Weather the Storm (Southern Roots Book 3)

by LK Farlow

  “Yup, she was here a bit ago grabbing a to-go order.”

  “How long ago?” I bark out, my worry making me sound like an angry asshole.

  “Um, maybe fifteen minutes?”

  Without another word, I turn and leave, grabbing my phone and dialing Magnolia as I go. It rings and rings and rings before her voicemail finally picks up. I hang up and try again, only to get the same result.

  I barge back into the salon, and right away Seraphine can sense something’s not right. “Where is she, Simon?”

  “I don’t know. I…wait!” I move back behind the desk and retrieve the bag I threw away. “Do you know what she ordered?”

  “Chicken salad,” she whispers, seeing exactly what I’m seeing: the destroyed remnants of two chicken salad sandwiches.

  I order Seraphine to call the cops while I keep trying Magnolia’s phone. Eventually it quits ringing, going directly to voicemail instead.

  Pacing and panicked, I rake my fingers through my hair. “How in the hell does someone just disappear in broad daylight?” I mutter to myself.

  Within minutes of calling, a squad car pulls up to the front of the salon. I rush to meet them, relieved to see it’s Byrnes and Benson.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Officer Byrnes asks. “We got a call that Ms. Ellington is missing?”

  “Yes, sir.” I relay to them everything I know, and Officer Byrnes informs me there would usually be a twenty-four hour wait period, but given her history, they’re going to green-light listing her as missing and endangered.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing they’re going to take this seriously. I know soul-deep exactly who has her, I just don’t know where. I swear, though, if—no, not if—when I find this motherfucker, there will be hell to pay.

  After filling out a few forms, I stand by as they question Seraphine, clenching my jaw and trying hard not to blame her for this. Deep down, the logical side of me knows she isn’t at fault, but at the same time, a little voice in the back of my mind niggles: If she’d gone with her, Magnolia would be safe.

  I steel my resolve and tell that voice to shut the hell up, because truth is, if Seraphine had been with Magnolia, it’s more than likely she’d have been hurt or taken too.

  When Byrnes and Benson dismiss us, Seraphine calls and cancels Magnolia’s appointments. She doesn’t go into detail, and luckily her clients are more than understanding.

  After we close up the salon, Seraphine heads home to talk to her dad while I make my way back to the house. Even though I’d love nothing more than to go door to door asking people if they saw anything, I know I’d just be in the way of the police performing their actual investigation.

  At the house, I’m restless.

  Anxious.

  Nauseous.

  Enraged.

  Worried.

  And then some.

  With shaking hands, I call Drake, knowing he’ll rally the crew.

  He answers on the first ring. “What’s up, brother?”

  I decide to cut right to the chase. “Magnolia’s missing.”

  A prolonged silence and then he says, “Come again?”

  “You heard me.”

  Drake growls out a few unintelligible curses. “I’m on my way over.”

  I disconnect the call and throw my phone down on the coffee table, but then snatch it right back up, just in case Magnolia finds a way to call.

  Fifteen minutes later, my front door busts open, Drake and Azalea rushing toward me. The minute they wrap their arms around me, I break, not caring one bit how it makes me look.

  “I promised her she’d be safe with me—”

  Azalea speaks over me, halting my dark thoughts in their tracks. “You hush up right now, Simon McAllister. Everything is gonna be fine.” Then quietly she adds, “It has to be.”

  Sometime later, Cash and Myla Rose arrive. Drake texted Cash immediately after hanging up with me, but they had to drop Brody off with Sandy, Cash’s mom.

  Together, we all huddle around the coffee table, waiting for some news…any news.

  Chapter Thirty

  MAGNOLIA

  I wake to unfamiliar surroundings and panic fills my body. I try to move but find I can’t. Why can’t I move? My mind is groggy and sluggish. Where am I and how did I get here? Think, Magnolia, think.

  I try to move again, but still, nothing. I’m stuck.

  No, not stuck…

  Tied.

  I’m gagged and bound.

  I scream, but the rag stuffed in my mouth muffles the sound. Tears stream down my cheeks, blinding me. I contort my body, trying to break free, but it’s no use. My ankles and wrists are secured too tightly.

  A door opens somewhere near me and light floods into the room, stinging my eyes. “Oh, good. You’re up.” I know that voice—it’s one I hoped to never hear ever again.

  Straining, I look up, into the cold, dead, merciless eyes of Grant Edward Ellington—my husband.

  He stalks closer and, on instinct, I lower my gaze from his, submissive and docile, just the way he likes. “Good girl,” he praises, like I’m a dog—his bitch.

  A whimper slips past my lips, and I cringe.

  “What was that, Magnolia?” he asks, fire in his tone. Even if I weren’t gagged, I wouldn’t have replied. Engaging Grant is never a good idea.

  He crouches down before me and rakes his fingers through my hair, pushing them into the base of my skull. Fisting my long locks, he jerks my face up to look at him. His grip is so tight that I swear I can feel my hair ripping loose from my scalp.

  My body shakes with sobs, and Grant rears back, his open palm striking my cheek. “You’re not a good girl, are you?” he asks, his sugary tone no match for his lethal words. “No, you’re a bad girl, and bad girls must be punished.” He strikes me again, clipping my eye this time.

  My vision tinges red, blood mingling with my tears. Again and again Grant comes at me until my left eye is swollen shut and my lip is split in several places. Heaving and gasping, I beg him to stop, but it’s no use. My words are garbled from the gag, and even if they weren’t, my pleas would fall on deaf ears.

  He stands and begins pacing in front of me. “You’re a stupid fucking cunt, but you’re mine, my stupid fucking cunt. We took vows, Magnolia. Till death do us part—death, Magnolia. Death.” Grant’s voice is that of a madman—completely and totally unhinged. “Before we move to the end of our vows, let’s show your precious Simon just how insignificant and pathetic you really are.”

  Squinting, I see Grant pull a phone from his pocket. He yanks my hair again and angles my face toward the tiny camera lens. Click. Click. Click.

  “You won’t have to worry about him wanting you after he sees you like this.”

  §

  SIMON

  It’s been hours since my girl vanished without a trace, and we haven’t heard anything. Cash and Drake feed the beast within me with promises of retribution when Grant is found, while Myla Rose and Azalea offer me hope and kind words, assuring me Magnolia will be okay.

  I’m not sure if I believe them. If she were okay, she would have called, some way, somehow, and she hasn’t. To me, that all but proves she’s anything but okay.

  I alternate between sitting and pacing, until Cash speaks up. “Hey, did y’all hear that?” His words stop me in my tracks.

  “Hear what?”

  A beep sounds from the kitchen. “That,” he says. The beep sounds again, and I’m off like a shot.

  I practically rip Magnolia’s phone—her real phone, not the prepaid one—off the charger. I swipe her unlock pattern and balk at the sight of an unread text from the 617 number.

  “What is it?” Myla Rose asks over my shoulder.

  The message remains unopened, my thumb hovering over it. “A text.”

  “Is it from him?” Drake asks, cracking his knuckles.

  I nod.

  “Open it!” Azalea demands.

  Internally, I war. This text could contain anything. The conten
ts of this message could kill me. Choked up, I whisper, “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are, Sim,” Myla Rose soothes, “but you gotta.”

  Fuck. She’s right. I know she is. Doesn’t mean I want to do it, though.

  With gritted teeth, I tap on the message icon. Immediately, a little circle starts spinning on the screen, signifying an image is downloading. After what feels like an eternity, a photo of Magnolia fills my screen.

  Stricken, I throw the phone down, rattling off a string of expletives. I rake my hands through my hair, tugging hard on the ends before slamming my fist into the wall, leaving a hole.

  Nothing, and I mean fucking nothing could’ve readied me for what I just saw: my girl, beaten and bloodied, her beautiful face swollen and bruised, mouth gagged, wrists and ankles tied.

  Cash steps around me and snatches up the discarded phone. I know the second he’s caught a glimpse of the text. “Goddamn it.” His wife asks to see, but he tells her no. “Trust me, darlin’, you don’t wanna see this.”

  “Don’t tell me what I wanna see, Cash Carson. I’m not some wilting flower. Give me the phone—now.”

  Cash bends to her will and passes Magnolia’s phone to her. I watch as she sucks in a sharp breath, no doubt horrified by what she’s seeing. Myla Rose shocks me when she turns to Azalea and says, “AzzyJo, call the police.”

  She then signals for both Drake and me to move closer. “Look!”

  “Don’t really wanna see that shit again, Myles,” I grind out, my anger barely keeping my tears at bay.

  “No, Sim, look—not at her. Look at where he has her.”

  Drake and I both peer over her shoulder, and holy shit—I know that building. I know exactly where he’s holding my girl. Dumbass has her in old man Hunter’s barn.

  Drake and I used to hide out there when we were kids. The rusty, bullet-riddled Gulf gas station sign in the background is a dead giveaway.

  My ears ring as I think about just how close Magnolia is. Through my haze, I hear Myla Rose relaying to Azalea what to tell the dispatcher, but I’m not waiting for the boys in blue.

  Gotcha, asshole.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  MAGNOLIA

  Grant’s depravity knows no bounds. It feels as though he’s had me here, captive and at his mercy, for days.

  I move in and out of consciousness, my body battered and broken.

  “Get up!” he roars, drawing his foot back and kicking me in the ribs, the pain white-hot and blinding. Bile creeps up my throat, but the gag doesn’t allow it to pass. Choking on my vomit, panic consumes me. Grant reaches down and rips the tie from my mouth, and my sick spills out, splashing onto his shoes.

  “Stupid cunt!” He kicks me again, and a pain far sharper than the rest causes me to cry out.

  Grant reties my gag and black dots swarm my vision. The room tilts before darkness once again consumes me.

  Lying prone, I come to again. The room is quiet…too quiet. With great effort, I use the eye that’s not swollen shut to get a good look at the space I’m being kept in. It’s unremarkable in every way, with its dirty plywood floors and plank walls.

  A creaking noise in the distance has the hair on my arms standing on end. I hear a door open, followed by heavy footsteps. Screwing my good eye shut tight, I will myself to focus on happy things—on Simon, my strong and steady Simon.

  “You always were so useless.” Grant spits the words as though they leave a foul taste in his mouth. “I was too blinded by your nice tits and doe eyes to see it.” I can hear his footfalls as he paces before me, each pass bringing him closer. “Some bitches just aren’t worth the trouble,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “You’re nothing more than a nuisance now, an embarrassment to the Ellington name. Do you understand me, Magnolia?” When I don’t answer, he brings his foot down onto my neck, pressing down with all of his weight. “I said, do. You. Understand. Me?”

  The pressure is unbearable. It feels like my neck is seconds away from snapping. Whimpering, I attempt to nod. Grant must find my answer acceptable, because he removes his foot from my neck.

  With a soft, almost gentle voice, he praises me. “Good girl. Now, look at me.” It’s truly unnerving how quickly he can switch from high to low.

  I peel open my left eyelid and see him crouching before me.

  “You know what happens to disobedient bitches, right?” He coos the words at me, stroking the top of my head. “They get put down.”

  His words sink in and sobs tear through me so hard my body convulses. “I don’t want to die. Please. Please!” Frantically begging for my life, I shout, my words nothing more than garbled moans behind the rag.

  Grant lets out a sinister laugh as he rises back to his full height. Through my tear-blurred vision, I watch him move to a dark corner of the room. When he returns, he has a tarp tucked under his arm. He begins rolling it out on the floor, taking great care to smooth it out.

  Stalking back over to me, Grant drags me toward the tarp. When we reach the edge, he shoves me roughly onto it. The jolt is agonizing, and my entire body cries out in pain.

  Like I’m a doll, Grant positions my body. He lays me on my side, my arms still tied behind me. A flash of silver catches my eye and my heart hammers in my chest. A knife—he has a knife.

  He presses the pointy tip of it into the flesh beneath my collarbone before dragging it down my chest achingly slowly. I feel a sting as my skin splits—not deep enough to be fatal, but enough to cause some damage, for sure.

  “You’re going to pay,” he promises, his tone dark with intent. Thoughts of Simon beckon me. I picture myself out of this place and safe in his arms. I imagine him holding me, the memory of his delicious scent comforting me.

  A loud bang then the sound of splintering wood fills the air, but I don’t bother looking. I don’t want to see what Grant has up his sleeve. I don’t want to know what’s coming next, because whatever it is, it doesn’t bode well for me.

  Another thud sounds, followed by a loud, masculine voice—a familiar voice. “Get. The. Fuck. Away from her!” Simon. That sounds like my Simon. Why would Simon be here? I must be dreaming.

  “Come closer, I dare you,” Grant taunts. He’s behind me now, forcing my head back so my throat is exposed, giving him access to press the blade of his knife against it. I peek my good eye open. Oh, shit. I’m not dreaming. Simon is here.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  SIMON

  After seeing the pictures Grant sent, I thought I could handle what was waiting for me behind those barn doors. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing on this earth that could’ve prepared me for seeing the woman I intend to make my wife laid out like a deer about to be slaughtered.

  My initial instinct is to charge the son of a bitch, but the knife he has pressed against Magnolia’s throat stops me dead. Instead, I put on my game face and ignore him, focusing all of my attention on Magnolia instead. “It’s okay, pretty girl. I’m here. You’re gonna be just fine.”

  “Let me guess, you’re going to save her?” Grant scoffs. “What if I told you she wasn’t worth saving? She’s just a filthy, good-for-nothing whore.”

  I take a step closer, and Grant follows my movements, pulling Magnolia’s body closer to him. Stay calm, Simon. “I’d say we’d have to agree to disagree. Why don’t you move away from her? Just let her go.” It’s a struggle, but I manage to keep my voice calm and tempered.

  “She has to pay!” Grant screams, spit flying from his mouth, spraying the side of her face.

  I take another small step. My head and my heart are at war, my brain shouting for me to retreat and wait on the police while my heart demands that I go get the girl.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Grant’s voice is manic. “One more step and I’ll kill her!”

  I raise my hands out in front of me, as if I’m surrendering. He moves his attention from me to Magnolia.

  “Look!” Roughly, he forces her to look my way
.

  It’s then I see the extent of her injuries. Her face is black and blue, fresh blood mingling with dried patches. Her right eye is swollen shut, and her lip is split in several places. I feel like I’m dying—I would give anything to trade places with her, to absorb the pain I know she’s feeling. My God, she’s so strong.

  “Look at how easily he gave up on you!” Grant croons in her ear before throwing his head back in maniacal laughter.

  Unsure whether I’ll get another chance, I take advantage of his eyes being off of her and rush him, tackling him to the floor, knocking the knife out of his grasp in the process.

  Just as I get him pinned, the sound of sirens fills the air, followed by a pounding on the door. “Police! We’re coming in!” Uniformed officers rush the building. “Police! Don’t move!”

  I comply immediately, freezing atop Grant. My eyes flit to Magnolia—she’s not moving. From the looks of it, she’s barely breathing. Once again, my head and my heart battle it out, knowing I have to stay put.

  “You,” an officer bellows, pointing at me. “Stand, slowly, with your hands on your head.”

  I comply without question, but Grant’s not so smart. He begins yelling all sorts of unintelligible shit and lunges toward Magnolia. Two officers swarm him, taking him back down to the ground where they cuff him, a knee pressed between his shoulder blades.

  One of the cops begins to read Grant his Miranda rights as another escorts him out of the building, presumably to a cruiser.

  I remain still, hands on top of my head, even though every fiber of my being begs for me to go to Magnolia. Unable to remain silent any longer, I plead with the officers that remain in the barn. “Please help her!”

  For a few tense moments, I don’t think they’re going to listen, but then a team of paramedics files into the building, backboard and stretcher in tow. My body sags with relief, but the sensation is short-lived when one of them calls out that her pulse is weak.

  Once they have Magnolia loaded up, they waste no time wheeling her out. I know she needs medical attention—lots of it, from the look of things—but not being able to go with her eats at my soul.