Chapter Forty-Four
She was going to die, or worse, live through something her mind would never heal from. She looked around, frantically trying to find a phone or a place to hide.
She was freezing and her back burned from the snow, the numbness fading into a prickling burn. Blood trickled, heating the back of her shoulder where Bryan tackled her against the rocks. Wet filth seeped from her dress into the cushions of the sofa she’d been told to wait on, but none of that mattered, because she was going to die.
Her mind mourned all the things she had yet to experience in life, holding her own child, watching Jeremy feed their son or daughter when he or she woke in the middle of the night, making love for hours on a Sunday with her husband while it rained outside, seeing Europe and going wine tasting through the vineyards of Spain. She’d been married for a mere month and her life was being stolen from her before it even began.
She thought of Jeremy, his grief at losing her and a whimper slipped past her lips. She needed to get out of—
A tapping sound caught her attention and she froze.
Her gaze jerked to the door Bryan had disappeared through and slowly scanned the room. The tap sounded again and she gasped as a face showed on the other side of the frosted window. Was that Nathan?
His breath fogged up the glass, his eyes looking panicked and relieved at the same time. Jade’s heart stopped. They’d found her. Relief shook her to the bone as her shoulders quaked with renewed hope. He held up his hand in a reassuring gesture as if he could actually touch her. Strangely, it was incredibly soothing and she felt a tear slip free.
Don’t be naïve. You’re far from safe.
A floorboard creaked and she tensed. If her muscles pulled any tighter she feared her bones would start to snap.
“I’ll be right there, my love.” His voice slithered through the silence like an eel.
The man was certifiably insane. How had he managed a career thus far? She recalled his influential lineage, his grandparents and parents that had made obscene donations to the hospital. It all made sense. This was the prestige Nathan had told her about, the power that came with being a member of some twisted secret society. She wondered if they were aware one of their members were running rogue? She didn’t know exactly how it worked, but she was almost certain taking a hostage was beyond even their screwed up policies for acceptable behavior.
Bryan walked in holding a mug and she held her breath, unsure what would come next.
“This should warm you up.”
She took the mug, not trusting what was inside. She didn’t need to drink it. The heat of the contents seeped through the porcelain and warmed her hands.
“I don’t come here much, so it’ll take a while for the heat to kick on.”
She didn’t respond because she wasn’t sure how lucid his thinking was at the moment and she was terrified saying the wrong thing might make him snap.
He scoffed and she flinched as he snatched the mug from her hands. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” he snapped. Like it would be so unfathomable for him to slip something into her drink. He took a sip and handed it back to her. “See? Just tea. I told you, I am not going to hurt you if you cooperate.”
“W-why are y-ou d-d-doing this?” Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, making her words skip out of her mouth with an uncontrollable stutter. She wanted to appear calm, but her body’s natural response to the last hour was overpowering her will.
He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.”
Maybe she could reason with him. After all, he said he only wanted to talk. She could pretend this was normal and they were friends, burn some time before help arrived. Nathan being here had to mean others were coming.
“Bryan—”
“You weren’t supposed to marry him!” he snarled, his voice so venomous she flinched, fearing he’d hit her again. “He was supposed to be a fling! I was supposed to be the one you chose in the end!”
Fucking. Crazy.
Staring up at him as spittle clung to his lips she met his rage with forced composure. Her hands trembled as she brought the tea to her lips and lowered her gaze, buying time. Pretending to take another sip, she mentally counted how long it would take for help to come.
Her anger surged as a sort of realization struck with dull awareness. This entire situation was bizarre and she now had a target to blame, a face to accuse, and a mark to aim all of her pent up fury toward. This was his fault. Everything that happened to her, all of her heartache and tears, they were his doing.
Her teeth clamped tight as she fought back the impetuous urge to throw her scalding tea in his face and attack him. But she wouldn’t win. He was bigger and stronger and a fuck load crazier. She had to play it smart. Yet, she couldn’t resist picking at the first vulnerability she found.
“He’ll know I’m missing. He’ll call the cops. They’ll find you. If you let me go, you might not go to jail.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “I have ways to handle the police.”
That’s what the society does… They cover up for each other. He knows other men who will help him, men who should be helping her!
Fear choked her so her focus turned to anger.
He touched you. He branded you. He’s the reason you suffered. Without him, you never would’ve had a baby to lose!
She needed to knock him off balance before she clawed that cocky look off his arrogant face. “Ways like Postestas Adimpleo Postestas Quattuor?”
His eyes momentarily widened, registering shock. A mask of calm slid over his expression. “You bumped your head, my love. You’re confused.”
She was not confused and she certainly wasn’t his love. Every time he called her that she wanted to scream. He was the confused one. She had more clarity than she had in the past six months.
“I know about your little club. I know that you watched me for months before you followed me to that bar and drugged me. I know about how they promised to protect you and get you out of trouble. But the police tell me that’ll change the second you’re put in front of a female judge.” Her mouth curved, matching his cocky smirk from earlier. “I have connections too,” she bluffed.
No comment from the sociopath in the room? Interesting.
She continued to push. “They’ll betray you, Bryan. They’ll leave you to hang because you broke the rules, and I happen to know for a fact that they don’t take kindly to that.”
His eyes moved frantically as if he were doing some sort of complex calculation in his head. She was hitting a nerve. His breath came quickly, setting a pulse to the silence.
Empowered by his show of fear, she sat a little taller. “Do you know what they do to men who draw unwanted attention to their club?”
He glared at her, his unease evident in his twitchy eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t thought this through and was flying without a parachute.
“They’ll find you and they punish you the same way you punished me. They’ll seek retribution. And as they hold you down, you’ll know the true meaning of victim, because you will be awake. And when you struggle, they’ll laugh. They’ll desecrate you in every possible way and then they’ll brand you for the despicable animal you—”
Her head snapped back as the back of his hand whacked hard against her cheek. The teacup shattered across the floor. Pushing the pain aside, she met his glare, tasting blood. “How’s it feel to be scared?”
“Shut up!” he snapped. “You made me hurt you! And look what you did to my mother’s china!”
His head jerked toward the door and then back to her. He snatched her arm in a bruising grip, yanking her from the sofa.
She yelped as he dragged her across the room. “Wait!” Struggling to break his hold, she lost her balance, but he pulled her toward an old desk, ripping open drawers and rummaging through papers.
A sheaf of thick white documents, still creased from where they’d been folded caught her eye. On the edge, there was a broken wax seal with a familiar number four.
Snatching the papers out of view, he stuffed them into his pockets. She grunted as he yanked her to the corner where a fireproof box sat.
He turned the dial of the safe and cursed when his shaky hand refused to cooperate. His skin wore a sheen of sweat and his grip was loosening. When the safe finally opened, he pulled out a wad of money and she yanked her arm out of his grip.
“Don’t move.” A small silver handgun pointed at her face from his trembling hand.
Oh, shit.
Her bravado faltered. He gripped her arm again, this time with an unbreakable hold and dragged her toward the front door. Her focus was glued to the handgun, knowing just one wrong move and her life could be over. Where was Nathan?
Did he have the foresight to slash his tires? What about Lily? Was she awake yet? Oh, God… this was all going to end and Jade was no longer sure if she’d make it out alive.
An unexpected calm washed over her, numbing fear climbing into every organ and cocooning all of her bones. Surrender. She knew then she’d do anything to live. And that was how bad guys won, because she was now terrified enough to negotiate her life—at least long enough to remain alive and find help.
Life slowed as she considered all she’d lost and how glad she was she hadn’t let her grief topple her in her last minutes. She was strong. She’d fought to the very end and didn’t let sorrow swallow her. A silent rage boiled her blood. It was over, but she wasn’t ready to give up.
She would not forfeit the game until she took her last breath and she was still fucking breathing! This was her life. She refused—refused—to let this maniac win.
Her thoughts pranced wildly through her head. Jeremy, glimpses of him making love to her, dancing with her, laughing with her, holding her when no one else was brave enough to come near her. She recalled an image of young Kat holding Mia, so frightened but determined to beat the odds. She imagined Jeremy rushing for cover, holding his friend Josh’s body as bullets whizzed by. Tyson holding his baby sister as she passed on. They were all scared, but they all fought through the fear and survived.
Her feet tripped up a step as he yanked her to the door and reality came crashing in. She hefted her weight in the opposite direction he was dragging her and jerked her arm. “No!”
Turning, his glare lit with impatience and rage. “Do. Not. Fight. Me.”
Her foot dug into the area rug as her other one slammed into his Italian loafers. He cursed, catching her by the forearms and gouging his nails into her tender flesh. Her palms slapped his face and squeezed the flesh, her fingernails stabbing into the soft skin around his eyes.
“I’ll never stop fighting!” she screamed.
“Fucking bitch!” He jerked back and she charged, throwing all her weight into his stomach as they slammed into a table.
A vase crashed to the floor, shattering on the hard marble. Her knee slammed painfully to the ground, something sharp gouging into her flesh as his weight fell on top of her. Limbs tangled as her fingers scratched away soft skin. He wrestled her hands away from his face and pinned her to the floor.
No! Shards of broken glass punctured her as he held her down. “Get off of me!”
She spit in his eye and yanked her wrists free. Grabbing a fistful of hair, she jerked his head down and bit his cheek until she tasted blood.
He roared and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Pressure threatened to collapse her windpipe as his grip tightened around her throat and lifted over her, his weight crushing her throat.
Her eyes watered as her palms slapped at his arms. She tugged at his sleeves, but he didn’t let go. Words mouthed in silent pleas flung, his vacant eyes staring down from his bleeding face.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” The gun cocked back and slammed into her temple.
Pain exploded behind her eyes and her vision blurred. The warm trickle of her blood dripped into her hair as she gasped for oxygen, weightless and, perhaps, dead.
“Get up.” He yanked her to her feet, but she could barely stand. “We have to go.”
Her knees bucked, her dead weight collapsing back to the floor. Her eyes were barely open, and she couldn’t make her body more. She was losing consciousness. Her fingers tingled as warm blood clotted in her left eye. Her throat was raw, her voice broken.
“Get up!” He caught her in a headlock and opened the front door.
A flash of movement caught her eye as a tall figure blocked her view of the outside. Sucking in a razor sharp breath, she winced as the raw tissue of her throat grated. Blood smeared her vision.
“Time’s up, motherfucker.” The barrel of a Glock aimed at her face.
“No!” she screamed as the blast echoed into a deafening hum and the world went black.