14
Linc stared down at the phone long after he’d hung up, still reveling in the memory of Malik’s voice. The way it had wobbled throughout the conversation. The way fear had eaten it alive. He hoped the fear Malik felt for Mia’s safety was even half as poignant as the fear he felt every second for Emma.
Leaning on the railing of the balcony, built off the master bedroom of the two-story cottage and overlooking the vast forest and sprawling hills of the luscious land on the outskirts of London, Linc studied the photo of Mia on the screen. The photo of her bound, in the bedroom, just across the hall. She looked downright terrified. Malik’s heart must’ve had hit his feet. The desperation to save his beautiful, delicate wife must’ve been incredible. Strong enough to bring him to his knees.
He chortled. If only Malik knew how misleading that photo was. If only he knew Mia had been spitting fire and talking back and fighting like a wild animal locked in a cage since the moment Linc had taken her. If only Malik knew that, even though she’d been kidnapped and tied up by a raging madman, she’d barely shed a single tear. That, when she’d risked her life to escape him by diving headfirst into a laundry chute—a stroke of genius driving her to free her limbs using the saw in the basement—and made a run for it through the forest, she hadn’t once screamed for help.
No.
Mia Ali was no delicate flower. Regardless of the evidence her beautiful packaging gave to the contrary. She was a fighter. If the struggle she’d been giving Linc since the moment he’d thrown her over her shoulder wasn’t indication enough, the scar he’d seen on the side of her body earlier that evening surely was. A scar that proved she’d fought many battles in her time with Malik. A scar that, upon seeing it for the first time, had instantly reminded him of the scars he’d seen on his own wife’s body, nearly a year earlier, when he’d gone to the morgue to identify her.
He sucked in a breath, stomach falling to his feet, and clicked out of the photo. He went into the pocket of his jeans with his free hand and fished out a bronze coin, holding it up in the night air. It gleamed under the moonlight. The number ‘1’ that had been emblazoned in the middle of the coin warmed his fiery heart in an instant, the way it always did.
He went back to the phone a moment later, navigating to the throwaway Instagram account he’d created months ago. An account he hadn’t been able to stop himself from visiting. He breathed in deep at the photos that met him on his old friend Veda Vandyke’s Instagram feed. Photos of his mother, with her wild blonde hair and drawn brown eyes, cuddling a newborn baby against her chest while smiling up at the camera. Photos of Veda with that same baby, showcasing his growth with eyes full of pride and comments beside the photos that were long-winded in a way only a proud mother could manage. Photos of Gage, of the brother he’d barely knew, playing with that baby too.
Unable to stop himself—he never could whenever he made the colossal mistake of opening that app—Linc clicked out of Instagram and dialed a number he knew by heart.
A number he’d always known by heart.
It rang three times.
“Hello?” Veda’s sleepy voice had come through the line, sounding almost… desperate.
Linc held his breath at the sound of her voice, slamming his eyes closed when they instantly started to burn, leaving them that way until he was sure the moisture that had been trying to build up there had ebbed away. It was much the same reaction he had whenever he made the mistake of calling his mother. Something about their voices hurt too badly. Felt too much like home. A home he could never return to.
He didn’t respond to Veda’s whispered voice.
He never did.
“Is that you?” she whispered into the phone. When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “I know it’s you.”
He ran a hand down his face, knowing his cheeks were red from how hot they felt under his fingers. His palm rested over his lips, willing himself to keep quiet even though his body desperately wanted to respond.
“It’s been over a month since you…” She took a deep breath as if chiding herself, knowing these calls had the potential to be short and getting straight to the point. “It happened. I’m actually someone’s mom… Six weeks old. Can you believe it? God help him, right?”
A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips. A phenomenon he’d been convinced he’d forgotten how to do.
“You ready for this?” Her voice grew playful. “We named him Lincoln.”
His shoulders dropped and so did his head, chin hitting his chest, suddenly feeling weak, like he needed to sit down. Like his knees were going to give out from under him any moment. He sucked in a breath when his stomach fluttered.
“Lincoln Blackwater.” She paused as if hoping that maybe, this time, he’d respond, even though they both knew he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about the Blackwater part, but… hopefully, we did you proud with Lincoln.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
And he smiled back as if she could see him.
“I swear that he changes ethnicities everyday. Everyday, he looks like someone else’s kid. When I gave birth to him, he was Chinese. When we brought him home, he was Greek. Now, looking at him, I’m honestly getting Dominican vibes. He’s all over the map, man…He’s wearing a onesie that Grace bought for him. It has a Straight Outta Compton logo on the front, but instead, it says Straight Outta Mommy.” She chortled. “Your mom’s awesome. She even took him off our hands all day today so we could have some alone time. He really loves her.”
This time, Linc was unable to fight the moisture that stung his eyes but managed to will up the strength to stop it from rolling down his cheeks, clenching his teeth to the point of shattering to do it.
“I’m not quite Veda Blackwater yet, but… getting there. We were thinking… destination wedding. Somewhere far away. With no extradition.”
He breathed deep at the unspoken invitation.
“Things have quieted down a lot around here. No Blackwater Cruises. Murder rates at an all time low. Fewer missing person cases. The bureau’s investigation is still going strong, so the island’s crawling with feds. Not exactly an appealing place to run a trafficking operation, so it’s all just… gone to dust. I’d almost use the word… nice. It’s like a whole different world.” She chuckled, her eyes softening into the crib. “I’m actually excited to raise my son here. And that’s down to his uncle. It’s all because of you—”
His head fell once more, eyes slamming shut.
“I’m really glad you called. I was beginning to worry that… that you’d stopped needing this. Stopped needing it as much as I do. As much as we do. Wherever you are… We love you. We miss you—”
“I want to talk to him.”
At the sound of Gage’s voice—of his brother’s voice—Linc ended the call. Not because he’d wanted to. Not even because he’d let the call go on past the two-minute limit he’d set for himself.
But because his heart couldn’t take anymore.