“Millie,” Jake groaned, his voice fading as he fell out of consciousness again.
The driver’s side door and passenger door were both wrenched open, and I was grabbed from behind, being pulled away from Jake as the man in front of me raised his gun. He pressed it to Jake’s forehead, and I screamed. The man at my back had meout of the car, but I was still holding on, fighting and kicking, trying to pull myself back inside. Tears were running down my face as I snarled, “You kill him, you tell Gordon he will never have me. I will never come willingly. I will never be his again! Put your fucking gun down!”
The masked man turned his head to me, cocking it to the side as I kicked his partner’s knee. A hand was over my mouth then, and it took two more men to get my hands off the door. Still, my threat worked, the man with the gun stepped back and jerked his head in a silent order. Then I was hauled off to the nearest car. They zip-tied my wrists behind my back, shoved me in headfirst, and slammed the door. Then we were off.
I sobbed into the leather seats, the streetlights passing by over me.
Hayes, get to Jake. Save Jake. Not me.
The room was dark and cold but not moist. I had a wild imagination, and for some reason, I figured all kidnappings would be the same. That each time, I would be taken to a coldbut moist dark room. This room had no moisture. No signs of life. It was cold and dry. Not what I expected.
Once Gordon’s men had gotten on the road, the man in the passenger seat had put a smelly bag over my head. It smelled like a mix of weed and fried chicken. These guys weren’t professionals. That much was true. Kidnappings were supposed to be out of the public eye, right? At least Carrie’s kidnapper had the decency and the basic intelligence to take us out back where no one could see us. These men had attacked me in the middle of campus—when the majority of students were heading out to grab dinner or heading back to their dorms. It was very poor planning on Gordon’s part because now the entire city of Seattle knew. A shooting on a college campus. It would be on the national news within the hour.
However, my ex’s lack of planning—his recklessness—also scared the living shit out of me. That meant he was desperate and he had nothing to lose. So he was going to get back the one thing he could never keep:me.
I didn’t know how long I’d been here. When they shoved me inside and pulled the bag off my head, the light was on. I didn’t get much of a chance to look around. They told me to go sit on the small cot in the corner and to be quiet. If I made any noise, they would “shut me up.” Uncharacteristically, I did what I was told, and the second my butt hit the dirty mattress, the light was gone and the door slammed.
Gordon would be here soon, and if he was still the man I once knew, the first thing he would do is brag. Brag about everything he had now and how much I had missed out on. He always did that when I tried to leave him, along with making promises he would never be able to keep.
Hayes was coming for me too.
That’s why the tears stopped shortly after they covered my eyes. The tears weren’t for me. They were Jake. My bottom lip trembled at the thought, and I sucked it back between my teeth.
No, Margo.
No tears.
You’re going to make it out of this.
Hayes will come for you.
He will always come for you.
Memories of him appearing behind the last kidnapper unfolded in my mind like a warm blanket. Visions of the blood on his hands and the fierce but gentle anger in his voice when he crouched down in front of me. His soft touch. His forest green eyes. The way his arms felt around me for the first time when he shielded me from stray bullets.
He was and always would be my Superman.
My body began to sway back and forth as I lost myself in memories of him.
More time passed, and when my psycho ex opened the door and smiled at me, I was calm. The lies were on my tongue, and I was ready to fire them.
“There’s my pretty girl,” Gordon greeted, his deep voice smooth. Two men followed him inside, their faces still covered. His dark eyes drank me in, lingering on my butterfly tattoo for a long time. They flicked up to meet mine. “I bet that hurt.”
“Not as much as you choking me did,” I deadpanned, scanning the room casually. To my right, there was a screw sticking out of the wall, forgotten and painted over. It was at just the right angle. “The place is a dump, but I’m glad to see you’ve updated your wardrobe.”
I had to admit—he looked like a completely different man. Black suit, dark blue shirt, sans the tie, and expensive shoes. No worn-out jeans, stained T-shirts, stolen Nike shoes, or messy hair. His dark hair was combed back with gel, giving the worlda view of the delicate tattooed scripture along his hairline. Hebrews 10:31.“It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.”
“I’ve missed you,” he said, smiling at me. He’d fixed his teeth; gleaming white veneers had replaced his old jagged, stained ones. “You look good.” I said nothing, and he looked over his shoulder, flicking his fingers. The two men behind him left the room and shut the door. “You don’t need to worry about them, babe. They won’t hurt you.”
Babe.
God, how I wanted to kick him in the jaw.
“They shot at me.”
He inhaled, taking a deep sigh as he put his hands in his pockets. He looked at his shoes, rocking back on his heels, blowing out air. “Yes, well, I do apologize for that. I told them to be gentle with you.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” I whispered, curling my lip in disgust.