I swear I’m going to kill him.
“We said don’t move!” the cop repeats. “Or…”
“I know, I know. You’ll shoot.” Damien puts his hands up. “And so will we.”
At his command, his men draw their guns, the man beside me pointing his gun away to direct it at the policemen.
I grab his wrist and bury my knee in his stomach. His gun clatters to the floor.
As the cops fire, a bullet sends him falling.
Picking up his gun, I run towards Damien amid the exchange of bullets, but he’s already running off with a struggling Ingrid over his shoulder, having cut her rope with his knife.
I follow them up the stairs.
“Damien!”
He puts Ingrid down, holding her in front of him. She continues to struggle, but stops when Damien holds his knife to her throat.
“Put the gun down or she dies,” he threatens.
I hesitate.
His knife draws blood and I
ngrid gasps.
“Stop!” I tell him, putting my hands up in surrender.
“Put the gun down,” Damien repeats.
I obey.
“Kick it over here,” he orders.
I do it, but I kick it too hard on purpose, so that it slips past him.
Glancing at it, Damien grits his teeth. Then he grabs one of Ingrid’s breasts.
“No!” I shout, despair gnawing at me. “Your fight is against me, Damien. Not her. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Is that right?”
“Let her go. I’ll do anything. Just let her go. Please.”
For a moment, Damien falls silent. Then he laughs.
“Conner Blake begging? Well, this look is even better than your terrified look.”
“Let her go,” I repeat.
I don’t care if I have to go on my knees. I’ll do anything as long as Damien releases Ingrid.
“Well, it is you I want dead,” Damien thinks out loud, eyes to the ceiling.
“Then take me instead,” I tell him. “Kill me instead. Let Ingrid go.”
I take a step closer, eyeing the gun behind him.
Downstairs, I can still hear guns firing. As long as that fight is going on, I have a chance to take Damien down.
Damien pauses to consider my offer.
“No!” Ingrid shouts, shaking her head as her eyes plead with me. “I’m not leaving here without you. I’m not living without you.”
“Oh, how romantic,” Damien says. “Maybe I’ll just kill you both.”
“No!” I shout, taking another step forward. “Let her go.”
“You think he’s the one who put you in prison?” Ingrid asks.
My brow furrows. What is she doing?
“What a fool you are,” she tells him. “I’m the one who took those pictures.”
“What?” Damien’s eyes grow wide.
While he’s distracted, I move closer.
“I’m the one who put you in prison, Damien Shore,” Ingrid says. “You said so yourself. I was there that night. And not only that, I was the one with the camera. I would have published those photos myself if Conner hadn’t stolen them.”
Damien’s jaw drops. Then he laughs.
As he does, his grip loosens and Ingrid bites his hand. The knife falls.
“You bitch!”