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Not ever.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” her kidnapper said, but I was only looking at Aspen.
She hugged her little body. Like she was trying to fuse herself into the bed, and I lifted my hand like I could touch her, hold her, and make whatever she was feeling go away.
I’m so sorry, snow. I’m sorry.
“You’re going to hold a press conference. Get the news. Get the cops. Get everyone and tell the world what you did to Joe,” the guy with the gun continued, but I was haunted, hollow. “You got two hours, kid. I’ll be watching, and you better do that shit right. You will or your girlfriend gets a bullet in her brain.”
It was like something clicked for me then. Especially when he ended the call and took Aspen from me. He took her away, and I was walking, running. I was going to see my girlfriend again.
Even if she had to know the darkest parts of my soul.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Aspen
I was shaking. Thatcher was a killer? A murderer…
This didn’t make sense. No, it didn’t at all, and I refused to believe it. I…
“Sorry, snowflake.”
I gasped in the bed, not even bothering to hide the tears in my eyes. I ended up pressing my face into my pillow to mute my sobs. If I audibly wailed, I didn’t know what this guy with the gun would do.
“I guess it’s nice to know that you really didn’t know.”
I lifted my head, but only silently. The gunman’s expression was grave after what he said, but not cold. He didn’t look the way he had when Thatcher had been on the phone or even when the man had initially threatened me.
He gazed out the window. “Though, it doesn’t really help. My brother is still dead.”
And I didn’t get that. It made absolutely zero sense. Thatcher had been what? Twelve back then? Twelve like me, and what kind of twelve-year-old was capable of killing a man?
My thoughts sobered me, as I realized exactly what kind of kid would do that. One who had done terrible things before and had held another kid against her will. That kid had been me.
No. No. No.
Another wail came out from my throat then, and it was hard to hide it. My current kidnapper didn’t give much of a reaction to it, but he gazed down.
“Sorry, kid,” he said, and him saying that surprised the hell out of me. He shook his head. “Your boyfriend’s obviously sick.”
I gasped again, my sobs in my hand. The guy with the gun had moved to watch his phone, and I didn’t know what he was looking at. He might have been looking for news articles regarding Thatcher’s press conference or the hold-up. I didn’t know. I was too busy focused on the ache in my chest.
“Sorry, snowflake.”
Still shaking, I curled up on my side, numb. I didn’t even feel my aching joints anymore. Thinking about Thatcher and all the conversations we’d had made things even more chilling for me. I’d talked about Joe’s death with him and how it’d affected my family, my mom. Her fiancé’s death had changed everything, and Thatcher had just listened to it, completely unaffected. I didn’t know if he was a sociopath or what, but I wanted to get sick in my hospital gown. I’d given him my body.
I’d given him my heart.
I didn’t know how long I lay curled in that bed, but it felt like hours, days. It couldn’t have been because the guy with the gun made no moves to hurt me. He said he’d kill me if Thatcher didn’t come through, and if all this was true about Joe, then a part of me just might die.
If I’d had anything in my stomach, it would have come up. I knew it would, and I flinched when the guy with the gun approached. He darted in my direction, and I moved sharply into the bed. I quickly realized he wasn’t coming at me but to me. He stayed at the side of the bed with his focus on the door. He had his gun pointed toward it, and I easily discerned why.
The door opened.
The movement was timid, cautious, but it was moving, and the guy gripped his gun. He sneered. “Whoever the fuck you are, stop, or I’m literally going to shoot this girl?—”
