Chapter Thirty

MAGNOLIA

I wake to unfamiliar surroundings and panic fills my body. I try to move but find I can’t. Why can’t I move? My mind is groggy and sluggish. Where am I and how did I get here? Think, Magnolia, think.

I try to move again, but still, nothing. I’m stuck.

No, not stuck…

Tied.

I’m gagged and bound.

I scream, but the rag stuffed in my mouth muffles the sound. Tears stream down my cheeks, blinding me. I contort my body, trying to break free, but it’s no use. My ankles and wrists are secured too tightly.

A door opens somewhere near me and light floods into the room, stinging my eyes. “Oh, good. You’re up.” I know that voice—it’s one I hoped to never hear ever again.

Straining, I look up, into the cold, dead, merciless eyes of Grant Edward Ellington—my husband.

He stalks closer and, on instinct, I lower my gaze from his, submissive and docile, just the way he likes. “Good girl,” he praises, like I’m a dog—his bitch.

A whimper slips past my lips, and I cringe.

“What was that, Magnolia?” he asks, fire in his tone. Even if I weren’t gagged, I wouldn’t have replied. Engaging Grant is never a good idea.

He crouches down before me and rakes his fingers through my hair, pushing them into the base of my skull. Fisting my long locks, he jerks my face up to look at him. His grip is so tight that I swear I can feel my hair ripping loose from my scalp.

My body shakes with sobs, and Grant rears back, his open palm striking my cheek. “You’re not a good girl, are you?” he asks, his sugary tone no match for his lethal words. “No, you’re a bad girl, and bad girls must be punished.” He strikes me again, clipping my eye this time.

My vision tinges red, blood mingling with my tears. Again and again Grant comes at me until my left eye is swollen shut and my lip is split in several places. Heaving and gasping, I beg him to stop, but it’s no use. My words are garbled from the gag, and even if they weren’t, my pleas would fall on deaf ears.

He stands and begins pacing in front of me. “You’re a stupid fucking cunt, but you’re mine, my stupid fucking cunt. We took vows, Magnolia. Till death do us part—death, Magnolia. Death.” Grant’s voice is that of a madman—completely and totally unhinged. “Before we move to the end of our vows, let’s show your precious Simon just how insignificant and pathetic you really are.”

Squinting, I see Grant pull a phone from his pocket. He yanks my hair again and angles my face toward the tiny camera lens. Click. Click. Click.

“You won’t have to worry about him wanting you after he sees you like this.”

§

SIMON

It’s been hours since my girl vanished without a trace, and we haven’t heard anything. Cash and Drake feed the beast within me with promises of retribution when Grant is found, while Myla Rose and Azalea offer me hope and kind words, assuring me Magnolia will be okay.

I’m not sure if I believe them. If she were okay, she would have called, some way, somehow, and she hasn’t. To me, that all but proves she’s anything but okay.

I alternate between sitting and pacing, until Cash speaks up. “Hey, did y’all hear that?” His words stop me in my tracks.

“Hear what?”

A beep sounds from the kitchen. “That,” he says. The beep sounds again, and I’m off like a shot.

I practically rip Magnolia’s phone—her real phone, not the prepaid one—off the charger. I swipe her unlock pattern and balk at the sight of an unread text from the 617 number.

“What is it?” Myla Rose asks over my shoulder.

The message remains unopened, my thumb hovering over it. “A text.”

“Is it from him?” Drake asks, cracking his knuckles.

I nod.

“Open it!” Azalea demands.

Internally, I war. This text could contain anything. The contents of this message could kill me. Choked up, I whisper, “I’m scared.”

“I know you are, Sim,” Myla Rose soothes, “but you gotta.”

Fuck. She’s right. I know she is. Doesn’t mean I want to do it, though.

With gritted teeth, I tap on the message icon. Immediately, a little circle starts spinning on the screen, signifying an image is downloading. After what feels like an eternity, a photo of Magnolia fills my screen.

Stricken, I throw the phone down, rattling off a string of expletives. I rake my hands through my hair, tugging hard on the ends before slamming my fist into the wall, leaving a hole.

Nothing, and I mean fucking nothing could’ve readied me for what I just saw: my girl, beaten and bloodied, her beautiful face swollen and bruised, mouth gagged, wrists and ankles tied.

Cash steps around me and snatches up the discarded phone. I know the second he’s caught a glimpse of the text. “Goddamn it.” His wife asks to see, but he tells her no. “Trust me, darlin’, you don’t wanna see this.”

“Don’t tell me what I wanna see, Cash Carson. I’m not some wilting flower. Give me the phone—now.”

Cash bends to her will and passes Magnolia’s phone to her. I watch as she sucks in a sharp breath, no doubt horrified by what she’s seeing. Myla Rose shocks me when she turns to Azalea and says, “AzzyJo, call the police.”

She then signals for both Drake and me to move closer. “Look!”

“Don’t really wanna see that shit again, Myles,” I grind out, my anger barely keeping my tears at bay.

“No, Sim, look—not at her. Look at where he has her.”

Drake and I both peer over her shoulder, and holy shit—I know that building. I know exactly where he’s holding my girl. Dumbass has her in old man Hunter’s barn.

Drake and I used to hide out there when we were kids. The rusty, bullet-riddled Gulf gas station sign in the background is a dead giveaway.

My ears ring as I think about just how close Magnolia is. Through my haze, I hear Myla Rose relaying to Azalea what to tell the dispatcher, but I’m not waiting for the boys in blue.

Gotcha, asshole.