by Harper Sloan
I close my eyes and nod. He gives me one last pleading glance before moving towards me. He brushes his finger over my lips, trailing it down my neck before placing his hand over my heart.
“I want this back, and I’m going to do everything I can to have it.” He gives me one soft kiss before walking towards the door.
I get one more sad smile before he’s gone.
Then I crumble to the floor and cry. Everything I’ve wanted is right there—but will I be able to take a chance knowing that I might crash and break down even harder if he changes his mind?
CHAPTER 20
Emmy
I should have known that I would never be able to sleep with the thoughts that are spinning around in my head. Ultimately, I know which side will win. I still need to make sure that I’m ready to put myself out there, to take a blind chance, but then again if I don’t, then I will be proving to him that he was right all along. I’ll prove to him that the gift of his love means nothing to me.
And when it’s put that way, there is no way I can do that. I might regret it, giving him this last chance, but at least if I’m left without him in the end of it, I’ll know that I gave it my all.
He left a few hours ago, and after I was able to pull myself off the floor, I took a long and hot shower, using the time to get all my fears and hopes in order. If this works out, then everything I’ve known we could be together will be ours, and just the thought has me smiling.
Throwing back the covers, I take a look at the clock. Four in the morning. He’ll be here soon and I’m almost nervous to tell him that I’m ready. That, together, we will get through his darkness—and those damn demons he thinks are so prevalent that he has to keep others away.
A knock at the door has my head whipping around; of course he wouldn’t be able to stay away. I’m actually shocked he lasted the last six hours.
Straightening my tank top and making sure that my sleep shorts aren’t hanging off my ass, I walk to the door, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves.
Then I swing the door open with a smile—a smile that quickly dies when I see who is standing on the other side.
“Princess,” Shawn slurs. “Aren’t you a hard little bitch to track down.” His evil makes my skin crawl.
I can feel the bile in my stomach threatening to make its way up and I sway on my feet.
How did he find me? We were so careful from the beginning. When I first got away, Coop and Axel hid not only the trail, but every trace of me. I worked under the table. I had a credit and debit card under the company name. Even my apartment was in Coop’s name.
Holy shit! That’s when my own stupidity literally slaps me in the face. When I went back, I opened a bank account so I could get the hotel room, making it no secret where I was since they knew I was back.
And I didn’t touch it again . . . until last night.
Oh, God, why now? Why, when everything was starting to look up, does he have to show up?! Just when I started to believe that I could have it all.
“Have nothing to say to me? Well, I have to plenty to say to you, bitch.”
His heavy palm hits me between my breast first, knocking the wind from my lungs and my legs right out from under me. As I crash to the floor, his laugh wraps around me like a noose.
“Little Syn, living up to her name by playing house with that motherfucker who took you from me when I wasn’t looking. Did you fucking think I would sit back and let you go? I don’t fucking think so,” he fumes, his spit flying from the force of his words and falling on my face. “You belong to me, bitch.”
I move to stand—to just get away from the disadvantage I have from being on the floor as he towers over me—but I’m stopped short when his heavy, booted foot presses against my chest. I can feel my ribs protesting against the pressure, crying out for some relief.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson first, Syn.”
When his foot comes off my chest, I crab-crawl backwards until my head hits hard against the desk in the corner. I go to scream, but guessing my intent, he jumps and his body crashing into mine renders me silent. My body is drowning under the panic he elicits.
His hand grips my neck, digging in and curling his fingers—choking me in a brutal hold. I gasp, my eyes watering at the pain. My fingers tear at his skin, and when that doesn’t work, I bring my hand weakly up to his face and claw him. My fingers score his skin, leaving four deep marks across his face from temple to chin.
“You fucking bitch!” he roars and brings his fist down, hitting me right in the cheek.
My head snaps to the side, but I fight the blackness that is hedging in. I won’t fucking give in. Not this time—not when I have every reason to fight him.
He’s always wanted this—this fight—and he’s going to get it.
I give him everything I have. His fist hits me every time I move my arms from my face to deliver one of my own. Then I feel my left arm split in one powerful punch, making it harder to defend myself. When he leaves his guard down, I slam my knee into his crotch, knocking him to his side. As quickly as I can, I start to crawl away, opening my mouth to call out for help only to have a hoarse rasp come out. My efforts are weak since I’m dragging my body with one arm. Each time I put pressure on my left side, my arm gives out.
His laughter starts to taunt me and the fear almost consumes me. Every inch of my body hurts, but I’m not giving up. He won’t have me this time. Not when the future is right within my grasp.
“Get the fuck back here,” he snarls when I unsteadily climb to my feet.
The second I have my footing, he brings his leg out and sweeps me right back on my ass. I fall with bone-jarring force, the wind once again knocked from my body. The tears and snot running down my face are making it hard for me to even see, let alone breathe, so every breath I’ve been conserving rapidly throws me off.
He climbs on top of me, straddling my waist, pulling my arms over my head, and clamping them tight within one of his own—the other going to my mouth to make sure I don’t cry out. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. My throat is raw from when he choked me earlier. The pain from my broken arm produces a wave of nausea to roll through me, causing me to vomit all over myself.
He doesn’t even notice, his all-consuming rage to the point where I know he’s not going to stop until he’s gotten everything he can from me. “I’ve had to sit back and wait for this moment. Wait for you to finally fuck up and lead me right to you. I knew it would happen—you never were very fucking bright. I’ll give you credit. You got away once, and had you not come crawling back to me, I might not have found you. I don’t fucking like to wait, Syn, and it’s about time you learned who is your goddamn boss! You think you’re fucking smart, running off again? I won’t let you get away this time. Not when the club needs your cunt to make the money keep coming in.”
When his hand comes back to my throat, I see it in his eyes—he doesn’t care if I live past this moment as long as he gets whatever sick shit he wants.
“Just like a sitting duck,” he spits in my face. “The second your credit card was used, it was like a big fucking flag just taking me right to your door. Where’s your big, bad savior now? Doesn’t look like he’s going to help you this time, you senseless fucking bitch!”
The pressure in my chest demanding oxygen is becoming too much. My eyes are starting to close despite my willing them to keep focused. And worse, my limbs have stopped listening to my command to fight, just dropping lifelessly to my side.
“This is going to be so much fun, you stupid bitch.” He brings his hand back, and with one hard punch to my temple, I’m out cold.
I’m not sure how long I’m out. When I come to, I fight with myself to get past the fog. My head is pounding and my body is sore. Without opening my eyes, I take stock of my body. I hurt, but nothing that makes me too concerned. The fact that I can feel that my clothing has been torn from my body, however, is enough for me to become instantly terrified. Between all my pains and aches, it’s har
d to tell if he took me, but I’m almost positive that he hasn’t raped me . . . yet.
I hear a phone ring, a tone I know is not mine, and I breathe a sigh a relief when Shawn stops what he is doing, climbs off me, and answers the phone.
“What?” he barks farther away from where I’m laying.
After a brief silence, I hear him and my heart stops.
“Yeah, I fucking got her, Ram, and don’t you fucking worry. When I’m done with her, she won’t pull this shit again.”
Oh. My. God.
My own father orchestrated this. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s never exactly acted like he gave a damn, but knowing that he sent this monster after me is devastating. I know it sounds stupid, to still hope that the father who willingly objectifies his own daughter might care just a little—but like the dreamer I am, I couldn’t help but pray that, one day, he would. I know now how foolish that was.
“Yeah, you’re damn right she begged. I’ll set her straight. Don’t you fucking worry. Don’t even sweat it, Ram. Come tomorrow morning—or night—I’ll be headed back there and then you can let the other boys take their turn with her. Seems about right after all the trouble her little boy toy caused.”
When I hear his voice get farther away, I know this is my moment. Peeking my eyes open and seeing his shadow falling from the open doorway of the bathroom gives me the time I need. I move as quickly as my body will allow and get to the hotel phone. After snatching it off the cradle, I press ’0’ and wait. When I hear the operator answer, I whisper my room number, begging for them to send help quickly. Then I shove the phone beside the bed and the nightstand and make my way to where I left my cell charging on the desk, fumbling for a second as I listen to Shawn laugh at whatever my father is saying.
Laughing about destroying his own flesh and blood.
I manage to get my phone turned on and the phone app open to dial Maddox before I hear Shawn coming behind me. I quickly toss the phone to the side, praying that I pressed the button to connect the call before I had to abandon it.
“Little bitch is awake now, Ram. It’s time for me to have some fucking fun before I bring her home.” He laughs again.
I curl into a ball when he gives me a hard kick, landing his boot right into my shin. I cry out in pain, my voice still sounding foreign to my ears. He gives me another kick, clearly enjoying the fact that he’s hurt me. The pain is overwhelming this time and I get sick again. I’m not even sure what wetness on my body is from vomit, blood, or my tears.
“You going to fight me again, slut? This cunt is mine, and I’m done playing games. It’s time for you to remember exactly who you belong to. You’re never going to be more than Syn—and even if that bastard got some grand idea to come after you again, he wouldn’t want you when I’m finished anyway.”
He towers over me, grabbing me by my hair and hauling me from the floor. Then he slaps me across the face before shoving me onto the bed. I fight again, ignoring the pain in my arm and leg, kicking and slapping, but in the end, he’s just too strong for me. I’m not sure how long I was able to fight him. It feels like an eternity, and with his hand back on my throat, I pass out, praying that help isn’t too far away.
CHAPTER 21
Maddox
Coming back to the apartment without Emmy wasn’t how I’d seen the night ending. As foolish as it was to believe that we could just fall back into whatever we had before, but I hadn’t anticipated her telling me to leave. It took one hell of a battle with my mind to get my feet to leave that room. To get my legs to carry me out of the hotel and into my car. It took even longer to convince my mind to leave her there.
I took care of feeding Cat and cleaning out her litter box when I got in. Then I set off to pick up the rest of the apartment since I had torn it up while looking for a clue as to where she was.
And then I was left sitting on the couch, staring at the clock as it ticked each painfully slow second by. Mocking me with the knowledge that I couldn’t make time go by more quickly.
I must have fallen asleep because the sound of my phone ringing jolts me with a start. Noticing that the time is just a few hours before dawn, I make my way down the hall to grab my screaming phone.
When I see her name across the screen, my heart skips a beat. She could be telling me not to bother or calling to tell me to come back. Either way, I’m nervous—a feeling I have no idea what to do with.
“Em,” I greet, my lips tipping up in a smile.
I don’t hear anything for a few beats . . . until a voice that I know damn well doesn’t belong on this call comes through the line.
My heart stops. Right now, the blood just stops moving through my body and a rage I’ve never known consumes me.
While I race to the elevator, knowing that my leg will never hold up if I storm down twenty-seven flights of stairs, I try to calm my mind and go into fight mode. As hard as it’s going to be, I need to think about this as objectively as I can in order to get her out of there. Treat her like a hostage who has the clock against her—which is exactly what I’m dealing with.
It’s almost impossible to put my feelings for Emmy aside and focus on how to save her, but it’s my only chance. I keep the phone trained to my ear, listening to the muffed hell she is living. I use the sounds to fuel my rage and determination. If I stop for just a second and let the helplessness of the situation sink in, I know I’ll be no good to her. I need that rage, the years of hate and injustice, to be my weapon.
This is my chance to let every one of the demons—the monsters in my soul—free and let the wrath consume my body.
I reach the garage level in minutes. Minutes that, in reality, felt like hours, but less than a second after the doors open, I’m sprinting as fast as I can towards my Charger. My phone is still glued to my ear as I listen to the muffled fight.
Then I’m rushing through the streets as fast as I can push my car, my eyes focused like tunnel vision on one thing.
Obliterating the motherfucker who dared to put his hands on my sweet angel.
It takes me five minutes and twenty-six seconds to get to the hotel. I jump out of the car before I even have a chance to throw it in park, not even giving a fuck that it’s rolling towards the brick pillar holding up the covered carport. I jump and fucking run.
“Give me the keycard for room four seventeen,” I demand, my eyes wild as I take in the terrified night clerk. She doesn’t move. “Fucking hell! NOW!”
“I ca-can’t give you access, sir,” she stutters.
“There’s a sadistic, abusive, FUCKING RAPIST up there right now with my woman, so let me tell you again—give me the goddamn keycard!” My voice booms through the lobby.
Her eyes go wide as she fumbles with the stack of cards next to her computer. “We got a call down not even ten minutes ago. I thought it was a joke, so I hung up.”
I’m sorry—what? I’m having a hard time following her, keeping my attention to the noises coming through my cell, and seeing through my adrenaline-filled, raging mind.
“Give me the card and you better fucking pray I’m not too late,” I threaten.
She fucking hung up. She had enough time to make two calls and only one came.
“NOW!” I bellow when it takes her a second longer.
With a shaking hand, she hands the card over. I keep my eyes trained on her and show her just how dangerous I am.
“Stairs?” I bark. She points and I take off. “And fucking call the police!”
Knowing that she is just four flights of stairs away and I’m just seconds away from her gives me the added push that I need to stretch the limits of my body. I don’t have the right prosthetic for running on—every heavy step I take pinches the skin around my stump, but all that pain does is help power my determination.
It drives me, my demons, and the fear I have for her to the brink of dominance over my body. I’m in control here, and that motherfucker better watch out.
I move swiftly down the short hallway until I’m standi
ng outside her door. Not knowing if he is armed has me at a disadvantage, but I’m trained for this—trained to kill—and there isn’t anything that can stop me now. I drop my phone in the hallway and ready myself for whatever I might find inside her room.
Leaning my ear against the door as I slowly and silently push the card into the slot gives me a clue that he’s going to be at least away from the door. The deep vibrations of his voice are muffled enough that I guess he’s a good ten feet from the doorway.
Thank fuck the lock is almost silent when I slowly pull the handle down and push the door open. Entering the small hallway, I see one of her legs hanging off the bed at an odd angle. Her arm is lying next to her body, unmoving. When I see the amount of blood and bile around the floor in front of the bed, I flip the switch and let the monsters take control.
When I set them free, I throw years of pain, hurt, and suffering into my actions. I channel every second I’ve every felt unworthy of anything to save my angel.
Taking him by surprise is a huge advantage. He’s balancing on his hand, with the other stroking his pathetic dick as he sucks on my angel’s exposed and bruised breast. Her panties are still on—even if they’re hanging by a ripped thread—and I feel instant relief that I might have gotten here quickly enough to make sure this doesn’t get any worse.
“You. Motherfucker,” I grind out, my saliva frothing at the corners of my lips when I take a good look at Emmy. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
He has the nerve to laugh, standing from the bed with his dick still bobbing in front of him. He charges, but his movements aren’t coordinated and he stumbles the second his pants get around his knees. That gives me the opening I need.
Grabbing his head between my palms, I slam his head down on my knee. He cries out, falling to the floor before jumping back up. He gets a swift uppercut to the temple, making him falter on his feet before shaking it off. Each punch he throws in my direction I dodge and then return with two of mine. I pound into him with a lethal brutality—but he never drops. Each punch to his face earns me more of a twisted grin. Each jab to his center has him laughing.