by RB Hilliard
He dug his hands deeper into my hair, and I flinched in pain. “Who did you call?” he asked. His quiet tone wasn’t fooling me. I just thought I’d seen him angry. This was way beyond anger. This was purple-faced, vein-bulging fury. When I refused to answer his question, he slammed my head down onto the hard surface, and screamed, “Tell me! Was it 9-1-1? Was it Nash? Who the fuck did you call?” This time my silence earned me another punch to the face. Same cheek. Same eye. The blinding pain made me scream out. “How did you get out? Was it Maria?” Again I refused to answer, and again he beat me. This time it was a fist to the stomach. As the pain seared through my gut, I tried to curl my body into a protective ball. This incited his anger even more, and he began kicking me.
“She told me not to waste my time, but did I listen? No!”
Kick
“I could have any woman in the fucking world, but I chose you!”
Kick
“Look at what I’ve given you! And how do you repay me? You dress like a homeless person and you smell like shit!”
Slap
“You.”
Kick
“Are.”
Kick
“Mine!”
“Neeeeeveeeeeeeeer!” I screeched back at him.
He aimed his fist for my face, but at the last second I threw up my forearm to deflect it. When I felt the bone snap, the pain was so excruciating that I vomited all over the floor.
“Fuck!” he screamed, and slapped me one last time.
The doorbell rang as he was dragging me out of my vomit.
“Help! I hoarsely shouted. “Please! Help me!”
“Shut your mouth!” he hissed. The moment he untangled his hand from my hair, I tried to move, but the pain. The pain was overwhelming. Stars danced before my eyes as I panted for breaths. My whole body was on fire. The doorbell rang again, but I could no longer find my voice. It was buried beneath the pain. This time he didn’t come at me with fists or feet, but with that damned needle. He aimed for my neck, but I managed to get my hand up in time, and he plunged it into my arm instead. “I will break you, Gillian Gallagher,” he growled.
“Never,” I rasped as darkness swept over me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Traitors Traitors Everywhere
Nash
“Rowan? Rowan, are you there? Rowan!” I shouted her name into the phone over and over again, but she was gone. A sense of utter helplessness washed over me as I tried to process what had just happened. Grant and Mallory stared expectantly at me from their open bedroom doorway, but all I could think about was the phone call with Rowan. Nightmare images of what that motherfucker could be doing to her raced through my head.
Rowan.
Her voice, her tone, her words, all had one thing in common, the underlying thread of terror. I could feel myself spiraling to that dark place in my head. The same place I’d disappeared to after my mom died, my excuse for running. As I slumped to the chair with my phone held tightly in my grasp, I tried to rein in the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that was threatening to rip me to shreds.
“What did she say?” Mallory asked.
“He’s coming.” The terror in Rowan’s voice as she spoke those two words nearly brought me to my knees. “Hurry Nash,” whispered like a ghost through my head. Fuck! What am I doing sitting here? I have to go. I stood from the chair and bolted for my bedroom.
“I’m going after her,” I told Grant and Mallory as I passed by them.
Evan stepped out of his room, took one look at our faces, and uttered, “Uh oh. What’s going on?”
“Rowan called Nash,” Grant informed him. Then he shot me a frustrated look. “Where are you going? What did she say?” Grant, Mallory, and Evan all three followed me into my room as I snagged my backpack from the closet and started filling it. When I failed to answer Grant’s questions, he tried again, “Nash, man, you can’t just take off. Let us help you.”
I paused long enough, to say, “You know how you can help me? You can stop talking, so I can fucking think straight!” It wasn’t Mallory’s gasp of outrage that got to me as much as the look of hurt on Grant’s face. He turned to leave, and, as clearly as I’d known that I had to go after Rowan, I knew that I couldn’t let Grant walk out that door without giving him an explanation. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. Rowan called. She sounded…freaked out.” Grant paused with his hand on the door, and I continued. “The guy’s name is Conor O’Brien. He’s got her in an apartment in New York, and…he’s hurting her.”
Anger morphed to an expression of concern, as Grant asked, “She told you this?”
“She didn’t have to. I could hear it in her voice. She said that he was coming. Fuck, Grant, you should have heard her. She was terrified. She said to hurry, that he’s taking her to Ireland in two days. Now do you understand why I have to go?”
“I’m coming with you,” he announced.
“Me, too,” Mallory added. Her declaration caused us both to scowl. “What? There is no way in hell you two are keeping me here.” She stood there with her jaw clenched and her hands fisted, as if daring us to tell her no.
“Garrett’s on the phone!” Evan called out. All three of us swiveled around in surprise. Evan stood in my doorway with my phone held out and a look in his eyes I’d never seen before. Clearly he was unhappy. I dropped my gaze to the phone in his hand. “Someone had to call him. The three of you are about to get yourselves killed, and I, for one, do not want to see that happen.” Any other time I would have respected his calm, matter-of-fact explanation. However, at this point, it just added another layer to my swiftly growing frustration.
“Talk to me,” Garrett said through the speaker. I shot Evan a mutinous look, and he shrugged as if he couldn’t give a fuck.
“Rowan called,” I begrudgingly said. “A guy by the name of Conor O’Brien has her. He’s in New York City, apartment number 612, in a complex called the High Rise.”
“We’ve got a hit. Nash just confirmed that it’s definitely O’Brien!” Garrett called out to someone on his end. “Get this. He’s in New York, not Pennsylvania.” His response surprised me. Then it pissed me off.
“Wait, you knew it was O’Brien? What the hell?”
“We confirmed it about an hour ago. Conor O’Brien is not a U.S. citizen. That’s why we haven’t been able to find him. After searching NGI and FACE and coming up empty, we decided to expand our search outside of the U.S. We got an immediate hit. You’ll never guess where. We found him in the Department of State’s Visa photo file. He’s apparently applying to become a U.S. citizen.”
“Rowan said he’s planning on flying her to Ireland in two days.”
“Shit! Time to make a move, boys. He’s trying to get her out of the country!” Garrett called out. His worried tone made my blood run cold.
“Do you know what his connection is to Rowan?” Grant asked.
“So far we’ve not been able to come up with a connection. Here’s what we do know. Conor O’Brien is Arthur O’Brien’s son. Arthur owns several businesses in Ireland, most of which have the reputation of being far from legit. From what we can tell, Conor oversees some businesses here in the U.S. He owns a home in Yardley, Pennsylvania. This is the first we’ve heard about an apartment in the city. We’re still searching for connections, but so far that is all we’ve got.” Garrett’s confirmation made the bile in my stomach rise.
“Well, for whatever fucking reason he has Rowan, she’s scared shitless, and I’m going after her,” I announced.
“Slow your roll for a minute. We’re already halfway to the airport where we have a jet on standby. I know you’re worried. Hell, if it were my girl I’d be shitting my pants, but I need for you to hear me when I say that you are not qualified. We know nothing about this guy, except for his name, where he’s keeping Rowan, and that he may very well be dangerous. Believe me when I say that this guy is not someone you want to mess with, Nash.”
“You can’t expect me just to sit here and do nothing,�
�� I argued.
“That’s exactly what I expect you to do. Look, you have no training. What if this guy has a gun? Are you willing to compromise Rowan’s life or lose your own? This is our job. This is what you’re paying us for. You need to hold tight and let us do it. Now, will you give us this, or do I need to have Hank tie your ass down until we give the all clear?”
“Fine. I’ll stay put for now,” I lied.
“Good man. I’ll call when I have news.”
The moment the phone disconnected, I resumed packing. “Are you coming with me or not?” I asked the three stooges who were staring at me as if I’d lost my mind. Who knows, maybe I had.
Evan jerked in surprise. “Wait, we’re still going? Did you not hear Garrett? You’re going to get yourself or Rowan killed. Where’s Chaz? He’ll agree with me.”
“Chaz took off yesterday for New York. Give us five minutes to pack, and we’ll be ready to go,” Grant said.
“Have you all lost your minds?” Evan shouted. Grant, Mallory, and Evan argued their way into Grant and Mallory’s room while I packed the last of my things.
As I called down to the concierge to inquire about a rental car, someone knocked on the suite door.
“It’s open!” I called out. I was surprised to see intern Maggie walk in. She looked as if she’d been crying, and I inwardly sighed. Maggie and her sensitive feelings were not high on my list of priorities at the moment. Before she could get a word out, I said, “Look, I’d love to chit-chat with you, but we’re on our way out the door.”
“You had me fired…b-b-because I gave you f-f-flowers?” Her quiet tear-filled tone pulled me up short. I jerked my head up in time to witness her melting into a puddle of sobs. I quickly ended my call and thought about how best to handle the obviously delicate situation. I would call Blane and have him deal with her, but that would mean I’d have to deal with him.
Marginally muting my irritated tone, I said, “Look, I’m sorry you’re upset, but this really isn’t a good time. Can we talk about it later?”
“I j-just thought you were the nicest person, but you’re not! You don’t care about me. You just pretended to.” She slowly shook her head back and forth. “You’re just like all the rest, and I’m s-s-so stupid for loving yoooooou!” Her wail brought Grant, Mallory, and Evan running. I gave them an imploring look, and Grant came to the rescue.
“What are you doing here, Maggie?”
“I-I-came to tell Nash how I felt,” she hiccupped.
“Do you want me to call Hank?” Evan asked.
“No!” Everyone in the room shouted.
As if on cue, Hank walked in. On his heels were Marcel, Sean, and Sampson.
“Motherfucker!” I shouted, and chucked one of the water bottles across the room. Maggie burst into hysterical sobs and bolted out the door. Sean went after her, while Hank closed the door behind him and locked it. I cut my eyes to Evan, the fucking traitor, and asked, “Did you call them?”
“Garrett called me,” Hank answered for him. “Now, how about we all have a seat and get comfortable. We’re going to be here for a while.”
“If anything happens to Rowan, I will never forgive you…any of you,” I lobbed at Hank, before I stormed into my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Return from the Shadows
Rowan
“She’s here!” a voice shouted. “Rowan? Hold on, sweetheart. Help is on the way.” I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t. Someone cursed, and I tensed. “I’ve got you, Rowan,” the voice spoke near my ear, and I instantly relaxed. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Conor, because Conor would never call me Rowan. To him I was Gillian. I tried to thank the stranger, but I couldn’t make my mouth work. Someone jostled my arm, and I screamed out in pain before slipping back into darkness.
“Rowan,” a voice called out. This time I managed to get my one good eye open. Everything was blurry, but I could see movement. I felt a warm hand slip into mine. A soothing voice, said, “Sweetheart, my name is Garrett. I’m here with two of my buddies, Bobby and Adam. Nash hired us to find you. The EMT’s are in route, and you’re safe.”
Nash had found me.
I tried to let the man know I’d heard him, but it hurt too much to move. “We’re losing her. Rowan, stay with us, sweetheart,” I heard him say. I needed to warn them about Conor.
“C-Co,” I managed to get out.
“What’s that?” he asked as he leaned in, and I tried again.
“Co-nor,” I breathed.
“You don’t have to worry about him. You’re safe, now. I promise.” He stayed by my side comforting me as tears of relief trickled down my face.
“Ask her about Gillian,” a voice said. I tried to turn my head to see who it was, and cried out as wave after wave of pain seared through me.
“She may have a spinal injury. Rowan, honey, try not to move your head, okay? Squeeze my hand if you understand.” I tried to squeeze his hand, but wasn’t sure if I’d succeeded until he said, “Good girl. Now, can you tell us where Gillian is? Where’s Gillian, Rowan?” His question confused me.
“Here,” I rasped. I heard a commotion beside me, but didn’t dare turn my head for fear of the pain.
“Gillian is here in this house?” His voice sounded panicked.
“The medics are here!” someone called out.
“Rowan, is Gillian in the house?”
“I’m Gillian,” I answered before the darkness took me back under.
I woke to the sound of someone screaming. It took a moment for me to realize that it was me. Agony like I’d never known burned through my body as I gasped for air. I felt like I was underwater, drowning in a pool of blinding pain. Voices called out, hands touched, but all I felt was the pain.
The next time I came to I was still underwater, but now I felt as if I was floating.
“Miss Burns,” a voice called out. At first I thought it was the housekeeper, but then I remembered her walking out the door while I was calling… Nash. The maid. The phone call. Talking to Nash. Conor beating the hell out of me. The needle. It all came rushing back. I tried to open my eyes, but thanks to Conor’s fist, only one seemed to work. Using my good eye, I scanned the room. White walls instead of blue stared back at me, and I blinked several times to clear my vision. When I saw that the walls were indeed white and not blue, a tiny bubble of hope began to flower. “Miss Burns,” the voice called out again. I tried to turn my head, but it wouldn’t move. “We’ve got you in traction until we can better assess your injuries,” she explained, and the bubble of hope began to grow.
“Who are you?” I rasped through my shredded vocal cords.
A woman stepped into my line of vision. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. It was her name tag. “My name is Dr. Wheatley. You are at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York.” The bubble of hope ballooned, and I closed my eyes and fought back tears of relief. I was in a hospital.
“How did I get here?” I rasped.
A door swung open and in walked three men. The first one I recognized, but couldn’t place where I’d seen him, the second I’d never set eyes on, and the third I knew. He was the man who’d saved me.
“You,” I whispered.
His face lit up with a huge smile as he stepped beside my bed. He gently clasped my hand in his, and said, “Welcome back.”
“Conor?” I asked.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe.”
His hesitant tone bothered me, but before I could ask him to explain, the doctor cut in, “You two will have plenty of time to catch up later. For now, I need to get her up to radiology for some scans.”
My savior released my hand, and I tried to get it back, but I couldn’t see anything except for what was right in front of my face. “What is your name?” I called out.
His face suddenly appeared above me. Warm, friendly eyes stared deep into mine. “My name is Garrett Lanier. The two men here with me are Bobby Pr
eston and Adam Whitaker. We work at LASH.” Recognition hit, and he smiled. “Nash hired us to find you.”
“Time to go,” the doctor said.
“Nash,” I wheezed.
“He’s on his way right now. In fact, he should be here when you get back from radiology.” He squeezed my hand one last time. Tears of happiness spilled from my eyes as a technician wheeled my bed away.
On the way to radiology, we detoured into a private room. A nurse stepped forward and wiped my face as I was wheeled inside. I politely thanked her. Two nurses and a second doctor were waiting, all with grim expressions on their faces.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Doctor Wheatley’s face popped into my line of sight. “Before I leave you with radiology, I wanted to ask you some personal questions. Since Mr. Lanier and his colleagues refused to leave your room, I felt it was best to bring you here for some privacy.”
The second doctor leaned in so I could see her. “Hi, Rowan, I’m Dr. Shelton. I’m head of obstetrics here at the hospital. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to ask you a few questions.” Suddenly it clicked. They thought I’d been raped.
“I wasn’t raped,” I told them. Dr. Wheatley cut her eyes to Dr. Shelton, and I could tell they didn’t believe me.