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I push to my feet and incline my chin at Smith, before Savage and I head to the door. We step outside into gusting winds that force us to linebacker it to the vehicle. Once we’re inside and on the road, the SUV shakes with the impact of more wind.
I told Emma I wouldn’t let her go, but it feels like the universe has its own ideas and is working against me.
Chapter one hundred ten
Jax
Two hours later, compliments of the wind, we’re still on the runway when Savage’s men report back on their meeting with Randall and Chance that went nowhere. Chance and Randall both, predictably, claimed worry for Emma and admitted nothing.
“What about York?” I ask Savage. “Is there any possible way—”
“We’re checking on him but no one who didn’t know that castle got past us.”
“Do you know how many employees we have and have had over the years?” I ask. “One of them could have been paid to help.”
“Our team is checking all angles, man,” he assures me. “More soon.” He stands up and walks away. I fight the urge to punch the wall but it’s not my plane, and that’s not me. I don’t punch walls. I’m in control. I need to be in control. Random acts of exaggerated emotion don’t help me or Emma. I force myself to deep breathe and calm my damn nerves.
At some point, I fall asleep on the plane. I know this only because I wake to sunlight peeking through the window and Savage nudging me awake. “We’re clear for takeoff.”
I glance at my watch. “Six in the damn morning? Really?”
“We were clear two hours ago; at which time, the engine light came on. And no, you can’t make this shit up.”
I scrub the rough stubble now present on my jaw. “I’m so damn glad I slept through that.”
“We found drugs in your brother’s car and we had a doctor come check him out. He’s fine but he overindulged in a dangerous way.”
“Drugs,” I murmur. “That explains a hell of a lot.”
“They change a person,” he says. “Brother needs rehab. To drive that point home, in a brief moment of questionable alertness, he rambled about Jill again and passed back out.”
“Have we talked to Jill?”
“Yes. She said she knew nothing which is bullshit. At the very least, she knows how badly Brody wanted Emma to leave. Which I know because Emma and I overheard the two of them talking. More soon.” He stands up. “I’ll let you rest. If we have the internet in the air we’re supposed to have, I’m going to be online, getting updates. I’ll wake you if I hear anything.”
I nod and he walks away.
The engine roars to life, and I quickly dial Emma’s phone again, only to get her voicemail. Next up is her brother. I’m thrown into his voicemail as well which pisses me off. I don’t care what time it is, if he’s sleeping like a baby while his sister is missing, he’s a waste of air.
I lean back in my seat and I type out a text message to Emma:I don’t even know if you will see this but I’m dying here without you. I miss you. I’m worried. I love you, Emma.I don’t even hesitate. I hit send but I don’t set my phone down. I hold onto it,waiting for the reply that doesn’t come. The plane lifts off, and my connection is lost but I refuse to believe that Emma is as well.
I’m going to find her.
And then I’m going to do as I promised. I’m not letting her go.
Chapter one hundred eleven
Emma
Iblink awake to sunlight beaming in through a window and my stomach rolling. Oh God. I’m going to be sick. I sit up, a brief moment of relief to discover that I’m home in my apartment, in my own bedroom. The masks. The airplane. That must have been a nightmare. I throw away the covers, and I’m naked. I don’t remember getting undressed. “Jax!” I call out. “Jax!”
That’s when I realize that Jax and I were not in my apartment. We were in Maine in his castle. My stomach cramps again, and I rush to the bathroom, fall to my knees and heave over the toilet. It’s gut-wrenching, fierce heaving, and I can’t make it stop. I throw up again, clutching onto the seat for dear life. I need my phone. I need my man. I needJax.Finally, the pain eases and I curl onto the floor, unable to move. Help me, God. I’m naked, and I’m in San Francisco. I don’t remember how I got here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and just lie there. No. No. I think I fall asleep because I come to again sick as a dog. I crawl to the toilet and throw up again, returning to the floor after I’m done to fade into misery and sleep. The next time I wake up, I’m on my back staring at the ceiling. The room is dark, I realize but light beamsin from the bedroom. So, I’m in the dark and it seems that I’m shivering. I’m cold. I’m really cold. I roll over and sit up on my knees, testing the steadiness of my stomach, and despite some dizziness, I seem to be past the sickness.
With some effort, I push to my feet and grab a robe from behind the door, pulling it around me, and then grab the edge of the counter by the sink to stare in the mirror. My hair is everywhere. My mascara is so all over the place that I look like I’m wearing a zombie Halloween costume. I frown. Costume.Mask.I remember now. I relive that moment, back at the castle, when this all started:
I step in front of the elevator and a man is standing inside with his back to me. He turns, and my heart lurches at the sight of a Michael Myers mask covering his face. As if I’m trying to relive a stupid Halloween movie, I turn and fall flat on my face. Then, he’s over the top of me, and a needle is jabbed into my arm.
