But by then, I was unconscious again.
I woke up faster the next time. My subconscious must have been aware of the danger this time, cognizant of the fact that this could very well be a life or death situation, and I really needed to be awake to try to handle it.
Soaking wet still, I knew I couldn't have been out for too long.
The wetness was compounded by something else as I became aware of cinder block walls and dirt floors. I could feel the grit of it down my legs, arms, the side of the face that was resting against it.
Dirty.
I hated, hated being dirty.
I felt the immediate swell of panic, the need to shower.
I tried pushing it down, knowing it was useless to hope for things I clearly could not have, but there proved to be no way to stop myself from shooting upward, ignoring the whirling of my brain, trying to slough the dirt off, only managing to make it rub against my skin, gritty and uncomfortable.
I wiped my hands against a small patch up my side where the material wasn't filthy, deep breathing, trying to think, to focus, to search for an exit.
There were windows, the kind you found in basements, a foot or so long, maybe eight inches wide, enough to let in light, but not to drag myself through. Even if I could get myself up that high.
My eyes drifted over the exposed beams of the ceiling, following them down the unfinished walls, before I finally saw the staircase - wooden, steep.
I pushed myself up, forcing my body to hold my weight, to ignore the pain in my skull, scalp, and face.
That could be dealt with later.
I was halfway to the stairs when I realized I couldn't just... climb them and walk to freedom.
Not-Gary wouldn't have gone through the trouble of kidnapping me if he planned to just run off like he could have if he hadn't taken me.
He would be there.
Waiting.
All-too happy to hurt me some more.
With words.
With blows.
At this point, I didn't know which was worse.
I took myself to the dark corners, finding empty buckets, one half-full can of paint, some rope, and - blessedly - a pile of rebar.
My hands both reached down, taking one into each hand, always preferring to be over prepared than under.
Armed, I made my way back to the stairs.
I had no idea how well I could defend myself, if I had the skills necessary. But there was one thing I did know. I had the will. To fight my way out. To beat the man I had shared a life with to get away. To kill him if it was necessary.
It wasn't until my foot hit the somewhat slippery to my wet and dirty feet stair that I thought to look up.
To look up and see what lay ahead of me.
Only to feel a crushing sort of disappointment to find something in the way.
A piece of wood.
Thick.
An old door, maybe?
Laid over the whole opening that could have led to the upper floor.
Pride completely abandoned under my bubbling hysteria, I flew up the stairs, dropping the rebar, slamming at the wood with useless fingers, powerless palms, feeling splinters slide under the skin, yelling, screaming.
It wasn't until I heard him that I stopped.
He was chuckling.
At me.
And that was about all I could take.
My pride, pounded unrecognizable, but still fighting, forced me back down the stairs, grabbing my rebar weapons, sinking down the wall. Once my butt landed down, my pride finally gave one last, gasping breath. A death exhale.
My hands rose up to my face as the tears started, fast, uncontrollable.
And I did all I could do.
I prayed Kai could come and save me.
-
Flashback - 28 months before -
"Does he always growl at you?" Gemma asked, standing at her desk spritzing the roots of her orchid with water.
"Gunner?" Jules asked, distractedly trying to sort through the mess of paperwork he had dropped on her desk. From what she could tell, there were five different ones all shuffled together. He did it to screw with her. He always did. Ever since that conversation a bit after she started working there.
"Yes, Gunner," Gemma agreed, and Jules could feel her gaze on the top of her head but didn't look up.
"Ah, yeah. He always growls at me."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't like me."
"That's ridiculous. Everyone likes you."
"No, Gemmy, everyone likes you. I often have a tendency to rub people the wrong way. And he rubs almost everyone the wrong way."
"So... there's been a lot of... rubbing?"
"Gemmy!" Jules half-gasped, half-scolded, finally looking up at her sister.
"Don't look so outraged. I know all about rubbing. And all kinds of other things."
"Oh, my God. Stop. Last month you were still wearing pigtails and jellies."
"Please," Gemma said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a kid anymore, Jules."
"You're my kid sister. And you are forbidden to do any kind of rubbing or anything else that you know all about."
"So you did. Rub," she specified, a dog with a bone on the matter.
"Oh, gross. No."
"Gross? He's gorgeous."
"He's a brute."
"Right. And you can only date people straight up and down. In suits. With impressive resumes and plans for his future."
"You make me sound like a snob."
"No. No," Gemma said more firmly, upset that anyone would think she was being nasty. "It's just... how can you know that that kind of guy is the right kind of guy for you?"
"If someone checks all your boxes, you know they have the same plans for their lives."
"Plans. Goals. How very un-romantic. What if there's a guy. And he doesn't wear a suit. And he doesn't pay into a 401k. Say he grows blueberries, raises baby goats. Say he is always in plaid and jeans and smells a bit like hay. He doesn't check any of your boxes. But he loves you. I mean he really loves you, Jules. Thinks you are the reason the sun wakes up every morning? What if the man who can love you best doesn't check a single one of your boxes?" she asked as Kai's office door closed, the shuffle of his sneaker-clad feet moving down the hall until he burst into the doorway, giving Gemma the soft smile everyone was known to do before shooting one in her direction as well.
She looked back at her sister, having to shake her head a bit to brush away some weird fog hanging over it.
"Then I guess he isn't the right guy."
SEVEN
Kai
I knew she needed some space, needed to think things through, but it had been almost an hour.
I was starting to get worried.
I battled with myself for another twenty minutes before I finally grabbed my keycard, cell, and keys in case she maybe took a walk.
It was another thirty minutes later, after searching the lobby, the grounds, doing a quick sweep of the close area she could have walked to that the panic started to grip me.
This was Jules.
She was smart.
Careful.
She wouldn't have taken off somewhere.
Even if she was angry with me, she would have texted at least.
But there was nothing.
I wasn't feeling like myself as I tore back into the hotel, going past the front desk and down a side hall meant for employees only.
And I wasn't acting like myself when my hand just started slamming on the door of the security room.
Impatient.
Frustrated.
Crazy situations, those were my job. I lived on that adrenaline. I thrived on chaos. I prided myself on being able to keep my calm even in unpredictable, dangerous interactions. I could talk my way into whatever I wanted, or out of whatever I didn't want. Without the other person realizing they were the ones giving up things. At least until it was too late anyway.
But I couldn't muster the calm, the cool I would need to schmo
oze my way into what I wanted this time.
This was Jules we were talking about here.
To hell with charm.
I'd knock the man out and take what I wanted if he didn't cooperate.
The door pulled open, revealing a guy around middle age with thinning blond hair, brown eyes, and a ruddy red rash across his cheeks.
I could talk you up for an hour, get you to show me the security footage without a hint of resistance. But I don't have the time," I told him, watching as he stiffened up, knowing what I was asking was against the rules. "Do you have daughters?"
"Three," he confirmed, chest puffing up slightly. It was a crapshoot going that route. I took a chance thanks to the ring on his finger and the Grandpa mug on his desk.
"How would you like it if one was missing, and some guy behind the cameras won't let you get a peek, so you could see if something happened to her?"
"You look young to be a father."
"The woman I love is missing," I admitted, the emotion leaking into the words, and I couldn't have cared less about that.
Let him hear how raw I felt.
Let him know how panicked I was, how my heart was a frantic base beat in my chest.
"If anyone asks, I'll say you forced your way in," he warned me.
I didn't care.
"I'd happily take the jail time if she was safe," I told him, shrugging as he moved inside, letting me follow, closing the door.
"What's your girl look like?"
I didn't correct him.
I didn't tell him she wasn't my girl.
Because, quite frankly, she was.
She was my girl.
Even if I wasn't her man.
"Thin. Red hair pulled up. In a purple dress and flat feet."
"Flat feet? You two have a fight?" he asked a bit absently as he moved out his chair to sit down.
"Yes. She was getting some air. About... an hour ago. I already searched the common areas, outside, took a drive to see if she was walking or getting coffee somewhere. There's nothing. And the cops won't hear me out until she's been missing for a while longer."
"And any idiot who watches crime shows knows it is usually too late then."
"Exactly," I agreed, moving in behind him to watch over his shoulder as he rewound the footage, catching Jules coming out of our room.
If I wasn't completely mistaken, she didn't look frustrated or angry or shut down.
She almost looked... hurt.
My heart, still speeding, took a hit at the very idea that I had done that. Hurt her. The last thing I would ever want to do.
"Getting in the elevator..." he narrated, skipping from screen to screen, pointing her out like I wasn't as diligent as he was in finding her. "Into the lobby. Getting coffee..."
If I wasn't mistaken - and I wasn't because I was watching her more intently than I ever had before - she reached up to rub at her eye.
To swat a tear, maybe?
Damn if that didn't knock my air out.
"And here she seems to notice everyone looking at her in all her barefoot glory," he went on, pointing to Jules walking outside to get some air.
It wasn't long.
Just after she moved away from the valet, getting almost out of eyesight of the camera.
She couldn't see it, the shadow, being that it was behind her.
But we could see it.
I could hear the guard suck in his breath at the same time I did.
My body braced for it as though it was going to happen to me instead of Jules.
I'd much rather it was me.
But wishful thinking wouldn't change the reality. The reality where Jules had a piece of metal piping slamming down on the back of her head, surely sending pain shooting off for the split second before she crumpled down to the hard ground. There was no sound on the video, but I could swear I heard her land. Hard.
Then the shadow wasn't a shadow anymore. It was a man.
I knew.
I knew before I had any reason to know.
Even though it could have been anyone.
I knew it was him.
Then he was moving into the camera feed like some damn amateur, looking a little different, but mostly the same, leaning down, dragging up Jules's body like it was nothing more than a sack of grain, something he need not take care with. And I guess, why would he start now? After all the damage he had already done.
"Son of a bitch," the guard hissed, already reaching for the phone as he scanned one last time, catching the corner of a car as it pulled away. Not much. But enough for a make and partial license plate. I could work with that.
"Do me a favor?" I half-asked, half-demanded.
"What's that?"
"Don't tell the cops about me until they come here to see the tapes."
"Want to get some time to rough him up yourself. I understand."
"Thank you."
"Go get your girl," he called as I was running out the door, already scanning through my contacts, bringing my phone up to my ear. "I have a make and plates. Give me information," I demanded as soon as I heard a voice.
It was curt and unlike me.
But that was how this business was at times.
There would be no hard feelings. If there were, I'd soothe them over.
Right now, it didn't matter.
Jules mattered.
Only ever Jules.
I had no idea what his plan was. This Gary who was not Gary. And not Matthew. This man who was nothing but a face and some decent acting skills. This man who was no one.
I should have been spending more time looking, trying to find someone who matched his identity. To know what I was up against.
Was he just a conman?
Just a Don Juan, seducing and stealing from rich women? It was an old con, one that didn't have as much footing in these days, these days when most women were skilled internet private detectives about all the men in their lives. But it still happened. And he was young and attractive. He could set up a nice life for himself that way.
Or was it worse than that?
Did he have a different kind of criminal past?
Assault?
Rape?
My stomach knotted tighter at the idea, at the possibilities.
Of what she could be going through.
Because the only reason to take her was to silence her.
And to silence her, well, he knew Jules.
He'd have to kill her.
He'd have to know, surely, that it wouldn't stand.
We'd never let him get away with it.
Me, Quin, Lincoln, Smith, Miller, Ranger, Finn, even Gunner.
Not one of us would stand for it.
If he hurt her.
If he took her away from me.
There wasn't a corner in this world, not a cave her could burrow into, not a rock he could climb under where I wouldn't find him, drag him out, and make him pay.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Bloodily.
I was a good man.
I was careful with my words, careful more with my fists.
But that didn't mean I couldn't use them, that I didn't know how to use them.
I'd never had the happiest of upbringings. My house wasn't filled with love and light. It was full of exhaustion and expectations, parents who worked themselves nearly to death and wanted me to excel in everything I ever did to ensure a better future for me. My happiness was not a factor.
The only relief I had found was in the bi-weekly martial arts classes with my grandfather.
He taught me control.
He gave me an outlet for the frustration I had.
He showed me that violence was the last possible resort.
He told me that men - real men, good men - did not swing first.
But for Jules, I'd be happy not to be a good man.
I'd be happy to take every skill I had ever learned and use it to make her asshole of an ex suffer for any fear or pain he put her through.
Before he could do any real damage.
Bumps and bruises and fear - those I could deal with. I could patch up. I could soothe over. I could teach her how to trust men - and herself - again.
She would be okay.
I would make sure of it.
But I had to get there first.
Because if he just wanted her dead, he could have shot her. Right there in the hotel parking lot. Fled. Left the pieces for others to pick up.
He didn't want to do that.
He wanted to be careful.
He wanted to make sure he was long gone before anyone got a whiff of him on the air.
I had time.
Not a lot.
But some.
If I could keep my mind focused, I could find him. I could find her. Get her out of there. Bring everyone else in to deal with the aftermath. Whatever that may be.
My phone rang in the cupholder, making me reach for it with fingers so desperate it slipped through, making me veer off the road with a screech of tires, trying to find it on the floor at my feet.
"Yeah? Tell me you have something."
"Same name. Matthew. He's got all the papers for it. That costs a lot. He must be good at what he does. But all the papers lead to some half-built housing complex..."
I was barely even listening as I threw the car back into drive, as I peeled out onto the highway.
Of course.
Of course that was where he would take her.
It was empty still, abandoned. No one lived there yet, not even in the finished units.
The staff would have left at five like all builders did, then the office workers not long after that.
It would be safe.
Quiet.
No one would be there to see him at all, let alone report it.
No one was anywhere within miles.
No one would hear her scream.
The darkness was the most obvious thing, there being no streetlights, no lamps lighting the driveways or front porches. Not yet.
Darkness everywhere.
I cut my own headlights, knowing a surefire way to be seen was to let those shine around in an area that was meant to be desolate.
I prayed my engine wasn't loud enough to be heard.
The Messenger (Professionals Book 3) Page 13