Page 99 of Flashback for the Forward

Too bad for him, I was done playing his co-star.

“Get out,” I seethed, pointing to the door at his back.

Moving closer, Aiden continued to perform. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s never going to get the chance to hurt you ever again.”

My jaw unhinged. “What did you do to him?”

Lips curving into a wicked grin, he leaned in to speak in my ear, “Lover boy is going away for a very, very long time.”

His hand gripped a fistful of my hair and wrenched my head back. My pained cry split the air.

Bringing his face an inch away from mine, Aiden snarled, “You’re going to pay for this. All of it. The birth control pills. The running act. Fucking another man behind my back.”

Fear gripped me in a chokehold, and though I detested showing any weakness in front of this man who thrived on it, my body shook uncontrollably. This quiet rage was far more deadly than any of the hundreds of times he’d shouted the house down, the vein in his forehead pulsing; I’d learned that the night he threw me across the room and left me covered in bruises.

There was a very real chance I might not survive whatever “punishment” he had planned.

Aiden released me suddenly—scratch that, he didn’t so much release me as throw me against the gurney—and barked, “Get your shit. We’re going home.”

Then he was gone, and my eyes darted around the room, in desperate search of salvation. My gaze locked on my purse, and I leapt off the thin mattress to dig through it.

A plan—a Hail Mary of sorts—began to form in my mind.

Rushing into the attached bathroom, I pulled out my cellphone—the one Cole had bought for me that Aiden didn’t know about. With trembling hands, I opened the voice memo app and hit the button to start a new recording.

Voice hushed, I spoke into the microphone. “My name is Bridget Russell, and I need help. I’ve been trapped in an abusive relationship with San Diego Police Department’s Officer Aiden Wheeler for the past three years. Recently, I managed to escape, with the help of a friend, Cole Astor, who serves as the captain for the San Diego Surf. I had planned to have Officer Wheeler served with a restraining order on Monday, but was in a car crash today, December 12th, which alerted him to my location. He’s intent on forcing me to return to his residence at 731 Tideview Lane in Grant Hill. In his agitated state, there’s no telling what he’s capable of, and I’m scared for my life.”

Ending the recording, I created a group text chat and attached the file.

But I didn’t press Send.

Instead, I scheduled it to send in twenty minutes.

It was a terrible idea to let Aiden remove me from the hospital, but he was currently in uniform, and I was very aware that he was armed. While I still didn’t know where Cole had ended up, there was a chance that people I cared about were on the premises. If Aiden got backed into a corner, he might become unpredictable; I couldn’t risk an innocent person getting caught in the crossfire.

All I could do now was play along and pray that my plea for help reached the right people before it was too late.

A fist came down on the bathroom door, and I levitated about a foot off the ground with a frightened squeak.

“Bridget!” Aiden boomed.

“Just a minute.”

I quickly stuffed the cell phone behind the toilet, just in case Aiden decided to rifle through my bag and found not only the mobile device but the Mayday message, thus killing any hope of rescue.

Peeking back one more time to ensure my hiding job was sufficient, I opened the door.

Head cast down, I murmured, “I’m ready.”

Aiden gripped my elbow with bruising force, and I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood in an effort to stifle my whimper. “If you try anything stupid, I’ll have my contacts behind bars make your fuck buddy’s death look like an accident.”

I couldn’t suppress my audible swallow.

Aiden didn’t issue idle threats; I knew that from experience.

He released my arm, placing a palm on my lower back as he ushered me from the room. I began to sweat when our departure was extended by his stopping to personally thank every doctor and nurse who had seen to my care, while also expressing his extreme gratitude that his missing fiancée—gag—had been returned to him.

After what felt like an eternity, we headed for the exit, but not before I heard Crew’s irate voice filtered from the far end of a hallway.