“I handled everything about it, from the very start. Armando chose them. I made sure they arrived safe and sound,” I breathe before closing my eyes and running my hand down my face. “How in the hell did we miss this?”
“Didn’t she recognize him when she saw him?” Sneak asks, leaning forward in his chair. I shake my head.
“She never met him. The raid started less than an hour after his arrival, and he wasn’t set to meet her until later that night,” I explain, feeling grateful but more desperate than ever. Penny has told me about Miguel, and while she never went into too much detail, I didn’t need to guess to know what kind of man he is. Knowing who he is in the light of this new information, her chances of survival have dwindled. If there was one thing Penny was clear about when it came to Miguel, it was that he absolutely hated her. “What else do we know?”
“My contact thinks they’re closing in one him, and if his research is right, Charles is in our own backyard.” He taps another button on my keyboard, and a map of the city fills the screen.
“There’s no way. He wouldn’t have stuck around here. It’d be too risky,” I say, feeling sure of myself. Charles isn’t stupid. He’d put as much distance as he could between this place and himself as fast was humanly possible.
“Unless he was unable to physically run.” Rafe clicks another button, and a new photo comes up. It’s of Charles and Mirabelle, dated a week before Penny and I came home from the visit with my family.
What the fuck?
“How did they know where to find me?”
“My guess would be the mole hiding information about him.” Rafe zooms in on the photo, and I study every detail about it, committing the image to memory. “But that’s something the FBI needs to sort, and from what I’ve been told, a full investigation has been ordered.”
Charles is on a motorized scooter, and his right leg appears twisted. Was he injured in the blast? He looks thinner, his face gaunt and sunken in. Though the picture is grainy, he doesn’t look well. Maybe Rafe is right. An injury this severe would keep him closer than I would have originally guessed. But then again, maybe he was counting on me to make that assumption.
Following close behind Charles in the photo is Mirabelle, the not so vibrant she-devil I recall. Her head is down, and her hands are clasped in front of her. What the fuck? She’s thinner, too, and her red hair appears darker in the black and white photo, and shorter. Even the way she is dressed is different. Instead of brazen and sexy, it’s more reserved.
“Mirabelle Johnston, known as Cassandra Guiterriz, or Cassie for short—”
“Who?” I frown looking up at him.
“Mirabelle was kidnapped at age nine, nearly fourteen years ago. She and her family were on vacation,” he murmurs, painting a clear picture and silencing the room. “Parents turned their heads for one second, and she was gone. All these years later, they’ve never given up looking for her.”
“This is confirmed?”
“Yes, the prints gathered in Vegas belonging to Mirabelle matched the ones Cassie’s parents provided when their daughter went missing.”
“Have they been contacted?” King asks, moving closer to the laptop we’re all carefully studying. Rafe looks at me, his answer unnecessary to me.
“The daughter they’ve been searching for no longer exists.” I give the only answer there is. “We have no way of assessing her state of mind. She could be a loose cannon.”
“They deserve to know she’s alive. Dizzy, she’s a victim in all of this as much as Penny is,” King counters. As a father, I know what’s he fighting for, but he doesn’t know the person Cassie has become. He doesn’t know the darkness she’s lived. His intentions are good, but they are misplaced at the moment. I point at the computer screen, back to the photo of the two of them. “She was a child, Dizzy.”
“Look at them, King. When I was moving up in the ranks, there were rumors about these two. Rumors that she came to him at a young age. Rumors that he groomed her into the monster I know her to be.” I pause a moment, swallowing down the pity rising in my throat. Pity for Mirabelle and the life stolen from her. “Telling her parents now, before we know her mental state, is cruel. If she’s reverted to the woman she was before finding a twisted freedom with Brock, she’s going to need a lot of help, but I’ve seen the darkness in her. It’s far from quiet, even as Charles’ puppet.”
“Wait, she was Brock’s wife? The woman who—” Rafe blurts, keeping King from arguing with me. I know it’s fucked up, but it’s the truth.
“I saved Penny from her the first night,” I finish. “Yes, that’s her. She was Charles’ plaything for years, and when Brock came along, he allowed them to marry.”
“Diz, man, I know you’re worried, but I’ve got my guys combing through every deed to every piece of propery in and around town. If they find anything, we’ll be thier first call.” I know he’s trying to keep me calm, but it’s an impossible feat.
“There has to be something more we can do,” I grunt, trying to ignore the fear mounting in my gut. He might think he knows what Mirabelle and Charles are about, but he honestly has no clue. None of them do. “I can’t sit here and twiddle my thumbs while she’s out there.”
“Diz—” King interjects, but when the tables were turned and it was Missy missing, he didn’t stop until every stone had been turned and every lead followed.
“No, I can’t. I need to be out there. I need to find her.” I walk out of the room and finally out of the building. My truck is only a few feet away, but the urge I felt moments ago fades as reality crashes down around me.
I look around, unsure of where to start but desperate to go. Looking up at the sky, I hope I get the chance to tell her how I feel and what she means to me.
It isn’t long before I turn around and head back inside. It’s foolish to think I can do this on my own, besides I need to be here incase some information comes in.
Chapter 45
Mirabelle
The walk upstairs is long and torturous. It feels like everything around me is running in slow motion. Each step is painstaking, filling my body with nervous anticipation, but I don’t stop. The only sound filling my ears is the wheeze of air entering and exiting my lungs. It’s like the chugging of a steam locomotive quickening and gaining speed as it goes. Much like the beat of my heart.
Her words skitter across my mind, over and over, until I’m standing on the other side of his door. I know what I must do. My task is clear.
My body shifts into autopilot, and it begins.
He doesn’t stir at the sound of the door opening and closing, or the soft tread of my feet carrying me across the room. He doesn’t hear the soft beep of the six-digit code when I enter it into the gun safe. He’s oblivious to it all, and I use it to my advantage.
It isn’t until I’m hovering over him with the gun pointed down at him that he senses there is danger swirling around him, and he wakes.
He blinks trying to focus on me, but his age shows as it takes a beat too long. I can’t help feeling a surge of strength fill my body as I gain a further upper hand over this poor excuse of a man.
“Bella?” he croaks, and I see the moment his eyes and his brain connect. His focus is solely on the cold metal barrel pointed directly at him. He freezes in his spot on the bed. “What’s going on?”
“Tell me I’m a good girl,” I whisper, placing the gun against his temple. A rush of adrenaline races through my veins when he flinches from the cold steel touching his skin. I’ve only ever dreamt of this moment, and while I should be nervous, I’m not.
He swallows hard, nearly choking on his on spit.
“Tell me,” I screech, feeling the sudden high of power. Power over him. Power over his fear of me. He has no idea the monster he’s created inside of me. He should be scared.
“You’re a good girl,” he mumbles.
“Tell me I’m your good girl,” I laugh, holding myself back from dancing on the balls of my feet. This is fucking fun. Why didn’t I do thi
s years ago?
“Pet—” he starts, but I press the barrel harder into his skin, cutting him off. The smile on my face falls.
“No, you don’t get to call me that anymore,” I inform him with a dead calm taking over my body now. “You never get to call me that again.”
“Please…” he begs, his eyes searching for me in the dark room. “Belle, my sweet girl, don’t do this.”
“Do you know I’m like you?” I laugh maniacally. “Of course, you know. Silly me. You made me. You found me, and you made me—no that isn’t right. You bought me, and you made me. Right? You bought me, just like all the others, only you kept me for yourself. Didn’t you?”
He shakes. Hearing the words from my mouth strikes him where I want them to.
“Didn’t you?” I scream, teetering on the precipice. The monster inside me rages to get its hands on him. He nods, and a small sob escapes his chest. “I was nine when they took me from my family. We were on vacation. The first my parents had ever been able to afford. Did you know that?”
“Bella…”
“Shut up.” I cock the gun and feel a tear fall from my right. Then another from my left. “My older brother let go of my hand for one second, and they snatched me up. I tried to scream and get away, but they were too strong. By the time my family realized I wasn’t there, we were racing out of the parking lot.”
The memory of that fateful day fills my veins with a power I’ve never felt before. For too long I’ve been powerless. A victim of this man and his people. A captive. Even to the man who claimed to love me and married me, I was a prisoner. I was wrong to believe him when he said we’d go away together and live a real life. I don’t know what hurts more; his lies or the fact I allowed myself to fall in love with him.
No more.
“You saw me. You bought me. You kept me. You don’t know how much I wanted to believe you when you told me I was safe, that you wouldn’t hurt me. I was a little girl, Charles. Nine years old. But that didn’t stop you, did it? My age only fueled your disgusting fantasy.”
“Bella, don’t—”
“Don’t what, Charles? Say it out loud? You know, I never have. Have you? I bet it’s cleansing.” I lean in a little closer, careful to keep the gun at his head, ready to pull the trigger if he tries anything. At first, I say it in a whisper, so soft I want him to remember the face of the child he defiled. When I say it again, I let the monster free, screaming it out loud for the entire world to hear me.
“How does that feel? Was it cleansing? It was for me.” I lean back, running my free hand down my face and torso. “Do you believe in God? Are you praying to him right now? You should. He heard me say the words, Charles. He saw what you did to me. You’re going to burn in hell for what you’ve done.”
Saying it out loud did everything I thought it would do.
It freed me. From the past. From the memories. But most importantly, from him.
It gave me the fuel and the strength to pull the trigger. Ending his life with a single bullet.
It happens in slow motion. I watch as he closes his eyes, squeezing them tight, because he knows what’s coming. The bullet leaves the chamber of the gun, and it vibrates against my hand, travelling the length of the barrel, exiting, then entering his flesh. It exits the other side of his head, spraying blood and brain matter across the room.
Charles’ body slumps forward and falls to the ground with a lifeless thud.
The rush of the moment roars through my body, empowering the beast to a whole new level. But I’m gone to it. Victim to myself now and the demons that haunt me, even after his death.
The monster isn’t done.
Far from it.
Chapter 46
Penelope
The sound of a gun going off sends an eerie shiver down my spine. It takes everything in me not to panic. I have to believe Mirabelle was the one pulling the trigger, and not the other way around.
I need it to be Mirabelle.
Minutes pass, but nothing happens.
I strain my ears for a sound, but the dank walls of my makeshift cell are thick, making it difficult to hear anything beyond the sound of my own breathing. Pacing the length of the thick-paned window, I bite at my nails, anxious to see who walks through the door on the other side.
If it isn’t Mirabelle, I don’t know what I will do.
The key in the lock fills my ears, stopping me in my tracks. I freeze on bated breath, waiting for the door to open and the person behind it to reveal themselves.
Please, let it be…
Mirabelle pushes the door open, stepping inside the room. Her eyes find me, and the wild look in them causes me to take a hesitant step back. She narrows her focus on me and starts forward, carrying a set of keys in one hand and a gun in the other. She’s covered from head to toe in blood splatters.
His blood.
She did it.
She killed him.
She slides the key into the lock of the door of my cell and pushes the door open. I move toward it, but instead of moving aside, she steps inside with me.
“Mirabelle, are you okay?” I ask softly, trying to rekindle the bond we had earlier. She stares at me, saying nothing. I get the sense something’s happened in the time since she left me, something more than I intended to happen. “Where’s Miguel?”
She tilts her head and blinks. It’s almost like she’s studying me, trying to decide if I’m a victim or a threat. I keep still hoping she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in.
“Where’s Miguel?” I ask again, needing to tamp down the crazy rising inside of me, but it spills out. “Why won’t you speak? Why are you just standing there?”
“He’s dead,” she speaks finally. Her voice is robotic, lacking any kind of emotion.
“Are you okay?”
“I killed him,” she continues, ignoring everything but the point she wants to make. “I shot him in the head. I watched his brains splatter across the room, his blood spraying everything around it. It was… delightful.”
“Mirabelle.” I step forward without thinking, but it’s too late. Mirabelle lunges toward me, catching me off guard and knocking me to the ground. I push at her, trying to get up and away from her, but she’s too strong. She pushes me down, pinning me long enough to straddle me. Her hands find my neck, and she squeezes.
“You thought you could manipulate me into doing your dirty work? You stupid little bitch,” she growls, tightening her hold on me until I can’t breathe. I reach up, grasping her wrist, digging my fingernails into her skin. The burn settles in my chest; I can feel the lack of oxygen all the way down to my toes. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, or the monster you’ve let loose.”
Her words couldn’t have been any truer. I knew there was a chance, but I had hoped freeing her of Miguel would give her the strength to overcome the darkness.
I was wrong.
I gasp, trying to move my mouth and form some kind of plea, but it’s pointless. She won’t let go, not until I’m long gone.
My vision darkens, and I know I’m moments away from my own death. Mirabelle knows it, too, because she bears down on me. I close my eyes and conjure up his face one last time, needing him to be my last thought.
Chapter 47
Damien
Rafe snaps his fingers at me, pulling me out of the dark thoughts swirling around in my head. I watch him scribble something down on the yellow stick pad in front of him, and it’s like my mind switches to slow-motion mode.
The look on his face.
The way he stands, trying to rush off the phone.
I feel like I’m standing outside of my body, watching everything unfold before me, unable to interact.
They found something.
They know where she is.
Penny.
My body moves on instinct. I’m up and out the door before I can think twice. Rafe and the guys follow hot on my heels. I walk past my own vehicle and climb into Rafe’s truck. I’m too keyed up to drive, and
I need to be in one piece when I smash in Charles’ face.
I don’t know if he says anything to me. Everything is a blurr until the moment we turn into the maze of warehouses off the shoreline. Exactly six miles from the office.
Six miles away from where I’ve been pacing and worrying for the last eighteen hours.
Six fucking miles.
“Damien!” Rafe shouts, getting into my face. I blink once, twice and come to standing steps away from his truck. “Man, you’ve got to get it together.”
“I need to get to her.”
“Not half-cocked, you don’t. We don’t know what we’re walking into, and the way the compound was protected in Vegas, it’s possible this place is, too. We need to do this smart. Legally.”
“It’s not like Vegas. That was Armando’s paranoia,” I explain, trying to sidestep him, but he won’t let me pass. “Move.”
“No, we need to wait for the guys to get here,” he states, but the sound of a gun going off has us both in motion.
Rafe pulls his firearm from its holster at his side, reminding me to pull my own from the holster at my ankle.
“We need to do this smart, man,” Rafe repeats, but it’s not his woman who’s been kidnapped. It’s not his woman who could have been on the receiving end of that bullet.
I hear the rumble of Bear’s bike and the screech of tires somewhere behind us, but there isn’t time. I need to find Penny.
“We should wait for backup.” I shake my head before releasing the safety on my gun and cocking it.
“You wait. I’m going to find my woman,” I spit, reaching my limit of cautious and careful. I’ve spent too much time doing nothing, and I refuse to wait on others any longer.
The building looms in front of me like a beacon, and my heart skips a beat knowing she’s somewhere in it.
So close but so far away still.
I feel Rafe at my side as I approach the large metal door. I’m sure the place is rigged with top-of-the-line security, but after the sound of a gun going off, I lost my give-a-fuck filter.
Pushing open the rusted and heavy door, I step inside with my gun drawn and aimed.
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